One

Walter Bertrand, struggling journalist, gets an invite from his estranged, corrupt colleague to his new marriage. Though he should be happy for his friend, he cannot help but feel dread.

They pulled up her bruised and beaten body with careful precision.  I hadn't been able to leave, not quite sure which action to enact next I suppose.  How does one recover from an event like so; did no one ever think of the bystander?  We always hear about those who witness an atrocity of this nature, but the story never leans too far in their direction.  After all, it’s easier to deal with if we just say they don’t really matter in the melodrama.  I am rambling a bit though, just had to think of something else for the time being.

I watched on the sidelines as they wheeled her body, clad in the wedding gown that I swear reflected off every surface with overwhelming glow just earlier today.  Since the groom was apprehended, they turned to me as second in command, and I felt a bit apprehensive as that dead woman came closer.  I looked down at her face, feeling more lost than I was before.  I had it figured out, at least I thought I did.  A chocolate strand of hair was crossed over her heart shaped face, and without thinking I set it back in its place.  

“You were best man to Vincent Grimes, is that correct?”  I didn’t even look up before answering the voice outside my range.  “Yes.”  There was no vibrancy in her face, funny how those little things that made the person disappear as soon as they do.  It’s like she just took everything with her, more so than not I guess.  The man said something else, probably the routine condolences, but I wasn’t listening anymore.  I muttered some inane response and watched as her face grew distant until it disappear into the vehicle.  

Pardon my crudeness folks, but death is torture like the dickens.  It’s not fair, that she got to die, leaving the rest of us shocked and appalled.  Frankly, it makes me irrationally angry at the woman.  My only relief is that I am not in Vincent’s place, poor man’s reputation is forever ruined in the public, not that that’s most important I suppose, but he has lost everything but his life, the b*****d.

Of course, I do believe I should back track a bit, back when I didn’t feel so numb.  Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Walter J. Bertrand, former best friend to Vincent Grimes the famous entrepreneur.  I was still struggling as a journalist when I received an invitation from my pal Vincent to attend his marriage to a Miss Claudette Triche.  I was guilty to admit that I let the invite sit on my desk for about a fortnight before even opening it.  

Wasn't until the letter got dusty that I gave in.  Vincent is a brash unpredictable man, and while he’s allowed me to stay in his circle since we were children, I always feel like I’m running a marathon when I’m near him.  I unsealed the letter for the words that read the usual when one’s getting married.  “You are cordially invited to the wedding of the Miss Claudette Triche and Mr. Vincent Grimes.”  I was surprised to say the least, Vincent certainly is not the type to stay is any kind of committed relationship or even a monogamous one.  It was very much a 0 to 60 way of getting in contact with me.  Regardless, I believed myself to be a polite and upstanding gentleman, and resigned to making to trip to the country.  

I was packing my bags when my housekeeper appeared in my doorway.  She eyed my luggage with traces of disappointment and disgust.  “Goddess, you’re not chasing the coattails of that evil man again are you?” she scoffed, and I made sure to grab my comb and eyeglasses before I would inevitably forget.  I didn’t look up, as her disdain for my closest colleague was repetitious tune in the house.  “Come now don’t be like that, he’s getting married after all.”  I defended him.  She snorted, though it lacked humor.

“Him?  Like marriage is going to fix everything wrong with that man, sending ‘em back to hell might do something worthwhile to that thick skull of his.”  I sighed, and continued about my business, snapping the clasps of my suitcase shut.  I tried not to argue.  It was easier to just let things by.  Still, my housekeeper didn’t relent, “He’s just gonna take advantage of you, just like whatever poor dame he’s tying the knot with.”

‘I’m not having this conversation with you.”  I grabbed my bags, wrapping a tote bag for the trip over my head and picking up my train tickets.  I had to get to the station before dark.  My housekeeper huffed and I pushed past her.  “Mr. Bertrand, the man’s a demon, you gotta stop falling for his tricks.”

“I assume you’ll take care of the house?”  Her eyes narrowed as I dodged her question.  “It’s going to bite you in the a*s one day, and no one’ll be there to help you.”  “I’m quite sure my kiester will be just fine, Vincent is a good...man.”  I could tell it sounded like a lie, but I wasn’t going to go back on my word.  “Listen to you!  You can’t possibly believe in what you’re sayin’!”  I looked down, only to notice a spider crawling across our feet, making no attempts to hinder it.  My housekeeper was still glaring at me, with a hint of desperation in her wrinkled brow.  “I’ll be leaving now, “  I moved to the door, with her squawking at me from behind, “Be sure to water my plants while I’m gone.”  I quickly made a swift exit.  I could still hear her bitter ranting as I walked, but it became less and less as I made my way through town.

There’s very little to report on in this place, with its quaint shops and tight community, but I feel the seclusion of my tiny cottage bring me a bit of comfort.  Though my lack of quality work in real issues can become quite maddening.  “All aboard!”  Without looking back, I attended this tale, with little insight of what was to come.

Author's Note

First installment for my new book. This is a very rough draft and I accept all criticism.