Little World - Chapter Three: Confrontations and Inquiries (273 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: 0 on 4 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by a_little_more_time (View user info) at 2006-12-06 14:22:45 EST
Previous Chapters:
Prologue: Gone - http://www.ubersite.com/m/92662
Chapter One: His Right Hand - http://www.ubersite.com/m/95955
Chapter Two: A Ringing Phone - http://www.ubersite.com/m/96025
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Michael wiped the trickle of blood and spit from his face and struggled to his feet with a groan. He leaned heavily against the bar and stared his assailant in the face. "Jesus, Ian", he moaned, dropping his Russian accent without even thinking. "Nice fucking welcome wagon."
His childhood friend pinned him in place with his cold gaze. "No reason to welcome your sad ass back here." He pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You're damn lucky that I didn't shoot you the moment you walked in. The hell you doin', strollin' in like you were expectin' a smilin' face?"
He straightened and tossed him a severe glance of his own. "Eleanor called and told me that Allie's gone missing. 'Course I'd show up."
Ian scoffed, moving back to behind the bar and grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the well. "Dunno why she even bothered. You disappear one night without so much as a goodbye to anyone 'cept Allie. You promised to keep in contact with her and come back once you get rich, and you didn't." He poured himself a shot and downed it. "You're the most fuckin' unreliable person this town's ever known. I wouldn't ask you to help find my keys, let alone my friend."
Michael picked up the fallen barstool and sat back down in it. He lit another cigarette, then spat blood from his mouth. "Yeah," he muttered. "Yeah, I know."
Ian stared at him, then spoke incredulously. "'Yeah, I know'? Is that the best you can do? You're under the goddamn radar for eight years and all you can manage is acceptin' the fact that no one trusts you?" He did another shot, then leaned forward, his voice softening somewhat. "Where the hell were you, Mike?"
He took a long drag, then let it out. "Seattle."
His friend threw up his hands. "Doin' what? Slingin' hash, flippin' burgers, hairdressin', what?"
He paused, then looked back in his eyes. "Lots of different things."
Ian sneered at him again, shaking his head. "I can't fuckin' believe this. You are so full of shit that it defies description. I bet you didn't even land a job, and you're just too egotistical to admit it." He turned his back to him to finish replacing the glasses on the shelves.
Michael closed his eyes for a moment, then stood and stooped to open his bag. He retrieved his pistol, withdrew the loaded clip, rose and slammed both weapon and ammunition upon the bar. The resulting bang resounded clearly in the room, such that Ian started and turned quickly to find the source. He gazed down at the gun, then back to Michael's hardened face in confusion.
He placed the cigarette back in his mouth. "I got this gun from the man who hired me, a Russian mob boss, about a year after I arrived in Seattle. Before then, I'd been running messages and drugs for him, doing minor errands for the underbosses, little shit like that. Afterward, though, I was made an enforcer, and I found out that I was damn good at it." He took one final drag, then stubbed the smoke out in an ashtray. "I have used violence to extort and intimidate for almost seven years. I have shot and beaten men to death, and I have profited from it. Did I accomplish what I said I'd do? Yes." He lit another cigarette. "I'm very rich, probably more so than anyone in this town. But I got that way by hurting people. Do you think I could come back here and show my face, knowing that? How could I explain that to you? To Allie?"
Ian stared back at him, dumbfounded, then shook his head slowly and poured a third shot. He swallowed it and turned his eyes back to his friend. "She'd have understood."
Michael nodded. "Yeah, but I couldn't handle it. You were right about one thing." He turned his back to him and leaned against the bar. "I was too worried about my own pride."
Ian heaved a sigh. "Yeah...you always were." He took his shot glass from the bar and washed it. "Listen, I'm closin' up. You gonna hang for a while?"
He nodded quickly. "Yeah. I ain't goin' anywhere."
* * * * *
Minutes later, they both stood outside the bar, leaning up against the weathered brick, smoking and passing the whiskey back and forth between them. The night air was heavy with a wet, autumn chill; the rain that hung over Seattle was on its way further south with the cold front moving in from Vancouver. The wind rustled and shook leaves off the massive trees that towered overhead. Michael took a pull from the bottle then handed it back to Ian, who took it and followed suit, then spoke. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"You gonna ask about Allie, or are you just gonna get wrecked and pass out here on the porch?"
"Figured I'd wait until you brought it up, but now that you mention it..."
Ian shrugged. "Nobody seems to know much. She was here two days ago, then she was gone, like she dropped off the face of the fuckin' earth. All of her stuff is still at her house, her car is still here...it's like she straight vanished."
He blinked and furrowed his brow. "When was the last time you saw her?"
Ian pointed at the ground. "Right here. She worked the closing shift that night, and when Eleanor went to wake her up the next morning, she was gone."
"How do you mean? Was her room trashed? Was her bed made or had it been slept in? Was there any sign of entry?"
He scoffed. "How the fuck should I know, Mike? Sam hasn't said a word to anyone about it and Eleanor hasn't been in since that morning. You know who you need to talk to if you want the information."
Michael sighed and flicked his smoke away. "Yeah, I know. That's what I'm dreading." He took another drink then spoke again. "Were you workin' that night?"
"Yep. Nobody hassled her and she got in her car nice and safe when she left."
Mike shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Shit."
Ian finished his cigarette and tossed it. "You'd better hit the sack soon if you're gonna go see Sam tomorrow. You'll need the rest."
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right." He lifted his bag and placed it on the back of his motorcycle, then swung his leg over the seat and started it up. He revved the engine twice and was about to pull away when Ian spoke again.
"She never stopped believing you'd come back. Talked about it until she disappeared." He looked him straight in the eye again. "Find her, Mike."
He nodded once. "I will," he said, and pulled away.
* * * * *
Minutes later, Michael rolled into the parking lot of the Dream Away Motel. He slapped his ID and five twenties in front of the clerk who, he was happy to notice, did not recognize his name. He rolled the Honda across the way to the space beside his room, keyed in and tossed his bag on the floor beside the bed. He stripped, took a long, hot shower to clear his head of alcohol and nagging doubts. He climbed into bed, set the alarm clock for five AM, turned out the light and almost immediately fell asleep.
He dreamt of Allie. He saw her as he remembered her that night, when he'd left, laying on her bed in her room and writing in what he assumed was a journal. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light, and she was gone. In her place there lay a complex plastic trinket, about the size of a fist. He moved closer to examine it when a deafening siren began to ring in his ears. He dropped to his knees in pain, covering his head with his arms. Somehow, the word "interloper" appeared in his mind's eye. He tried desperately to shut it out, but the din only grew worse; he was about to pass out when he awoke, sitting bolt upright in bed.
He took a few moments to slow his pounding heart, then reached over and turned off the blaring alarm. 5:11 AM.
Mike slid out of bed with a groan, dressed in yesterday's clothes, strapped on his holster and pistol, then left his room and jumped onto the motorcycle.
Main Street was expectedly deserted. He rolled down it casually, coming to a halt before the Early Morning Cafe. He dismounted and carefully ensured that his coat concealed his weapon, then strolled inside. Besides the mid-forties woman at the counter, only one other occupant was inside, and it was the seat to his right that Michael chose. He lit a cigarette and ordered wheat toast and coffee, then casually leaned on the counter.
The customer next to him, a hard-faced man sporting a particularly noticeable scowl, spoke around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "Got a call 'round two in the morning today from my deputy, tellin' me that someone who very closely matched the description of a guy named Michael Sullivan rolled into town late last night." He swallowed, sipped his coffee, then turned to him. "I figured you were a gutless weasel who wouldn't have the balls to show up." He shrugged without changing his expression. "Guess I was wrong. About the balls part, anyhow."
The waitress placed his meal before him. Michael smiled slightly and took a bite of his toast. "Nice to see you again, Sam."
"Wish I could say the same, Sulllivan. I'm curious as to exactly what you think you're going to accomplish here."
He ashed his smoke and turned to look at him. "You know why I'm here, Sam. I cared about Allie as much as you and Eleanor."
He raised his eyebrows and spoke in mock surprise. "That so? Could've fooled me."
"Look, I'm just here to do what I can to find her."
Sam chuckled. "You think I don't already have the whole Washington State Police force alerted and out searching for her? What do you have to offer?"
He shrugged. "Besides another set of eyes? I like to think that I know Allie better than anyone else apart from you and your wife."
"So what? I'm not sure she'd want to know you helped find her, even if you snatched her from the jaws of death with your own hands."
Michael scoffed. "Bullshit."
Sam set down his fork and slowly rotated in his seat to face him fully. "What did you say to me, boy?"
He stood quickly. "I said bullshit, Sam!" he shouted. "You know goddamn well that Allie cared about me, and I still care about her!" He took a deep breath. "Now, are you gonna tell me what you already know and let me help, or am I gonna have to break into your goddamn station to get the information I need?"
Sam was silent for a moment, then turned back to his plate. "Sounds like you have more balls than I gave you credit for. Have a seat."
Michael sat, and Allie's father went over everything he'd discovered so far. It wasn't much beyond what Ian had already told him aside from the state of Allie's room when his wife went in to wake her up in the morning. The bed had been slept in, and her waitressing uniform had been left on the floor. From all appearances, it looked as if she'd been snatched from her bed in the middle of the night, except there had been no sign of forced entry.
Mike finished his coffee. "So, basically, she vanished into thin air."
Sam sighed heavily. "That's about the short and skinny of it, yeah."
He stood, fished some money from his pocket and paid for both of their meals, then put a hand on his shoulder. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to have a look at her room myself."
"What, now?"
"Would you rather I drop by when you're sitting down to dinner?"
Sam stood slowly and fished out his keys, then handed them to Michael. "Just leave 'em in the mailbox when you're done, okay?"
He took them. "Sure." He left, got back on the bike, and took off to Sam and Eleanor Miller's home.
* * * * *
He pulled into the driveway a few minutes later. He hopped off the Honda and keyed into the front door. The fairly large house was almost deathly silent; it was well-kept and comfortable, the kind of home that could've only served as shelter to a close, happy family like the Millers. He gave the first story a once-over, not expecting to find anything but doing so out of the sake of being thorough. He then climbed the stairs and moved into his real destination.
Allie's room was precisely as Sam had described. True to his instincts as a police chief, he had left it completely undisturbed. It was so uncontaminated that Mike was surprised that crime scene tape was not strewn across the doorway. He stepped inside and began to look around. He checked under the bed, the closet and the dresser drawers, but found nothing out of the ordinary. He sat down on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees, to think. He cast his gaze around the floor while he pondered, and suddenly his eyes fell upon one of the floorboards, whose edge had warped and now stuck up about half an inch above the others.
Mike slid off the bed and onto the floor. He knelt and grasped the corner with one hand and pulled up. The board slid up easily to reveal a small book hidden between the other boards. He recognized it instantly.
It was her journal. The journal he'd seen in his dream.
He retrieved it, opened it up and flipped to the latest entry. They weren't dated, but the writing, which referenced how long he'd been gone, told him that she had penned it recently. He turned the page and kept reading, but came to a halt when he reached the last line.
"God, please," she had written. "Bring Michael, safely, back to me."
Here the entry ended, and the rest of the page was take up by an incredibly intricate three-dimensional sketch of what seemed to be some kind of machine. Underneath it was a single word, written in a more hurried style of Allie's hand.
"Anhtkythera," Michael read, with great difficulty. His eyes flicked back to the sketch. After a moment, he realized that he recognized it as well. It was the trinket he'd seen on Allie's bed, also in his dream.
He dropped the book in shock. "What the hell...?" he muttered.
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"All I ever wanted,
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms.
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm."
- Depeche Mode, "Enjoy the Silence"
[To be continued...]
User Reviews
Submitted by a_little_more_time (user info) at 2006-12-06 20:23:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2006-12-06 20:20:30 (#)
Ranking: 2
Retal rating adjustment
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Cheers, man.
Submitted by a_little_more_time (user info) at 2006-12-06 20:22:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by a_little_more_time (user info) at 2006-12-06 20:08:50 (#)
Ranking: -2
Genuinely awful.
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Wow, you took just under a minute to read my post and -2 it after I read your pointless, ten line, limp-wristed attempt at a slam at apollo. You're such a mental invalid, I'm not sure he'd even need to respond. He could just stand back and let you repeatedly bash your own head against a wall.
Nice goin', douchebag.
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2006-12-06 20:20:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Retal rating adjustment
Submitted by Tyrell (user info) at 2006-12-06 20:09:39 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
this is aweful.