Friends With Shadows – Chapter 5 (moving along)

Writer’s Note: The continuation of Chapter 5 is a special chapter since it introduces a new character, “Cherie”, which is the name of the winner of the sharing/tagging challenge from last week. Is she good? Is she bad? Let’s find out! Congratulations Cherie! Enjoy your name immortalized as a character in this book!

I’ll be doing more challenges in the future, so don’t worry if you didn’t believe me that I’d put someone’s name in the book. There will be more chances in the future! Now, let’s see what happens! Find yourself a nice cup of coffee, find a corner in your break room, snuggle up on your couch (preferably if it’s raining), and get ready for the last part of Chapter 5!

Chapter 5 (continued)

A bead of sweat runs down his face as he turns around from the front seat. He fakes a smile and asks how I’m feeling. I’m unable to deliver a snarky remark when he interrupts me and asks to who I’ve been talking.
I assure him that I’ve talked to no one besides the doctor, the attorney, and him – I then ask him what topic he’s referring. He licks his dry lips and swallows.
His fuse has been lit by someone and has caused his patience to be lacking, “THE MAIL, SNITCH!”

I can see him trying to calm his breathing and then slow his words using his most friendly and sincere voice in his repertoire of interrogation techniques, “Sorry. I’m sorry. I need to know who you’ve been talking to about the mail you’ve been delivering.”

He can see an amount of fear and confusion in my eyes and moves his hand up and down in a calm-down motion. I tell him that I tell no one about the transactions out of fear of being in rehab for the next decade or two.

“What’s that?” Dean points with his finger to his chest with his chin up, referring to the stitches that appear just over the top of the shirt I’m wearing. “Is that from the accident you had? Anyway, I need you to make sure you aren’t talking to anyone. An-y-one. If I find out you’re talking, you’re going to be begging for rehab.”

I nodded affirmation. One of the guys in the car opens the door to the car and lets me out. I stand there, stunned – the rain begins to fall. Great, now I’m in a cheesy independent foreign film with subtitles.

From the wet darkness of the alley a soft voice follows a path to my ears. Disarming. I look over, all I can see is the soft silhouette of a tall woman. I focus in on what she’s saying as she holds out her hand with an opal colored ring that covered the entire bottom segment of her middle finger, “Hi, it’s time for us to talk and for you to meet someone. I’m Cherie.”

With no hesitation, rehearsed, she reaches for the inside of her fitted blazer quickly and pulls out a shadowed object.

Great, I’m going to die in a cheesy French college student independent film alley.


Friends With Shadows – Chapter 5 – Now, we’re movin’!

Writer’s Note: I am very excited about how this story is developing. I’m going back and making some minor changes which will help the story along based on reader feedback. Yes, I do listen to your feedback! How often do you see an author actually listen to his readers while he’s writing his new book? You don’t. It doesn’t happen! Get on board! Let me know what you think, good, bad, indifferent. Here’s some fantastic imagery and plot development while you enjoy your lunch! Dig. CHAPTER 5!!! Yes! 

Chapter 5

Outside the hospital, fully clothed and semi-alert, I begin meandering down the street toward home. I can feel my new stitches. My two hemispheres of skin gently and slightly passing by each other like two tectonic plates seen from a distance; if I were on the surface of the skin, there would be pain, chaos, buildings crumbling, gas lines rupturing. My new prescription medications tumbling in my pocket, a maraca with each step keeping rhythm.
I hear the friction of the wheels against the pavement before I actually see the car. I feel my legs get scooped up from behind and my head cradled horizontally. Before I can make sense of what’s going on, I’m in the backseat of the car and not recognizing the two guys beside me. My vision turns into multi-colored static, oxygen catching up with my brain from being unexpectedly tipped back. The driver, I recognize him, Dean. I’m not certain how long I’ve been gone but I know he has got to be upset with me right now. If I may be completely honest, I had completely forgotten about everything: my job, my side job, meeting Dean at the pick up location, I haven’t even figured out what day it is. Somehow, dying and then waking up to see a surgeon with your spleen in his hand takes precedence over everything else.

He could have just pulled over and asked me to get in the car; I needed transportation anyway. The screeching wheels around the corner wasn’t totally necessary, but I like to think that maybe he’s just practicing his perishable skills of operating an emergency vehicle.

Dean pulls over into a stereotypical alley where I assume they’re going to give me marks on my face that I’ll be unable to fend off and then maybe take me to rehabilitation for delivering “mail” – if I survive. Great, I might die, again, but in an alley filled with the smell of old fish and diapers.

….to be continued….