West End

There�s no sound quite as bone chilling as a phone ringing in the middle of the night. No matter which side of the tracks you're on, it's never good news.

My skin crawls hearing her voice.

 

"Ted, darlin', it's Meg.  I know it's late."

 

I fumble for the light. Squint my eyes to look at the clock. My voice cracks. “Or early. You know it's 4:00 a.m., right?”

“Yeah, sorry to bother you.”

Hard to figure out whether she wants attention or if she’s really serious.  I always treat it like she wants attention and I hate giving it.  I turn over on my back.  Black satin sheets swish around me. My cat expresses his objections. "C’mon. We both know you meant to bother me.  My caller I.D.’s never graced with your number.  Why are you calling?  Work slow tonight?  No rich gents in need of your warmth?”  That line always makes her defensive.  Like she has to prove she’s ahead in the score.

“My rich gents are satisfied, darlin’. Just so happens I could have made bank tonight. New oil execs visiting from Houston.  Limo service and everything. Had to turn them down.  Something came up.  Listen, I...uh...I need to come over.” 

"I’m flattered but can’t afford your overtime and my preference is the rugged James Bond type. Can't he come over instead?"

"Can't you be anything but contemptuous?"  Her smooth sultry voice wavers.

"Trust me, if you were a rugged James Bond, I’d be anything you want.  When I call you at this hour, you can make the rules.”  I yawn.  “Ball's in my court.  I'll be contemptuous.”   Silence on her end. Then I hear crying. Did I strike a nerve? Didn't realize she had nerves. "You’re freaking me out.  Raine left a few hours ago. Can't you just call her?”

"Ted, please this is important....timing is everything. I-I really need to come over."

“Oh, for God’s sake just say it! I’ve got to get up in--”

"Fine! The ball's in your court, McEnroe. Just remember that and hold on to your racket at what I’m about to say."  Meg takes a deep breath.  "She did it.”

“She, who? What the hell!”

“Raine. She actually did it this time.”

Shock, horror, and dread spear my stomach. “What! What are you talking about, did what?”

“Darlin’, you know Raine better than me, don't make me spell it.  Believe it or not Webster’s is my light reading.”

She reads?  I sit up.  My head spins. “Cut the darlin’ s**t, Meg.  It’s demeaning to be included in the same class as your clients, oil execs or not. Just tell me.”

“I need to come over.” 

My fist pounds the sheets.  The cat bolts from the bed. Last thing I want is her standing on my doorstep. “I need you to answer me. What do you mean she did it?  Did what?”

She hesitates.  Blows her nose. 

“Holy s**t, Meg, it’s not rocket science, just tell me!”

“Fine, McEnroe! I found her in her apartment.  I called the paramedics. They pronounced her at the scene. It’s your serve.”

I drag a quivering hand over my face.  Denial blocks all logical reasoning as well as the capability of completing a sentence. “Okay, wait.  Speak slowly. What do you mean…pronounced?  You don’t mean…you mean like…oh, God you don’t mean like she’s…?”

“Ted, I’m 5 minutes away, don’t move.  I’m coming over.”

 

“Wait! No! She was fine earlier, she just...!” Too late.  I throw the phone to the floor.  Fall into the satin sheets. The walls close in. Oh my God, Raine what did you do! I’ve got to call her! Where’s that phone?  I stretch to reach it. 555-7234. My heart pounds madly. No answer. Just this once why can’t I be The Flash?

No time to get dressed as the doorbell rings. The gap through the chain locked door gives my robe-clad figure power.  I judge her mascara stained eyes and unruly hair.  The smoke from her cigarette grabs my nose and encircles her head.  First thing I think of; a cross between Jessica Rabbit and Death.
“Well, McEnroe?  You going to let me in?  I play a fair game.”  She exhales the last drag, her arms folded tightly around her.  She shivers and flicks it in the bushes. “You wouldn’t let me freeze out here, right?”

I don’t feel sorry for her. She can freeze. “You're like the grim reaper or something. Why should I let you in?”

“Aw, you scared, darlin’?  I’m flattered but newsflash. The ball's in MY court now. You have questions. I have answers….unless of course you’d rather chance one of your boyfriends seeing me here at this hour.”  She checks around as though she’d actually see an active neighborhood at this hour.  “Chad is it?"

She lives to play that card.  I mumble words only I can hear, close the door, unlatch the chain and re-open it.

Meg enters shaking snow from her hair.  Voluptuous figure obvious even through a wool coat.  Easy to note why some men are attracted.  “I’ve never felt four a.m. before, have you?”

 

Strange.  After an evening of crying, her voice still maintains that seductive tone.  One that plucks the heart string of a soul craving passion on a business over-nighter…a straight heart string, that is, and one that trusts her more than me.

I run trembling fingers through bedraggled hair and tighten the belt to my plaid robe. "What, are you joking? Even in my crowd word has it that you feel AND do much more than four a.m."

A hoarse tenor pitched whine leaves her throat.  She blows her nose on a tissue and dabs her eyes and what's left of the mascara. Judging by the different colors, she's been using the same tissue all evening.  "Just once can we call a time-out from the cynicism?  I'm here...because of her. You got any more tissue?"

I turn around quickly before I gag. “Sorry, I’m cynical.  Defense mechanism."  I pass my desk in the far corner for the tissues.  Judy Garland winks at me from an open laptop. "Strange you said it that way is all.  Got used to this hour birthing bad news a long time ago.  Parents abandoning kids, car accidents.  Made me cynical.  Irony’s my life.”

I hand her the tissue box. She tries to hug me. I stay stiff. No emotion. No surprise. She backs away dabbing her nose. “Let’s go sit down, darlin’.  I’ve brought you something.”

My eyebrows dip.  ‘Darlin’ from her voice in reference to me, makes me want to run antiseptic over my whole body.  "If cynicism is ruled out, so is the darlin’ s**t.  It’s Ted, just Ted."

“Sorry.  I mean nothing by it, comes from my line of....of upbringing. Can we sit somewhere?"

Upbringing?  She’s from a well-to-do family.  Only time darlin’ ever entered her upbringing was when she used it on male teachers through high school to get passing grades so Daddy would keep paying for her Mercedes.  I point to a Pottery Barn leather sofa.  She walks toward it shedding her coat.  I follow.  “Meg, you sure she’s--because I just saw her last night and--”

She turns around sharply.  “You’ve never trusted me. You think I’d come over at four a.m. to lie about this?"

“Not about this, but I wouldn’t put it past you to lie. It just doesn’t make sense. I’m numb. Don’t know what to say, how to feel." I shrug.  "On top of all that, didn't think it'd be me asking all the questions.  Thought I’d always know before anyone else. Thought I meant more to her." 

She gives me a gentle stare like she’s looking at a cute puppy and touches my chin. ”Aw, you thought you’d be the only server in the game?  We switch ends. You know? The favored player has the advantage in the score but the other player still gets to serve at some point.”

The cute puppy’s not flinching. “We still talking tennis here?  You lost me after switching ends.”

“Come here.” She sinks to the couch and tugs my arm on the way down.  I fall stiffly to the cushion some inches from her and stare at the wall.  She sets an opened Johnnie Walker bottle on the table. “You’re going to need this.  I believe Raine called it your Red Label of Courage.”  She pushes it towards me and thrusts an envelope in my hand. “It’s addressed to you.  I didn’t read it even though I wanted to.”

A white standard envelope. I read my name on the front.  Trace it with my finger. Heart thumps in my ears, eyes tear up, shake my head.  “What the hell’s this?”

"You need to read it, okay?  Where do you keep your shots?"

“Is it…from Raine?”

“Just open it.”

The envelope drops to the coffee table like it stung me.  “Are you shitting me?  I can’t read that!” I sink further in the couch.  Fold my arms around my middle.  Pull my knees to my chest.  "I can't."

"Ted, would Raine ever have written something to you and not wanted you to read it? Have a drink. It’ll help.”

I have two bad habits when I’m upset—tells, if you will.  Biting my left thumb nail and tapping my right heel furiously on the floor.  I think of all the times she placed notes on my refrigerator, in my motorcycle helmet.  It was too much to deal with. I moved to get up, to leave the insanity. "I need to get to work soon."

She catches me before I stand completely.  Holds her arm across my chest. “You’re not talking rationally.  Seriously, you can walk out on her at a time like this?”


Ch. 2

The clock chimes three-quarters past the hour.  My mind spins with questions all having a personality of their own, begging to be spat out first.  Curious to furious in one breath. “This can’t be happening! How long ago did you f*****g see her? What time did this happen?”

“Stay calm okay? The coroner was there and—“

“Coroner!! God, there was a coroner?”

Meg crosses her legs, faces me.  Lays her arm across the top of the couch. “Take a deep breath, darlin’.  A coroner had to be there to pronounce her.  It’s normal procedure, right?”

There’s that word again.  Makes me grit my teeth. I look at her blankly, take a deep breath and exhale slowly, not because she said to.  “What did the co…what the hell did he say?”

“That matters?”

I jolt from the couch. “Hell yeah, it matters! Matters even more now.”  My breath quickens and I pace fiercely, talking almost as fast. “We were here earlier.  Had plans. Got tired.  She was going to stay the night.  Said she forgot something at home.  Said she’d be back but called later.  Suddenly had a headache.  I thought it strange but didn’t question it considering our…well…our evening.  She assured me she was fine.”

I plop back on the couch. My elbows on my knees, head in my hands, tap my heel like a jackhammer. “S**t, I’m questioning it now.  Oh, my God.” The queries in my mind scream in varied voices to be heard and I squeeze my head to make them stop. Don't want this to be happening, it can’t be happening, but it is.  I look at Meg.  “Why would she stay home and not come back--how long did she—why were you at her place—wait, wait, I don’t want to know that, I really don’t want to know that.” Meg and Raine had special relations.  I’d come to accept it but it didn’t mean I liked it.  I shake any possible images from my mind.

It pleases Meg to know that affects me.  She clears her throat and smirks. “Ted, Ted, Ted.  She didn’t call me because she was…well, in need of anything sexual. She was upset.  Said she found a package by her door.  I had a client and couldn’t get there right away.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. ”Client.”

“Why do you always say client like that?  You’ve a job that pays the bills, so do I.  I’ve been in the business longer than you’ve been out of the closet.”

“The difference is in my business we sell airplanes and keep our clothes on.  And we’re dedicated to our clients. What was Raine to you?  A client, as you call it?  No.  That’s what kills me.  How can you have clients AND Raine?”

She reaches for a mint on the coffee table.  Unwraps it slowly. “You know what kills me?  You say she was with you tonight.  Raine said she was with a client.  So, Just Ted, which was it?  Thought you liked the rugged James Bond types.”  She licks the mint, lays it on her tongue and closes her mouth for a few seconds.  “Why don’t we volley that ball for a minute?”

The coffee table shakes from my nervous foot. “You said she got a package, what the hell was in it?”

“I knew you’d avoid that.  It was from her dad.  I saw the postmark.”

The jackhammer stops.  My eyebrows raise so fast my hair parts. “WHAT! Her dad’s dead…so is her mom! You’re full of s**t!  What the hell happened when you got there? You’re leaving something out.”

Meg swirls the mint from one side of her mouth to the other. “You’ve a lot of nerve casting all the blame seeing as how you were the last to see her alive.  Maybe I should ask you some questions.”

The noise the mint is making on her teeth echoes sharp and loud in my ears.  I can’t look at her.  I wrap my arms around my middle.  Tap the jackhammer again.  I have my reasons and didn’t want to divulge.  “Fine.  Ask what you want.”

Meg takes a minute.  Reaches in her large bag.  Finds a mirror and lipstick.  Checks her face, prunes her hair.  Takes a deep breath. “By the time I got to her place, she was sitting in the kitchen, her head lying on the table, two glasses of wine poured like she was expecting someone.  Maybe me, after all I was the one she called.  I don’t know, I thought she was drunk, passed out, so I sat down.  That’s when I noticed two envelopes.  One to me, one to you; the package from her…well…it was in the trash. I nudged her—“

 
Meg’s voice cracks.  She speaks slower, brings a hand to her mouth. “She fell to the floor...I panicked…called the paramedics...”  She looks at her shoes.  The room falls quiet.  “I know the man in you wants to ask.  Go ahead.  Ask, how’d she do it, Meg.  Ask.”

 

I can think of a million other places I’d rather be than on this couch fighting my mind from drawing pictures with Meg’s words, when I can’t even admit what happened.  Let alone ask how.  “What do you mean, the man in me?”

 

“Better do it before you get the ‘closest next of kin’ phone call, Ted, and I’m not here with you when you hear certain details.  Because you know you’re going to get a call, right?  Detectives.  City officials.  The morgue. The--”

“All right!  Stop!”  Any items on the coffee table fall victim to the jackhammer in my heel. They move like the magnetized players on a metal electric football game. Too many words she just said swirl in my mind; next of kin, morgue.  I squeeze my head again. Look at her. “Yeah, I want to ask. You know I want to ask.  How?  Okay?  How...how the hell’d she do it?  And why the f**k didn’t she call ME?  She should have called ME!”

Her voice sounds condescending and too calm. She looks at me I’m like a cute puppy again. “Aww, I don’t know why she didn’t call you.  I am a woman after all.  Women do tend to understand other women better than men in more ways than one.  At least she and I did.  Maybe since she didn’t connect with you in that way she felt it might bother or disappoint--“

“She knows I’d never be disappointed OR bothered.  Cut the high school jealousy crap!”  I notice she’s not crying anymore, even through all the details she just unfolded.  “You’re not telling me everything.  How’d she do it Meg?  How?”

Meg applies some lipstick.  Talks into the mirror. “Face it, we’re both jealous.  You know she has other friends we didn’t approve of.  Guess she went back to her roots. Overdose.  Ketamine and--.”

“WHAT! Overdose! Raine was clean!  What the hell are you talking about?  Ketamine’s a date-rape—!  You sure no one else was there?”

She puts the mirror away.  Blots her lips on the tissue still in her hand.  “Well, maybe that’s what I should be asking you.  Now that I know you were her client.”

Color drains from my face.  She’s trying to pin this on me! “Stop saying client!  S**t! This isn’t happening.  It doesn’t make sense.  Too overwhelming.  I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.”

”Drink Ted?  You look like you need one.  Or do you need a hug.”  She stands.  Offers me the bottle.  Tries to hug me.  I pull away.  Grab the bottle.  Walk fiercely to the kitchen.  Johnnie Walker's the only hug I want.

She follows.  Lays the envelope on the marble counter and leans on the cabinet trying to find my eyes.  “I also thought you might want to know what she was wearing.”

Sharp dread spears my stomach again.  I pour a shot.  Down it.  Grind my teeth through the comforting burn.  Put the bottle down.  Lean on the counter, exhale and look at her with disdain. “Wearing?”

Eyes entranced in mine as though she were trying to crawl inside them, she nods with a coy smile. “The dress you bought.”

”Dress?”  I pour another shot.  Offer her one.  Avoid her eyes and grimace, rubbing my face like it hurt.

“Thanks, but I’m still working technically.  Besides, I brought it for you.  I’m impressed, you do like having the ball in your court don't you, McEnroe?  I'll volley again.  Don’t pretend you don’t know.  It was the only dress she had.  Been hanging on the front of her closet door for three weeks.  I know more than you think. You forget she and I are--”

“Stop!  I know what you two are.  Please, I don’t need it defined with sordid details.” Another shot rushes down my throat. Teeth grind through a more comforting burn than I ever knew before. “I just wasn’t aware she told you or anyone else.”

“Yeah, well I’m still a little fuzzy on you being her client, whether or not you want to hear that term in reference to you.  Let’s call a duck a duck.  I told the detectives I’d be honest, you know, unless you want to enlighten me.”

Honesty and Meg.  Look up oxymoron in the dictionary, that’s what you’ll find. I rub my face again.  “I gave it to her a month ago. Told her if she stayed clean and hung on a while longer, I'd treat her to a fancy restaurant. Even wear that pink paisley shirt she loved. Just like a real date.  Only…”  I shrug my shoulders, swig another shot. God, I love the burn.  “…only not a real date.”  I breathe in through my teeth and shudder. “I hated that shirt.”

“And so…she wore it last night, why?”

I sneer.  She’s right.  I enjoy having the ball. “You obviously DON’T know more than you say you do.” The last of the JW never makes it to the glass.  Amber lightning rushes from the bottle to my mouth.  My eyes shut tight.  “Last night was the night.”




Ch. 3

Raine and I were best friends since kids.  Both needed each other. Sadistic home life. Her dad was insane. Never knew from moment to moment what sort he’d be. Bought her toys if she was good. Good had many meanings.  Mostly good meant never tell their secrets, keep the lies straight. Take care of him no matter what.
My mom abandoned me when I was 7. Took my sister, left me with relatives in my sleep one night.  Never contacted me again.  That was when we met.

Growing up, she cried often.  Drove me nuts.  I wanted to keep her safe.  I made up stories about exotic places. Far away beaches with white sand.  Mansions on the Riviera.  Private jets to Paris at our beck and call.  Whispered them in her ear to calm her.  Kept us both sane.

Raine was a year older than me and as teenagers, she desired more.  I loved her but not like that and told her why.  She accepted it.  But her face always told me she really didn’t.  Something in her eyes when she looked at me.  A smoldering ember.  Heat just below the surface, provoked and betrayed by me being me.  Hard to cool off.  The topic was revisited on a couple of occasions.  Always the same answer.

Raine had girlfriends and her druggies. Girlfriends, especially Meg, knew her in many ways.  To Raine they felt safe.  But she was never clean to see the danger.  Dealers got her through the day with good drugs.  Speed.  Cocaine.  LSD on occasion. They expected favors in return.  She called them friends.  Liked the lies.  Felt at home in their fiery secrets.

I tried not to judge but it was difficult being with her.  Knowing what she was doing and with whom. What I wouldn’t let her do with me.  Curiosity.  Jealousy.  Tried to keep distant but loathed watching her waste away. She was pale. Too thin. Eyes sunken in.  Even her chestnut hair that played with any breeze was thinning. Tried to change her.  Took her away for a while. To those far away beaches with white sand. Stayed with her every night. Kept her safe. 

When we returned I gave her a kitten, Cyrus. Thought if she cared for something else, she might care for herself as well. Things were going smoothly.  Kept her away from her druggies. Thirty days clean. Not so much sober.
We went clubbing.  Hung with my friends the whole night.  She actually wore a smile, feeling protected by my pseudo family.  Bathed in the warmth of their laughter. Swirling lights in primary colors and pulsing music carried away any thought of the outside world.

Chad the DJ was playing all of my requests. He liked me. I went to chat. Raine went to the ladies room. Found out later she ran into some old friends on the way. Did some lines.

A while later I noticed her missing. Went to look for her. Saw her in a heap on the dance floor. Disco lights swirled around her. Loud music bounced from the walls like the world was fine. Raine lay in a pool of vomit, foaming at the mouth. I grabbed her. Whispered in her ear. She came to enough to open her eyes.  Gave a smile.  I walked, but mostly dragged, her to my car.

Stayed with her all night at the hospital.  Kept whispering in her ear.  Knew I had to do something.  Knew it couldn’t be anything.  Had to be something she wanted.  One thing.  Stay clean—I’d give her a night.  A night for what she’d wanted since we were teens.  A night to satisfy her in ways her girlfriends could never give.  Her eyes lit up.  Stirred the ember.  No turning back.  Set the perfect date.  Her birthday.  Arranged everything that night.
Next day, bought her a nice dress.  Black, silk, strapless.  Faux Gucci heels.  I had to wear something she bought. A pink shirt, paisley print.  Agreed.  God, I hated that shirt.



Ch. 4

Ginger dawn streaks through thin drapes and shuttered windows in the kitchen. Meg and I sit opposite each other on the marble counters.  Just feet from the envelope.  I rest my back on the refrigerator, empty JW bottle in my lap.  My legs crossed Indian-style.  I study Meg’s body language through an alcohol fog.  She hadn’t been there very long and yet she had reapplied all her makeup, fixed her hair and found some gum, popping it like it was the fourth of July.  Despite the sobering news she brought, she seems fine, crisis over.  Very odd. “Why don’t you seem as disturbed as me?”

Meg pins her hands under her dangling legs, swings her fishnet-stocking feet up and down.  Enters my eyes through a thin pink bubble.  When it pops she asks, “So, was it nice?”

“Was what nice? You’re avoiding my question.”

“Being Raine’s client. Was it nice?”

“Stop saying client!  Hell, I’m not going to swap seductive stories with you!”

“Oh. So it was seductive, your date?”

I look down. Contemplate the empty bottle.  Alcohol induces a smile.  Of course it was seductive.  God, it was decadent.  Couldn’t concentrate through dinner with that slit cut to her thigh. Never thought I’d be nervous.  This was what she wanted, not me. Still something about her made me so curious.  The way she laughed and played with her hair sent waves of want through my mind.  Made me picture things I never pictured with a woman.  Her emerald green eyes met mine and I levitated.  Made me eager to do anything she wanted. The way she said my name sent a chill down my legs. I couldn’t sit still.

I gave her a red rose from the restaurant.  Even the way she gracefully inhaled its aroma drove me crazy.  Had to look away.  Held her hand in the car.  Gently.  Liked the way the moisture made a cushion in the moments just before our skin actually touched and conducted slight variances in temperature as my fingers finally slid between hers, over each slender knuckle. Walked with my arm around her waist to my front door. Felt her hips move as she made each slow step up the veranda.  Inside she looked radiant under the soft lights.  Took my jacket off.  She leaned in while it still held my arms captive. Kissed me.  Soft.  Wet.
“You’re trembling,” she said.
“I think you’re the reason.”
“You sure you’re ready to do this?”
“Any more ready and it’d be over.”
Tried to make the moment last.  Clothing peeled off, neither of us held restraint. Devoured each other in indecorous scenes of kissing, touching, entering and with a finale of orgasmic ecstasy, we lay out of breath; our hyper sensitive bodies glowing with perspiration in the moonlit room.  Raine had entrusted to me every emotion she always kept to herself. No inhibitions.  It felt like heaven.

Meg pops another bubble. “So, does this mean your racket swings both ways McEnroe? Your James Bond type boyfriends know yet?”

The refrigerator rumbles beneath my back. My hands tremble. Still contemplate the JW bottle, turn it slowly round and round, feel its gentle square edges.

“Awww, you’re not going to kiss and tell? Bet I know what turned her on most. I know what she likes.”

“You’re a b***h.”

“You know it!” She smiles cunningly. “At least I'm a b***h who's not going to groan through a Ketamine crapulence in a few hours.”

“What!” I look at her with horror in my eyes.  Must have heard her wrong.

“She lied to me, McEnroe.  Said she was going to AA last night. You’re not the only one who’s hurting! We locked tongues, as well, and much more!  Bounce that ball in your court!”

“And God knows who else you locked—“ I feel strange, like the room tipped. Takes my breath away for a second.  A sobering realization hits me with force. “Ketamine? Did you say Ketamine?”

She laughs.  Swings her legs with determination.  Reaches for the envelope.  Rips it in pieces.  Sandwiches her gum between the bits of paper.  “Yep. I just needed you to drink the alcohol.  Didn’t think you’d finally do it.  My God, you take a lot of coaxing.  It’s a wonder how Raine ever waited for you.”  She glances at the oven clock.  “I figure you have about two more minutes of consciousness. By the time you wake up, Raine really will be dead.  But she’ll never know what hit her.  And if it makes you sleep any better, no pun intended, she never told me she loved me.  Always pissed me off.”

As good as it is to hear that, I feel out of breath, nauseatingly dizzy.  Brings the horror back to my eyes. “Wait. You called the alcohol, Red Label of Courage earlier. Raine only said that last night before we--.  How long did you know!”

Meg chuckles.  “Well, McEnroe, she never stopped talking about it since you bought the dress.  Got sick to hell of looking at it.  Sick to hell of her talking about it, her fear that you wouldn’t go through with it.  I suggested what always worked for her, Red Label of Courage.”  Meg jumps from the counter.  Moves to the living room.  Gets her coat.  “I could tell it happened by the tone of her voice when she called last night.  Told me everything.  I knew what was coming next so I planned ahead.  She made a choice.  Never wanted to see me again.  Tough blow for her.”


I try to stand on legs that have no apparent knowledge of solid ground. The change in altitude alone makes the kitchen a roller coaster gone wrong.  I sink to my knees and grab the counter to keep the room steady, my knuckles white.  Hold on to it like I’m in the throes of a furious twister.

Meg comes back in putting on her coat.  Watches me and smiles.  “Two minutes are almost up.”

My head spins. “Why…why are you doing this?”

“Aww, Ted, Ted, Ted.  I figured if I couldn’t see her anymore, you wouldn’t have the pleasure either.” Slings her bag over her shoulder.  “No one would.”  A horn honks outside. “Oh, that’s my ride.  Sorry I can’t stick around but you won’t even know I’m gone.”

Before I know what’s happening, the room flips.  I lay on the floor unable to tell which direction is up or down. Barely awake but unable to move.  Meg’s legs flash before my eyes several times.  Her voice echoes through a dense whirling fog.  She looks at me from above. “Raine really did get something in the mail yesterday, darlin’, but not from her dad.  A birthday card from you.  Funny, I never even knew her birthday.”

I give up fighting sleep.  Silent nothingness consumes me.  I vomit everything I’d ingested from the last week onto the floor several times.  I’m covered in it.  Next thing I know, it’s late afternoon.  Meg’s gone.  I desperately try to remember the events while my temples play tribal drums.  I remember bits and pieces but nothing makes sense at first.  Then it hits me.  I feel I can drive.  Race to Raine’s apartment. Break down the door.  Find her at the table just as Meg described.  Oh, God, there’s blood on her head and shoulders.  I brush the hair from her face, whisper in her ear, feel for a pulse--please let there be a pulse.  She groans.  Opens her eyes.
 
“I knew you’d come.”  

 

Reviews

[Cold Coffee Magazine]

This was good enough to keep my reading all the way through to the very end. Meg wasn't prtrayed as anything but a bad guy but never the bad guy she turned out to be. I only wish your story revealed what happened to her. I was left feeling happy that the gay guy went straight for the girl who always loved him and that they both survived Meg's jealous and murderous behavior. This was well penned and I only found one or two sentences where you left out "A" between words.

I give this story a grade A for, "Absolutely Enthralling."

Well done.

Dave

[JoeB]

Hello, Kim. I read your story "West End" last night. At the time, I was favorably impressed by it. But, after a few hours to think about it, I have to admit: no more.

This morning, "favorably imopressed: seems too mild. I loved your story. You fed me bits of information and clues throughout; just enough to intrigue me. I began to have wild suspicions based on the changing landscape in my mind's eye. The tension you set kept me reading onward. It vacillated, but was never relieved, all the way to the end. You also threw some sudden right turns at me, but no about-faces. In other words, you played with me as a reader, but never took unfair advantage. There was no trickery. As a reader, I appreciated that. Especially toward the end, when you dashed my expectations and dredged them up again in new clothes, I continued to be "with" you.

Bravo. (There were a very few minor issues, but overall, an excellent reading experience.) I think it's contest-worthy. There are many authors. You are a writer.

[Michael X]

kim, I admire story writers, especially those who are able to pen at the depthful level you
do, you immediately opened this poem with a gripping ambience of being caught in the
moment of happening, absolutely compelling, you have managed to take me away for
some time, felt as if i was watching the events unfold, the conversation dialog kept me
hooked as you described the events that played out with passionate throes of intent,
i could feel the jelously, the intrigue, the desperate feeling of indifference, the
seductive heartlessness, the way overwhelming emotions wave over thoughts with a
consuming emminence, the ending is a sure fire twist, the coaxing personality of the
character portrayal sets the ambience, sensual turmoil plays out with heightened
effect, i really enjoyed everything about "west end" wasnt what i expected and kept
me on edge, the detail, vividness, clarity, created a theatrical vision, masterful drama! mike