Brink by Mikel Parry

CH-ONE DOWN

Thomas strode down the street, digging his hands deep into his pockets. He could feel the unusual heat being generated by his ecstatic mind sweltering under his hat. But the hat was going to stay. It had slowly grown on him. In truth, he actually liked it a lot. It was symbolic and odd.

Viewing the street in its entirety, he flashed back to the time before. He had been walking on clouds that day, literally floating with glee. But it had to be that night. It just had to be that store. Out of all the stores in the throbbing city, he’d found the one that accepted cash only. What with all of his mindless, romantic intentions, he’d made one critical mistake—one that he had analyzed at least a million times. He could have stopped it. If he had changed just one detail of how it all had come together that night, she’d still be alive. And then there it was—the hat shop.

Taking a deep breath, he ducked inside. He wanted to revisit the location where the downward spiral of Jena’s and his life together had begun. He wanted to see how time had changed its intricate pieces. Looking around, he was greatly disappointed. Nothing had really changed; just a few new hats, but nothing else. After a few moments of silent stupor the shop owner emerged from somewhere in the back.

“Can I help you?”

Thomas did his best to come back to reality.

“Just looking around, seeing what you’ve got in stock.”

The man gave Thomas an odd look before putting on a cheesy smile.

“Wait . . . I remember you! I never forget a hat. You were the strange man who wanted a special hat for a special night?”

Thomas nodded his head. The oblivious looking shopkeeper apparently wasn’t so oblivious after all.

“I see you’ve taken a liking to it. As you should; it’s a fine hat.”

The shop keeper’s smiled widened before suddenly disappearing.

“You were robbed here. I also remember that well. I’m so sorry that it happened in my store. You can never trust anyone on these filthy streets.”

Thomas put on his own cheesy smile, fighting back the sudden rush of painful memories. Then his eyes caught something he hadn’t seen before; a small, slender box connected to a wire running behind the counter.

“I thought you said this was cash only?”

The man followed Thomas’ eye line to the tiny machine. He shrugged.

“Must have been broken . . . what kind of shop can’t do credit cards?”

These details were alluring to Thomas’ proactive mind. The shop was in a rather worse-for-wear condition. And judging by the slow turnover of product, things likely took three times as long to get done.

“So are you going to buy something, or just sit and stare?”

Thomas grinned briefly. He glared at the clerk in annoyance but moved on. This wasn’t about the past; it was about the present. He was trying to make amends with himself. If he was going to go all in, he needed to be all of himself. Sarcastically, he pointed up at his own hat as he walked away.

“Already got one . . .”

The shopkeeper puckered his lips and snarled before receding back into the depths of his store. Thomas took a deep breath. The memories were bombarding him like mortar fire. They wanted him to dwell, relive, and suffer. Maybe he had made the wrong choice by coming down to the shop, retracing his steps. Why was he doing this to himself? Turning towards the street, he stumbled past a woman walking her dog. The small dog barked furiously on its puny leash. The distraction disorientated him for a brief moment. He quickly regained his bearings at the edge of the sidewalk balancing on the curb. There a large bus whizzed past his body missing him by mere inches. Instantly his heart jumped up into his throat. Just one more step and he could have been flattened out like a pancake.

Seriously, Tommy, get it together.

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. It was the city; people almost get hit every day. He didn’t need to make mountains out of mole hills. It was nothing.

“Thomas Ghune? What are the odds?”

Thomas looked up to see a face he hadn’t seen in ages—his old partner.

“You crazy SOB! What are you doing out here?”

Vaun approached Thomas quickly and gave him a playful shove in the shoulder.

“Hey, Vaun, it’s good to see you.”

Vaun shook his head at the comment.

“Oh, come on, Tommy. That’s all you’ve got for your old partner?”

Thomas forced a fake smile. He had been wallowing in his own self-pity for so long that the mouth muscles he was forced to use felt exhausted.

“Let’s go grab a drink or something, catch up. I know I need one; maybe two.”

“Maybe another time. I’m kind of caught up in something right now.”

Vaun cocked his head. He placed one of his hands on Thomas’ shoulder gingerly.

“Look, buddy . . . I get it. Stuff happens and it sucks. And for that I’m sorry. But you can’t keep carrying this around, Tommy. It’ll destroy you. Just let it go for now and have some drinks with an old friend.”

Reluctantly, Thomas agreed, although he often considered Vaun to be anything but a friend. Their time together had been mildly noxious at best.

“Okay, just a few, and then I’ve got to get going. A lot of things have changed.”

“You can say that again. The office hasn’t been the same without you. And I’ll be the first to admit our case solving is purely academic at this point; all by the book, for the book. Makes me miss the good old days where we’d storm a scene pistols blaring. Tommy, it’s good to see you.”

Thomas could smell the tinge of alcohol on Vaun’s breath. It appeared that the party had already started for him some time before. But what else was he going to do at this point? So what if he spent a moment or two with his old partner? Isn’t that what normal people do? Followings Vaun’s lead, he scurried along down the crowded streets. There he remembered all of the smells and sensations he had experienced that night. It was a succinct moment of euphoric reprieve. What he would give to relive every moment that he held so dear with Jena. If only he could have just one more day with her—a day without distractions where they could finally just be themselves—the thought was heavenly.

“Here’s my place. Best booze in town. It’ll wipe anything that ails ya clean.”

“I’ll just spectate tonight if that’s alright with you. Not feeling the need to drink anymore.”

Vaun gave Thomas a befuddled look. But not one to press the point, he just shrugged.

“Suit yourself. But just know that I don’t plan on getting any further than the street corner before I take a nap. It’s been one of those weeks.”

The pair stepped into the bar. The smell of stale liquor and cigarettes filled the air in a low hanging haze. Immediately, Thomas felt slightly dizzy. Bars had never really been his scene. They would often get too loud and obnoxious causing him a surprising level of anxiety. But it was a customary gesture to join a friend at the old watering hole.

“I’ve got a spot there in the back that’s nice and cozy. Are you sure you’re not going to sip tonight, Tommy?”

Thomas nodded his head while looking around the room. Men of all shapes and sizes sat about, letting out raspy bouts of laughter. Televisions streamed all of the latest big games of every sport imaginable, while an indifferent bartender tended to the counter. But there was something else, an anomaly that he had not seen before, but that was now coming at him like a meteor.

“Tommy Gun, as I live and breathe!”

“Pete? Why is Pete here? I thought he never came here,” Vaun mumbled under his breath.

Pete approached holding a large cup of inebriation. Its foamy top sloshed around with each clumsy step he took. His shirt was untucked; his tie loosened. It was undeniable that he was letting loose.

“I haven’t seen you in ages boy, how you been?”

Thomas again put on his mask of forgery. He felt like he was getting better at it.

“Pete, it’s good to see you. Just happen to be on this side of town?”

Pete took a swig of his alcoholic concoction then closed his eyes. His savory moment ended when his face drew back covered with a frothy mustache.

“I go to any bar that lets me in! Besides, I was hoping some day you might turn up . . . you never know.”

“Pete, you look amazing,” Vaun commented, furling up his upper lip.

“Oh, Vaun, you ain’t got a lick of sympathy in that tight wad body of yours. Come take a chair with me over here with some of the boys.”

Pete turned and began staggering his way towards a table filled with off-duty officers. Once there, he plopped his mug down and struggled to get into his tiny chair.

“Well, we’ve never really said no to Pete before; why start now?” questioned Thomas.

Vaun put on his own cheesy smile before he let out a tasteless hiccup.

“It’s just so good to see you, Tommy. It’s just like the old days.”

Only it wasn’t. Nothing was. The whole scenario had changed. Maybe to Vaun and Pete the memories they had were enough to constitute such a belief. But for Thomas it was anything but. Everything had changed; he had changed. Pete directed Thomas to a chair next to him. Once he’d sat down, he received a massive slap on the back.

“Tommy, I’m soaring over the moon just seeing you. Don’t let Vaun tell you any different. We’ve missed you downtown.”

Thomas looked down at the table. There were thirty eight scratch marks of all different size and variation. In a weird way, it was artistic. That’s what it used to be about—art. He was the artist and the malevolent world his canvass. Now it was more, it was personal.

“Missed you too, Pete. Haven’t had to cover my ears in a while. Glad to see you’re healthy.”

Pete let out a bellowing laugh that thundered. His aptitude for the obnoxious was being even more refined by his drunken state.

“So what have you been up to? I mean, sooner or later you’ve got to come back. Bills don’t just pay themselves.”

Thomas turned to a waitress and asked for water. He took a gulp of the contaminated air.

“Just piecing my life back together, trying to figure something out . . .”

Pete’s face suddenly drooped. The many layers of it reminded Thomas of a topological map; so many contours, depths and shapes.

“Look there, Tommy. I’m sorry about all that. I got the word sometime after but the sting was still there. If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.”

Thomas shrugged.

“What’s done is done—no reason to dwell on it—things just take time.”

“I’ll spare the weird hat comment then. I’m sure you were put up to that somehow.”

Thomas shook his head. He placed a finger up on the hat’s front and ran it over its edge.

“This? I like this. Not sure I’ll ever take it off.”

Pete’s eyes scrunched together before he let out a loud burp.

“You always were an odd one, Tommy!”

Pete let out another roar of laughter before turning to engage himself in conversation with the rest of the table. Thomas received a few honorable mentions and goodwill during but he still felt largely removed. Nothing swimming in the pool of shallow conversation intrigued him. But there was something that did; a man sitting at the opposite corner who had been staring at him. Thomas was no behavioral analyst, but he knew that something was up. He watched carefully out of the corner of his eye as the man looked up from his drink, assuring himself that Thomas was still there.

And who might this be?

He’d never been one to bask in the spotlight—he preferred to be left alone—his mind worked better that way. He was the one who analyzed and dissected others; he detested the idea that someone else was doing it to him. Suddenly, a tall glass of water was slid in front of him, breaking his concentration. Its transparent surface reflected the dim light of the bar into his eyes.

“No ice?”

The waitress stopped mid-step as she was walking away.

“Ice machine’s out of ice.”

Thomas stared down at his glass. He wanted to do something but didn’t know if it made sense. But he couldn’t stand it any longer. Glancing over at Pete, who had already gulped another tall one down, he poured his water into his empty glass.

“Hey, Tommy, what’s the idea? They’ve got people for that.”

Pete belted out another round of idiotic laughter. He seamlessly shifted directly into one of his embarrassing stories about Thomas. Thomas got up and began to approach the man who seemed so interested in him. His eyes locked on him and noticed a pitcher of water on his table. It only had a few melted ice cubes left floating in it. A small but important detail suggesting how long the man had been there. Thomas needed to know more. Who was he and what was he doing? He watched as the man shifted in his chair as if getting ready to flee. But once the man realized Thomas was coming straight at him, he relaxed back into his seat.

“Mind if I pour myself some of your ice water? Ice machine’s broke, so says the waitress.”

The man’s eyes receded slightly, but he quickly put on a warm, welcoming smile.

“Be my guest. Last I checked water’s free here.”

Thomas forced an amiable smile of his own. He carefully lifted up the pitcher and poured himself a glass of water.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you before; you from around here?”

The man lifted up his own glass and took a sip. As he did, he stared distantly off into the bar.

“Nope, just passing through on business . . .”

Thomas gave him a rapid once-over. The man was in a fitted suit, had a professionally maintained haircut, and a definite persona. He, much like Thomas, appeared to be out of place. There had to be more than to him than meets the eye. Forgoing any form of eloquence, Thomas went for the throat.

“So . . . I noticed you’ve been watching me. Actually, you’ve been watching me for quite some time now. Is there something I could help you with?”

The man squirmed in his chair for a moment but replied cordially.

“You must be mistaken. If I gave you the wrong impression, I apologize.”

Thomas felt an instant gut check. The man was lying; he had to be. He could recollect the whole evening perfectly. There was far more than happenstance at play here.

“Cut the crap—you’ve been gawking at me like a hawk—so, there’s either something you want, or we’ve got a problem.”

The man’s face changed from friendly to slightly hostile. He furrowed his brow in defiance.

“Look, buddy, it’s a free country. I can sit at any bar I want to.”

It was clear that Thomas’ interjection into the man’s life wasn’t a welcome one. The man took a glimpse at his watch and snarled.

“Damn it! I’m late. Thanks a lot buddy. Because of you I’m going to miss my bus.”

Thomas shrugged. He felt no responsibility for the man’s inadequacy to keep track of time. Suddenly, the sharp sensation of cold hit his wrist. He had over-poured his cup. A few icy drops of water trickled down to the floor.

“You really know how to carry a conversation, friend,” said the man getting out of his chair.

Thomas watched as he headed for the door. The entire time, the man fidgeted with his watch as if he was confused by it. Unable to contain his curiosity, Thomas followed him. He wove around odorous bodies, swaying around clumsily to the dated music that was blasting through the cheap speakers. He didn’t want the man to know he was being followed, but Thomas also needed to stay close; he didn’t want to lose him. As the man burst out through the doors that led outside, Thomas was close behind. Once outside, he saw something shocking. The man was standing at the edge of the sidewalk staring right at him.

“You following me? Look, buddy, I think you—”

The man’s words were suddenly cut off by the incredible force of an out of control bus. The bus swept the man along with it as it barreled into the back of a parked car. The deafening crash echoed through the streets as astonished onlookers screamed for help. Shrapnel from the impact shredded the air, sending Thomas to the ground. Within the blink of an eye, Thomas had seen life pass into a burning pile of metal. As sirens sounded off in the distance, he felt himself drift. The delicate balance had been broken; death was knocking at his door.