High Stakes (244 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 2 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Pentameter (View user info) at 2006-11-21 10:13:15 EST
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
Did you ever notice how some of the nicest women have the worst hair? Too many times, I've met an absolutely lovely woman with 80s bangs and a spiral perm. Sometimes their hair is bleached so blonde it looks white, other times it is dyed so dark that the girl looks more like a ghoul. Dorky short bangs, blonde highlights on dark hair. All of these things really bother me, especially on a sweet girl.
My friend Chance was one of these girls. She had a lot of problems. One of them was her hair. Another one was a guy named Arthur Stakes.
And the whole thing was my fault.
Chance was tall, leggy and had more curves than Lombard Street. With her high cheekbones, bright blue eyes and full lips, she was often the center of attention wherever she went. She thought it was because she was beautiful, the epitome of what it meant to be a woman. In reality, it was mostly because her head looked as though it had been attacked by a lawn mower.
"It's chic," she would say.
I was embarrassed for her. She watched way too many infomercials and wanted to be a super thin bitch, even though I swear she didn't have an ounce of fat on her body. Chance would come to my apartment with calorie counters, meal plans and weird substances that could have been food but really tasted like shit. To please her, I ate steel cut oats, Boca burgers and organic potato chips.
She was my friend and I didn't want to see anything bad happen to her. Every time she called me and told me about the new makeup, the new rotisserie or the new ginsu knives that had just arrived in the mail, I wondered how she ever made a decision on her own.
I was just happy reading the obituaries. It meant that at the very least, I was still alive.
One day after a Pilates workout, I said, "Hey Chance? I'm considering getting a different haircut. What do you think?"
"I think it's a good idea," she said.
I continued with, "I was thinking that since I always do things with you, you should do something with me, you know?"
Chance stood in front of the mirror, pulling on her blonde locks and running her fingers through her hair. She shook her head, then bit her lip. Finally, she turned around and said, "All right. I'll do it!"
"Awesome!" I said.
Three days later, the two of us went to one of the ritzier beauty salons in town, where we were cut, dyed, dried and curled. Chance was happy, and I was happy that she looked somewhat normal. We paid and tipped our stylist, then walked out into the street.
And life would never be the same.
A group of people stood across the street in front of a little corner store. There were two girls and three guys, all dressed similarly in rather stylish looking clothes. As Chance and I walked down the street, I noticed that she kept looking back at them. I asked, "What's wrong?"
"I don't know. That one blonde guy keeps looking at me," she said.
I glanced over at the blonde, who had a soft smile and inviting green eyes. He looked warm, strong, thick, sensitive and caring, and was as attractive as any many I had seen. I said to Chance, "He's stunning. You should go and talk to him."
"Are you serious?" she asked.
"Hell yeah I am. What do you have to lose?" I asked.
"Suddenly, I feel thirsty," she said as she began to pull me across the street.
Before Chance was even able to step onto the curb, the blonde reached out his hand out to help her up and said, "I'm Arthur."
She immediately blushed and said, "I'm Chance, and this is my friend Estella."
The two of them began talking as though they had been old friends, while I tried to make small talk with some of the people who were with Arthur. They seemed preoccupied, but were polite.
Hours had passed, literally. The sun was setting and the two of them were still gabbing with each other. Finally, I said to Chance, "Are you ready to go, or would you like to call a cab?"
"Um, I think I'm calling a cab," she said as she slid her hand into Arthur's.
I was happy for her. After my last boyfriend left me because he had discovered he was gay, and her husband of two years left her because she wasn't willing to try being gay with another girl in front of him while he videotaped it, the two of us had decided to forget about men...unless the right one came along.
Arthur was a worldly man. He had traveled to countries I had never even heard of, and had taught Chance interesting customs that she'd share with me over lattes and scones. Every time I saw her, she was wearing a new piece of jewelry or new shoes, or was carrying a new purse. She was being treated very well, and that made me smile.
When I asked her what he did for a living, she would simply say that he was the heir to a great fortune and was living off of his trust fund until his father passed away. When I asked her what his father did, she said she didn't know.
"Hmmm...I want to know what his father does," I said.
"Why? You aren't dating him, so why do you care?" she asked.
It was hard to tell Chance things she didn't want to hear. Any criticism, any scrutiny of her life or any statement that opposed the way she felt meant at least a week without communication, if not more. I took a sip of my chai tea and asked, "Don't you think it's weird, that like, he has all of this money but can't really explain where it's coming from?"
Immediately, she sensed what I meant and jabbed back with, "You're just fucking jealous."
"I'm not jealous. I'm worried about you, Chance. I don't want to see you hooked up with another asshole," I said.
"Look, Estella, it was your fucking idea for me to talk to him in the first place!" she shouted.
A table full of executives turned around to look at us. I kept my head down, but Chance yelled, "Take a fucking picture," then threw them the finger.
We stood outside after being asked to leave the coffee shop. Chance said, "Just leave me alone."
"I just don't want you to get hurt," I said.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said.
The longest we had gone without speaking throughout our entire ten year friendship was three weeks. When the sixth week had passed, I decided that I was going to break down and call her to see if she would talk to me. After trying all of her phone numbers and discovering that they had all been disconnected, I found myself climbing the stairs to her third story apartment and knocking on the door.
"Chance?" I yelled.
No one answered.
I pushed open the door to reveal an almost completely empty apartment. Papers were scattered across the floor, and most of the furniture was gone. Her closet was empty and the curtains had been ripped down from the windows.
I gathered everything I could find, sat on the floor and began sifting through the pile. There were bank receipts showing no balance in Chance's checking and savings accounts. Some times and dates had been scrawled on pieces of paper with other numbers that I didn't recognize. One of the papers had the following day's date, along with ten thirty p.m. and more strange numbers.
The last piece of paper was a note, written in Chance's handwriting that outlined her plans to for she and Arthur to kill themselves together. My throat became very tight, and my hands were shaking so much that I could barely finish reading the letter. I stuffed what little information I had into my purse and burst out of her apartment.
As I ran down the street, I called my friend Dave.
"Hello?"
"Dave? It's Estella. Listen, I need your help and I need it now," I said.
"I'm kinda at work," he said.
"I don't fucking care!" I shouted.
"All right. Jesus! Where are you?" he asked.
"I'm on my way to the library on Fifth Street," I said.
"I'll try to get out of here," he said.
"Dave, I'm scared," I said.
"It's ok, I'll be there. Don't worry," he said, then hung up the phone.
I knew a little bit about research, and I knew that I could access a lot of the databases I would need at the library. I started by searching "Arthur Stakes" through news archives, and came up with stories about little local store openings and high school sports highlights. Every way I tried, I came up with nothing that would help me figure out who the hell he was.
The blank screen burned my eyes, and I suddenly wished I hadn't quit smoking. My fingers fidgeted across the keys, and I was barely able to concentrate on what I was doing. Suddenly, I felt a pair of hands resting on my shoulders.
"Relax," the voice said, "and don't turn around."
I felt as though I was trying to swallow a bowling ball. Was it Arthur? Did he know that I was trying to find him? Everything was running through my mind, and I swore that my heart was about to explode.
"Gotcha!" Dave shouted.
"Asshole," I muttered as I tried to catch my breath.
He kissed me on the forehead and asked me why I needed his help. After explaining the situation to him, he understood why there was such urgency in my voice. I showed him all the searches I had run since we hung up. Dave scanned the list and suggested that I try searching newspapers overseas, since Arthur had claimed to have been in almost every country.
His name popped up in so many papers that I didn't even know where to begin.
Most of the stories were about his father, Arthur Killington Stakes, Sr., a highly successful business man who was a hero to many in poor cities and towns across Europe, Russia and Asia. He was very philanthropic, and he often chose the poorest places to open new factories, giving people the opportunity to be self sufficient.
"Seems like a great guy," Dave said.
"Yeah, I don't know about his son, though," I said.
There were a few returns on Arthur K. Stakes, Jr., but most of them concerned how he had been a part of his father's business and was basically a spokesperson, the poster child. One story implied that he had been involved in an illegal gambling ring. Another story described a prostitution ring, and yet another linked him to funding human trafficking from Zaire and Hong Kong.
Dave placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "I think you should call the police."
"Why? So they can fucking brush it off? Something is not right here, and I need to find out what it is," I said.
I pulled the scraps of paper out of my purse and said, "Look at this piece of paper. I think something's going to happen tomorrow night, but none of this stuff makes sense."
Dave glanced over the letters, the bank receipts and the scrawled notes and said, "This is fucked up. How did she get hooked up with this guy?"
Tears filled my eyes, and I put my head down. I said between bubbling sobs, "It's all my fault. I took her for a haircut and he was standing there, he was so gorgeous and I told her to talk to him, what did she have to lose, right? Now she's missing, I made her angry and she took off and I don't know where she is!"
He put his arms around me and softly said, "We'll find her, there has to be a way. We'll look over all of these things until they make sense."
I wiped my nose and said, "Thanks."
We stayed up most of the night combing over the few clues that we had, but we weren't able to come up with much. We were both sure that something was going to happen the following night, but we didn't know what. Finally, Dave said, "Listen, I have to get home, all right? We both need to get some sleep."
I nodded in agreement, said goodbye and then climbed into bed.
A few hours later, I woke up to the sound of a train whistle. I thought about the scraps of paper, the numbers that had been scribbled on them.
Things started to make sense.
On the internet, I confirmed what I suspected. Over and over again, I called Dave, but for some reason, he didn't answer his phone. It seemed as though I was on my own.
Before I set out, I stopped by the police station, where I explained everything. I showed them the articles, the proof I had found that something dastardly was about to happen. They promised they would contact their counterparts in Canada, and that I didn't need to worry about anything from that point on.
I knew better than to trust them, and decided that I was going to make sure they followed through. After packing a few things, I hopped into my car and began the five hour drive. I would be there in plenty of time.
At the border, I crossed without incident. After a few more hours of driving, I arrived at the designated point and stepped out of my car.
Ever since I could remember, I had always loved train platforms that were in the middle of nowhere, and when I saw it in the distance, I smiled. It was spectacular, the ability to be in the middle of the wilderness and go anywhere you wanted, anywhere the tracks would take you.
I looked at my watch. It was 8:30 p.m., two hours before the train was set to arrive. I suspected that it would be filled with young, foreign girls who thought they were coming to Canada to work in restaurants, in retail stores, in warehouses. What they didn't know was that they were human cargo, that they would end up being whores for any man who was willing to pay.
Shame was a powerful thing. Arthur had them right where he wanted them. He knew their families were counting on them for money, and that because they were illegal aliens, there was no way they'd ever go to the authorities. They'd get enough money to send home so that no one would suspect anything and he'd get the rest.
I sat in the passenger seat of my car smoking a cigarette. I contemplated calling Dave, but when I looked at my cell phone, there was no signal. Really, I should have known better. I was in the middle of nothingness.
At the very least, Chance would be saved, even if I meant I wouldn't be. She was always so gullible, so willing to follow without even thinking for a second. As I took deep drags, I thought about how everything was completely my fault. In the end, I only hoped that I would be able to protect her.
As the time drew near, I watched from my car, which I had parked behind some brush. I looked through my binoculars, praying that I would see a police car, a Mountie, a ranger, someone who would stop this.
Three black Jaguars with black tinted windows pulled up close to the platform, with a fleet of white vans behind them. I watched Arthur get out of the driver's side of one of the cars, and I saw Chance emerge from the passenger's side. The others who I had seen with Arthur on that day were also there. It was time. The train was going to be there at any second and I knew the police weren't coming.
I gripped my handgun tightly and made sure it was loaded. There were more of them than I had bullets for, but I wasn't even scared. All I had to do was kill Arthur and save Chance. Nothing else mattered.
With all of my strength, I ran across the snow. My lungs were being pulled apart by the frigid air and my heart was beating so loudly that it nearly deafened me. As I got closer to the platform, I decided to stop running. I got on my stomach and began crawling. I was surprised how close I was able to get without anyone hearing me.
I drew the gun up and aimed at Arthur, my hands shaking. But, right before I was able to pull the trigger, someone grabbed me.
"Did you really think you were going to be able to pull this off?" the man asked as he flipped me over onto my back.
"Fuck you!" I shouted.
"I think you're the one who's going to get fucked, sister," he said as he tied my hands behind my back and bound my legs together.
He stood me up, revealing me to the other members of the group. Chance shouted, "Estella!"
I said nothing.
Arthur approached me and asked, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
Between heavy pants, I said, "Let Chance go."
"Chance wants to be here. Chance has everything she wants. Do you think she wants to go back to that shithole fucking town you live in?" he asked.
"Let her go."
"You know, it's a shame. It's a shame that you came all the way out here to die. We could have killed you in your bed," he said as he grabbed me by the hair and walked me over to the train tracks.
"I called the police," I said, "They're going to be here any second."
"Who gives a fuck? I own the police," he said.
Everyone began to laugh.
Arthur threw me on the tracks, and Estella began to cry. I picked up my chin and said, "Go ahead and fucking kill me, I don't care."
What I was thinking was that the train would be slowing down anyway, and that I probably wouldn't get hurt at all. I then realized that I was on the opposite set of tracks, with no platform.
That meant the train had no reason to stop.
"It's almost time," Arthur said as he pointed to his watch.
I could hear the whistle of the train, the soft, low moaning growing closer and louder with every second. Before long, I saw the light, the train barreling down the tracks that I was lying across.
Arthur walked over to me and said, "I'll give you a choice. You can come with me and live, or you can stay here and die."
I struggled to get to my feet. There was just enough slack on the rope for me to stand, but not enough for me to run. I looked him square in the eye and said, "Don't mistake me for a coward."
"Well then, you are the master of your fate," he said with a smug look on his face.
The tracks were vibrating as the train began to bear down on me. The horn was blasting, the light was blinding. I struggled to make peace in those last moments, and as I prayed, I felt something strong push me off of the tracks.
When I looked up, Chance was standing in my place with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. Before I could even shout her name, the train had already overtaken her body. I lay on the ground, half of my face buried in the snow. Through the cars, I could see Arthur on knees, crying. I never hated anyone so much in my life.
Not even thirty seconds later, the police arrived. Thirty seconds after that, the other train arrived, filled with foreign girls looking for a new life, just as I had suspected.
Everything was my fault. I think I cried more tears in that day than I had over the course of my entire life. I could barely tell the detective what had happened and how I ended up there. They took me back to the station where they gave me hot chocolate and a blanket, but nothing would ever soothe me. I wasn't able to save her.
It just so happened that Arthur Killington Stakes Jr. had pissed off one of the government officials who had been shielding him from any kind of police interference in his affairs. When this gentleman learned of what was supposed to happen in Canada, he made sure that Arthur wasn't going to be able to get out of it.
They put me up in a hotel, and the next morning, room service arrived with a big breakfast and the daily newspaper.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't need to read the obituaries to know that I was alive.
User Reviews
Submitted by Alter (user info) at 2007-09-26 21:04:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No, Comment.
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-06-05 12:17:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2