I feel like I’m dying. My stomach is tying itself into knots so tight I might never be able to get food in there. The walls of this place feel disturbingly close.
“Alfred can you hear me, snap out of it!” My mother. As a 40 year old man many would say it’s high time I start relying less on my mother and more on thoughts of marriage and family. My mother has always been there for me. There go the walls again, moving closer to my bed with every ticking second.
“Alfred, breathe,” she says without looking up from her knitting. She always knows best. She stops knitting and looks over at me, picking up the towel by my bed and wiping my face. I guess I’ve been drooling. She puts the towel back and goes back to her knitting. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the outside of these 4 walls. Been awhile since I’ve seen anyone of real importance besides my mother.
It happened about 6 months ago. I had just closed a huge case landing my firm another big one, prosecuting the same mob organization. The partners were ecstatic and any day I was hoping to become one of them. My boss had come up after the verdict to shake my hand. It was a monumental moment in my career and my life. Packing up my things his words still echoed in my head. “Keep this up and you’ll be seeing my office from behind my desk very soon.”
Walking into the hallway of the court house I began mentally preparing everything I needed for the new case. That’s when she walked briskly up next to me. “Dara, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”
“I shouldn’t be here?!” She had tears in her eyes and an angry look on her face. “You used me, Alfred. You made me believe that you loved me just so you could get information.”
“It wasn’t a lie. My feelings were real. But your father is not a good man, baby. He runs a lot of crime in this town.”
“Don’t you baby me, you arrogant son of a-“
“Dara, listen I know you love your father but his line of work is no place for you to be in. Come with me. We can be together. I can protect you.”
“My father says you’re the one I need protection from.” With a swift movement she stabbed me on the right side, twice. I crumpled to my knees where I saw her steel toed boot come to my head. Then everything went black.
Here in this room my mind replays that scene over and over. My mom continues knitting. I can hear the needles constant clicking. Then I hear someone come into the room. “Hello, doctor.”
“Hello, Ms. Pembridge. How are you today?”
“Oh, just fine. How’s my Alfie doing?”
“Ms. Pembridge, I think it’s time we start discussing your options. He’s been in a vegetative state for over 6 months.”
“Options?”
“Yes, you may want to consider taking him off life support and letting him go.”
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Commotion- Ch. 4- The Final Installment
There’s a noise outside the door of my holding room. Two men arguing but I can’t tell about what. Then suddenly the camera’s red light goes off and the over head light is extinguished leaving only the circle of light from the table lamp. I know what’s coming next. I breathe in and out. Must not smile at their good cop, bad cop routine. Don’t want to insult them. I hear the door open and two sets of feet walk through the door. The light outside is blinding and I can only see shapes. When they shut the door one pair of shoes walks to the table and into my circle of light. My jaw drops.
“Hello, darling.” Charles is smiling and wearing a suit. I can’t speak. My eyes feel like they are bugging out of my head. “I couldn’t tell you. There’s a lot going on under the table here. But I was asked to bring you in as a favor.”
“A favor to whom?” I can’t rip away my gaze.
“Someone who wanted to see you. Someone you haven’t seen in a while. Lieutenant?”
“Thank you agent Swanton.” I know that voice. As Charles steps out of the light and stands beside me, another man steps forward into my line of vision. With his gray hair and grey eyes piercing me I feel tears well up in my throat. “Dad?”
“Hiya Kiddo,” he squeezes my hand. “I heard your Mom’s painting was causing quite a commotion.”
“Hello, darling.” Charles is smiling and wearing a suit. I can’t speak. My eyes feel like they are bugging out of my head. “I couldn’t tell you. There’s a lot going on under the table here. But I was asked to bring you in as a favor.”
“A favor to whom?” I can’t rip away my gaze.
“Someone who wanted to see you. Someone you haven’t seen in a while. Lieutenant?”
“Thank you agent Swanton.” I know that voice. As Charles steps out of the light and stands beside me, another man steps forward into my line of vision. With his gray hair and grey eyes piercing me I feel tears well up in my throat. “Dad?”
“Hiya Kiddo,” he squeezes my hand. “I heard your Mom’s painting was causing quite a commotion.”
Monday, April 27, 2009
Commotion- Ch. 3
On the day of we arrived at the museum dressed and pressed. In my stilettos and pant suit I jumped the line and stated “I’m the curator from the Museum of Modern Art in New York,” flashing my forged ID quickly to the guards. “I believe I’m expected.” They conversed with each other, checked their books, looked me up and down, then made a call on their walkie talkie. The real curator had of course been knocked out in the cab ride from the Rome airport to our house. Finally we were ushered in with a wave of the guard’s hand, Charles on my left acting as a translator. With the boys in line as eager tourist to see the artist latest highly anticipated piece the plan was in full swing.
As Charles and I sat in the office waiting for the head of the Museum and their curator to arrive the boys were making their way to the exhibit. As the curator and Museum director arrived we got the vibrating signal. They were in sight of the exhibit which gave us 45 seconds to distract the men in front of us. In his perfect Italian Charles laid on the pre-scripted bullshit we had worked up. “This piece should be in our museum. What gives you the right to show it before us, blah blah blah.”
On cue a guard burst in the office mid sentence of the Italian curator yelling right back at Charles. We all stopped and looked at the man panting heavily as he said something in Italian to the museum director. Without another word the two men from the museum rushed past us and the guard. We immediately followed curious to see what had interrupted our meeting.
As we got to the main floor of the museum we could hear loud shouting. A crowd had gathered blocking the way from the main entrance of the big hall to the prized piece of art. After a lot of yelling and pushing we managed to get to the center of the commotion to see Sam and Ted had started a brawl with a bunch of Irishmen. The size of the Irishmen and the fight itself seemed to have deterred any staff intervention. However being the biggest exhibit of the season the museum director and curator immediately tried to break it up. We joined in, pretending to be the Americans trying to save the art they know belongs to them and that is when we took our moment. Slipping the copy from under his pant leg Charles handed it to me as I edged over to the painting. In one swift movement I unrolled the forgery, slipped it into the casing and felt it catch under the clip. I pulled the real one out and rolled it tossing it to Charles who quickly slipped it under his pant leg, then slipped out of the crowd. I pushed back through the crowd. By this time the police had been called and were making their way through out the museum, the crowd quietly parting for them. The Irishmen and our boys, however, were unaware of the impending hand of the law and so continued beating each other mercilessly, dragging me in and causing me to start throwing punches.
When the police got in they managed to pull everyone apart with their shields and sticks putting me in with the others as an inciter. Sam had made his escape to Charles in the get away car during the police intervention (seeing that I had been captured and was supposed to drive the car) leaving only me, Ted and the Irishmen cuffed and tagged for questioning. Not part of the plan but I went with it.
As Charles and I sat in the office waiting for the head of the Museum and their curator to arrive the boys were making their way to the exhibit. As the curator and Museum director arrived we got the vibrating signal. They were in sight of the exhibit which gave us 45 seconds to distract the men in front of us. In his perfect Italian Charles laid on the pre-scripted bullshit we had worked up. “This piece should be in our museum. What gives you the right to show it before us, blah blah blah.”
On cue a guard burst in the office mid sentence of the Italian curator yelling right back at Charles. We all stopped and looked at the man panting heavily as he said something in Italian to the museum director. Without another word the two men from the museum rushed past us and the guard. We immediately followed curious to see what had interrupted our meeting.
As we got to the main floor of the museum we could hear loud shouting. A crowd had gathered blocking the way from the main entrance of the big hall to the prized piece of art. After a lot of yelling and pushing we managed to get to the center of the commotion to see Sam and Ted had started a brawl with a bunch of Irishmen. The size of the Irishmen and the fight itself seemed to have deterred any staff intervention. However being the biggest exhibit of the season the museum director and curator immediately tried to break it up. We joined in, pretending to be the Americans trying to save the art they know belongs to them and that is when we took our moment. Slipping the copy from under his pant leg Charles handed it to me as I edged over to the painting. In one swift movement I unrolled the forgery, slipped it into the casing and felt it catch under the clip. I pulled the real one out and rolled it tossing it to Charles who quickly slipped it under his pant leg, then slipped out of the crowd. I pushed back through the crowd. By this time the police had been called and were making their way through out the museum, the crowd quietly parting for them. The Irishmen and our boys, however, were unaware of the impending hand of the law and so continued beating each other mercilessly, dragging me in and causing me to start throwing punches.
When the police got in they managed to pull everyone apart with their shields and sticks putting me in with the others as an inciter. Sam had made his escape to Charles in the get away car during the police intervention (seeing that I had been captured and was supposed to drive the car) leaving only me, Ted and the Irishmen cuffed and tagged for questioning. Not part of the plan but I went with it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
