Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25547916-20151016012818

''I'm really not sure if I like this idea or not. Anyone have any thoughts? Worth fleshing out or just scrap?''



I could hardly recognize his voice as distorted as it was by fear and anxiousness, though the poor phone quality certainly didn’t help any.

“Do you remember me, it’s Gabe?” his voice spoke into my year, and all at once I remembered meeting him briefly at the bar nearly a month ago. The strained quality of his speaking leaves my mouth dry; I gulp the feeling down my throat.

“Yeah, I remember you,” I managed to say finally.

“Look, would you be willing to talk with me? Like just get a coffee or something?”

I paused, initially unnerved by the frightened tone of his voice, but the underlying vulnerability in his words eventually changed my mind.

“Sure,” I agreed with a word.

I wrote down the name of the place he said and scrawled next to it the planned time of our meeting.

“Did you get that?”

“Yeah, I got it,” I replied.

“Thank you, see you then.”

That was all he said. I slowly slipped my cellphone back into my pocket while I pondered over what had upset him so and what could have prompted him to call me about it. There could only be one way to find out.

Time to meet.

Gray clouds settle overhead above the coffee shop where we had arranged to talk. I again check the scrap of paper where I had written down the details he told me. With a deep shiver, I shrug my jacket further over my shoulder and take a step into the doorway.

Upon entering the shop, I carefully scan its occupants, not finding Gabe’s face among them. After ordering a coffee, I sit myself by a window looking outside.

<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve hardly been there a minute by the time I see Gabe walking timidly down the street. He looks as though he comes from work, clutching his unworn suit jacket in hand and revealing a dress shirt soaked through with sweat.

<p class="MsoNormal">As he enters the shop, we briefly make eye contact, and he sits himself next to me facing the window.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Thanks so much for coming,” he says, looking back over his shoulder. His eyes freeze as though he’s seen a ghost.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Who are you looking at?” I ask, puzzled.

<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s her,” Gabe answers unhelpfully, his mouth agape in shock. He quickly looks forward again, ducking his head as though hoping not to be seen.

<p class="MsoNormal">“What is it?” I ask, vaguely annoyed by his inablility to directly answer my inquiries.

<p class="MsoNormal">“That woman,” he hisses, “In the white.”

<p class="MsoNormal">I turn my head gently, peering at a woman wearing a white jacket, reading the daily paper about two tables away from our spot.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Hmm,” I say aloud, “I don’t recall seeing her before when I arrived. Who is she?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t know,” Gabe answers, wiping his sweating brow with his sleeve, “But she’s been following me for weeks.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“What? Like she’s stalking you?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I dunno, I guess so,” he says before coughing, “Well, no. It’s almost like I’m stalking her; she keeps showing up wherever I go.”

<p class="MsoNormal">I look back at the woman, who doesn’t look up from the paper.

<p class="MsoNormal">“It’s not even possible,” Gabe stammers, “I get to work and she’s waiting for me. I run immediately to a restaurant and she’s casually seated there. It’s not possible.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Have you called the police?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“No,” he laughs deliriously, “What would I tell them? That this woman is teleporting around? No, they’d think I was mad.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Why are you telling me all of us this?” I ask as the thought occurs to me.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I want you to ask who she is.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“What? Why me?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Because she doesn’t know you,” he says quickly, “She hadn’t begun following me around since after we met at the bar. I figure since she doesn’t know we know each other maybe she’d tell you the truth.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“She can see us sitting here together, can’t she?”

<p class="MsoNormal">He shakes his head:

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’ve been watching her reflection in the window, and she never looks up. See her over there? She always just looks down like that.”

<p class="MsoNormal">I glance at the woman again, whose eyes drift quietly over her newspaper.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Fine, I’ll talk to her,” I agree after a short moment of consideration.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Alright, alright, thank you so much,” he says gratefully, looking as though he might cry from relief.

<p class="MsoNormal">Taking another drink of coffee, I get to my feet. I pace quickly over to her table, noticing that the mysterious woman never looks up from her reading.

<p class="MsoNormal">“May I sit here?” I ask, grabbing a seat adjacent to her.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Go ahead,” she smiles, looking up. As I sit down, I look over her face, noticing deep bags hanging beneath her sunken-in eyes as though she hasn’t slept for days.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Look,” I start, leaning in, “Do you know who that guy is in the wet suit? He asked me to come and ask for your name, but the whole thing seems kind of shady. Has he been following you or anything?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“No, I’ve been following him.”

<p class="MsoNormal">I stare at her for a second, surprised with her honesty.

<p class="MsoNormal">“What do you mean?” I ask, hoping that I might have misheard her.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’ve been following him,” she repeats with a smiles, “Stalking him like his own shadow.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“O-kay,” I say slowly unsure of how to proceed, “Why is that?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Why? He stalked me for six months. He broke into my house. He raped me. He slit my throat.”

<p class="MsoNormal">I don’t move a muscle, confused and thoroughly concerned.

<p class="MsoNormal">“He’s a bad man,” she says, “Even if he can’t remember.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Why can’t he remember?” I ask, my fingers creeping down to my cellphone with a growing suspician that I may need to call the authorities.

<p class="MsoNormal">“He hanged himself afterwards,” she breaths, her eyes dilated, “He goes by a different name now, but I know it’s him. I can smell his filthy soul.”

<p class="MsoNormal">As she finishes speaking, she looks up towards the man. His eyes widen and he quickly gets to his feet.

<p class="MsoNormal">“What are you going to do to him?” I ask nervously.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Something to make him remember,” she grins and adds with a laugh, “He still thinks he can escape?”

<p class="MsoNormal">I look towards the door, where he quickly runs out into the street and turns out of sight. As I turn back, I find only an empty seat next to me. <ac_metadata title="What Comes After(Unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>