Writing Challenge # 23
 

Welcome to a new week! This week's challenge is a little different, hope everyone is up for a change :)



The Challenge: Each writer who chooses to participate will read the story that has evolved, starting with the creation post. You will add the next part of the story, and around it will go. To make the story feel more fluid, at least at the beginning, feel free to quote the previous person(s). At the end of the week, I will make a final post and put all the snippets together in one post to preserve our creation :)

The hair was not the same intense red he remembered. Now it was black, almost. But the face. Unusual, he always thought, but intriguing nonetheless, even in profile. But she was over 2,000 miles away. Or was. Six months gone. Six months of getting over it all and moving on to a new level of happiness.
Before he could make a motion or sound, the light changed to green and the car to the right with the familiar profile sped off before he could realize why. Only the sound of the honking horns behind him caused him to slowly make his way.

He kept saying to himself it couldn't be her, over and over until it became a mantra, repeating it until he almost believed it. He parked his car and walked into his office in a daze, oblivious to all around him. He sat in his chair and stared out the vast window of his corner office and thought 'what if'. What if she returned after all she did to him, after all the pain, after all the betrayal. When he thought she was on the other side of the world, he could forget, he could rationalize but knowing she was in the same city, that was too much. He would have his revenge.

Time was supposed to erase memories, or at least to dull them. With the unimportant matters, the passage of hours dutifully corroded the sharpest of details, slowly yet consistently until the picture itself was all but gone and all that remained was the dull ache of a feeling. A feeling that, whenever something was said or viewed that might have triggered that picture in the mind, said "you know this. You have seen it before. It was here once, but is no longer, and you will never find it no matter how hard you look."

Sheila was one of those chapters in life, everyone wants to hide in the dark corners of the mind. They had a few years of good times until she started up with "Them". Tom never considered at the time, what it was they could do to her, or him for that matter. Looking at the scar on his hand brought memories back he hadn't felt in quite some time.

He thought to himself "If only she had just let me in. If she had let me in I know I could have been great for her. Why do some women just not want to be happ.."

"Tom" said his boss Fred trying to get his attention.

Tom just continued staring at his hand.

"TOM!" he yells

"Oh! Yes Mr. Bradford what is it I'm sorry?" Tom says

Asta!!

Fred peered down his nose at Tom, the way he always did when he was pissed off. His face was beat red and his nostrils where slightly flared, quivering with suppressed rage.

“Conica is on my ass about the finance reports! Of all the things you could have fucked up, Tom, why did it have to be this?” he said, his weight leaning dangerously over the edge of Tom's desk, his voice erupting in furious bursts.

Tom took a pencil from his desk and very deliberately shoved it in his electric sharpener. The sounds of the tiny motor sheering pencil shavings from a crisp, new #2 filled the office. Tom stared blankly into the beady eyes of Fred Bradford as the motor whirred. Once the pencil had been tuned to a fine point, Tom removed it and blew the dust from its tip with a calculated breath. He rolled the pencil across his desk. It bounced lightly off of Bradford's fat, which had settled itself comfortably on the edge of Tom's desk.

“Bradford, one of these day's you'll learn that it's better to treat people like people. I had to learn that the hard way. You want your reports done, you can do them yourself. You can expect me to be out of here by the end of the week.”

Tom took a in a brief moment of satisfaction as he saw Bradford's expression shift from one of anger to horror, but it was little comfort to the deje vu that had stirred his soul just minutes earlier.

He tried to keep the look of anger as the old man turned to leave, but it belied the fear that slowly built up inside. His eyes turned to the scar on his hand and he stared as if waiting for it to come to life. The spiral was barely visible now, the points on the edge looked like freckles. He touched it, almost expecting it to be hot and painful.
He began to think as he rubbed the back of his hand. He had five days to make himself scarce. If she was back, so were the others.

While staring at his hand
He soon began to ponder
How long he could keep hiding

(Haiku- it's my "go to")

Memories and emotions began to wash over Tom. Still sitting at his desk, Tom reflected back to the island and his time with Sheila. It seemed like a lifetime ago. No, it was a lifetime ago. He had changed so much in the last six months, transforming to a compeletely different person. Responsible and reliable, he even had a job now; for the next few days anyway.
He recalled that night, lying in bed, when he made the decision to leave Sheila and her twisted circle of 'friends.' It took all the nerve he could muster to slip out of her arms and into the night.

Sheila watched as the red truck pulled away from the light. She knew he had seen her, had planned it in fact. Tom had absolutely no Idea what was about to happen to his little life, no Idea the damage she intended to do. "Walk out on me will 'ya", ran through her mind , for the ten thousandth time. Sheila felt the cold steel against her thigh, it was a pleasant chill.

The drive home was arduous at best. At every stoplight, Tom tried not to look around, but his eyes would dart side to side just the same. A horn honked and he jumped. Anyone and everyone was suspect. "I'm just paranoid and silly," he said to himself. Affairs end for any number of reasons; surely she understood his.
Reaching for his door key, his hand shook and it surprised him. Quickly he got inside and purposely latched both the deadbolt and the doorknob. A beer. Need a beer.
His mind drifted back to a year ago. She wanted to share everything about herself and he wanted to know. At first, there were the meet-ups with a few of her friends. A few drinks at local bars, deep discussions about things Tom thought, at the time, were just psuedo-intellectual fodder. But a commonality in all these get togethers stuck out. And soon, he too, would bear the same mark.
He stared again at his hand. Damn her.....

Tom found after a few bottles had been emptied, his hands were still as jittery as ever. Couldn't go to the store, she might be out there. Instead, Tom went around to the back and started to open the cellar door. As he took his first step down into the darkness, he heard a click behind him, and that voice that still haunted his dreams ... " Where you think you're going? "

Tom stumbled at the sound of her voice, a voice so long forgotten, and caught himself on the handrail. He cocked his head sideways, positive that he'd not heard her voice behind him. The first thing he noticed was not her faded tan, not her fiery red hair, or the breasts he used to worship, but the sharp glint of steel from a gun. He spun around to face her.

"I said... where do you think you're going?" She said, her anger building in her words despite her cool delivery.

"I was... going down for... what's going on?"

Tom stared at the gun. He couldn't think, couldn't move... his eyes were locked.

"This is not the girl I knew..." he thought, unable to reconcile what he was seeing.

"What's going on, Tom, is that you and I are going to have a little talk. So move it, asshole." Sheila motioned for him to return to the living room.

Tom turned the corner to the living room, Sheila following behind him. She pointed at the couch, and he sat obediently. Obedience can be trained in most people through conditioning, but no conditioning is required when the commands are issued under pain of death. She sat on his lap, straddling him. She gently slid her fingers down his face.

Tom thought, "What the fuck is going on here?" and continued to shake beneath her.

Sheila raised the pistol to Tom's face, caressing his cheek with the barrel before sliding it into his mouth. Tom panicked as the taste of steel came over him, his tongue retracting as though it could escape harm.

"Now." Sheila's voice was just above a whisper, but her hatred and contempt was wrought violently across her face. "I am very angry at you right now, Thomas. And when I get angry, I want answers. You are going to give me the answers I want, or I will tear you apart." Tom shook and she spoke again quickly, as though she'd rehearsed it. "Question one..."

She leaned in closer, her hot breath reaching his ear like a branding iron approaches a calf. A smile crossed her lips, but clearly it was not one of happiness. His eyes closed slowly as his head involuntarily moved away from hers.
"I see you've healed quite well, Lover", she whispered as she looked down at his hand. "Miss me?"

sheesh...looks like I gotta go again
 

He didn't answer. His mind thought, No, Bitch, but self-preservation stopped the words from going any further.
She sat up straight, her hazel eyes scanned Tom's face and for a moment, he thought he saw the softness that had attracted him to her so very long ago. But just as swiftly, that feeling left and the truth of this moment overcame him. He stiffened his spine and glared back at her.
"Ok, my question, Loverboy", she said, quite matter of factly. "Who did you go to and tell?"
Tom thought his voice would be stern, but all he could manage was a whispered "No one." Her face got angrier. "I am not that stupid, Sheila". His tone quickly changed to reflect the nervous anger that was building inside him.
"No, of course you aren't. But someone knows enough to interfere with our work. Perhaps......I should rephrase the question."
She got off him, stood up and turned to face window. Tom had to make a decision quickly while she was distracted.

can't finish it, someone go from here if you can...
 

Tom knew his only weapon was the element of surprise, and he lunged out of his chair at her. Sheila was quick to react, and spun around in time to send a round into his shoulder. The searing pain shot through him faster than anything he'd felt before, and he immediately hit the ground.

"You're such a disappointment, lover."

Her words were barely words at all to Tom, who writhed in pain on the floor.

"Now how exactly did you think that would end? You'd overpower me, send me through a window?" She circled him as she spoke, petting her gun as one would pet a small animal. She knelt beside him, brushing the gun across the front of his pants. "I should just blow these off. You obviously don't use them anymore."

"What do you want from me??" He screamed to distract her- being shot in the shoulder was enough already.

She stood and, grabbing the wrist on the same side as his wounded shoulder, yanked him up from the floor. Her power seemed to burn through him as he winced in silent pain.
The power. While it took a long time to be shown, once it was it was more than he could handle. Maybe she had been showing it all along, from the moment he noticed her in a crowded room to the night he left. Now he was finding out, rather painfully, that no one ever really leaves.
They accepted him in at her urgings and taught him their ways. The teachings were painful at times, but Tom was always told it would better him as a man, as a human being, as a lover. For a time, it did. His life became infinitely better. He became healthier than he had ever been And Sheila had all she could do to keep up with his desires. The pupil had done well. But the costs became too high and he could no longer go against his conscience. He didn't know where the blood came from, only that it was human. When he overheard the conversation that night, he made his decision. He could not, would not take a life, no matter how much he loved this woman. They said it was his time to come in. He knew it was his time to get out.