Chapter 2 Part 3

The Night Before

 

Manhattan was sweaty and humid, that was the best way it could be described in words. It reminded Christopher Fog of a great big spider web, calling you closer and closer in with all its charm and promise of nightlife and ecstasy. Especially Thursday nights it seemed, to him anyway. Where was he that night? He was inside of the elevator and singing to himself softly as he sorted through his mail. The man’s graying black hair was still slicked back from the wig; it was starting to show signs of the natural curls and cowlicks. The five o’clock shadow made the man continue to scratch his cheekbones.

            “Some enchanted evening…” he was saying as the doormen Anderson said, “Mr. Fog, your floor.”

            “Thank you Anderson.” Mr. Fog replied, continuing with, “Once you have found her never let her go…” and searching for a key in one of his many pockets.

Inside of the apartment was all mixed and matched furniture and décor. It was the hole in the wall apartment he had managed to turn into a home. It had only taken him forty years. Sitting down on an eaten couch from a yard sale, the man continued looking through the mail. He remembered where he got all of his furniture and decoration.

Bill, bill, audition callback, bill, phone bill, water bill, rent bill, bill, bill, bill, same old, same old. Everything was made out to Christopher Fog, except for one thing, at the absolute bottom.

It was a small envelope, labeled to the apartment at 458 Washington Street, apartment 2B, Manhattan New York City. The receiver was not for Christopher Fog though, but for someone who stirred up from old memories like dust. It was for a Soho Tevye Knight.

The man blinked long and hard, reading the name several more times. No, this was a just a joke, a bad hoax. But who could it be? No one but a few people knew where Soho really was. What bothered him most was the handwriting, it was short, bold, and the curve of the ‘S’, ‘T’, and ‘K’. He had only known one person to write like that, but that person was dead. How was it possible?

            “You’re forgetting something, Chris,” he heard himself saying. “In the Gifted side of life, possibility and probability are vast.” Those words made him open the envelope. Out fell a letter, a short letter in Jason Parker’s handwriting.

 

Soho, (May 30)

 

I can’t say much, I don’t know what do say. Mr. Whelay just came down here to tell me the good news. It felt nice to hear someone’s voice other than mine. He told me he wasn’t allowed to explain in detail, but help is on the way! He said in a few days, because I know what days are down here, I was going to escape. He only brought enough paper for me to write one person, so I chose you. Please pass this onto Frescia and everyone else. I’ll be home soon, whenever soon it. I’m not dead!

 

-Shadow

 

By the time the man had finished the letter, Christopher was gone, dead, and the gray hairs had turned lush amber, the face handsome, the nose long and curved. The Abyssinian eyes were staring around at the apartment, the 40 years of memories and cast parties. It was time for Christopher Fog to disappear, and Soho Knight to come back.

But he had worked so hard to make this apartment something special, filled with memories, posters, beer, and fan mail. How could he leave all of this behind? Leave behind famous Christopher Fog and become infamous Soho Knight again? Like this; a phone call to the phone company to cancel cell phone and land line, and close the apartment door. It was as easy as that. On his way out he told the doorman to sell everything in the space, and before he could explain, the man was gone. In three hours later, Christopher withdrew money from Citibank, closed all accounts and threw himself from the Brooklyn Bridge where everyone could see Christopher Fog was dead. From there he managed to catch a one way plane to San Francisco city, paid in cash. He got in at seven o’clock that morning. Soho walked out into the cloudy morning and looked at the city and inhaled the salty sea air he had dreamt about. Well damn, he thought to himself as he caught a taxi the closest he could get to the Ocean View Manor. This city had changed a lot in 40 years.

Author's Note

I would have added this onto the last part of Chapter 2, but I was too lazy, I hate the computer I'm using.
Chapter 3 next!