He’d been working on his alpha project for several days.
Some of it had been particularly tricky, especially getting the lighting levels right. He had put a lot into it, and could only hope that what he’d created would be properly appreciated. There again, this couldn’t be predicted, as such a thing had never been attempted before. The whole exercise had really taken it out of him and he felt the growing need to take a break. He had just carried out a few finishing touches to what was a very attractive garden setting, when he decided to take time out. So, after taking a long look at the two quite different figures, he placed them down gently in the garden.
Before he left, spotting the snake wrapped around one of the branches in the apple tree, he said, “Keep an eye on things, will you?”
He stood watching the boy. He was fishing; dangling his cheap rod and line, waiting for a catch. He was twelve and the other was twelve. They went to different schools but knew each other by sight. He knew they would be best friends, and spend time with each other after school hours. They would take turns in each other’s houses and become inseparable. In their teenage years they would do everything together. They would fall in with a bad crowd and make easy money selling drugs. This would end when they were in their early twenties and in the night club. They would be selling their wares when it got raided by police. They were both found to be in possession of, and selling, drugs. They would both be arrested and charged. It would end with a great deal of disgrace for both sets of parents. His friend’s folks would eventually sell their house and move away, while his own family stopped talking to him.
It was all fated and he knew it.
He didn’t know how.
He just did.
He stood a little way off along the bank, staring out across the narrow river. Their eyes met and he strolled across and sat down next to him.
After a bit of idle chat, he said, “You know, I have the feeling that we are destined to be the best of friends.”
It was a week after his grandfather’s funeral that he remembered the incident.
He’d been a youngster when it happened, but he had a clear memory of what took place in the shed, way back then. The old man was in there with something clamped in the vice. He was filing something when he had gone in to see what he was doing. The old man had answered some of his childish questions and he just stood watching. His eyes had landed on a small, metal cash box with a tiny key sitting in the keyhole. He had moved forward to pick it up, when his grandfather snatched it off the benchtop. He was angry!
The whole thing had stuck with him, because his grandfather was a kind and gentle soul, hardly ever saying a cross word. That had always been the case, until that day. The old man had shouted at him saying that he should no better than to interfere with other people’s belongings. The whole episode was so strange, with him turning quite vicious about the boy’s natural curiosity.
Now, standing in that same shed, having agreed to do a little tidying up, he had the opportunity to find the metal box. He started by doing a sort of all the rakes and brooms, before tidying the shelves on the racks that were fixed to the walls. If he came across it by doing this, all the better. That didn’t work. So, after straightening everything up, he began to hunt in earnest. He searched for another half-an-hour before discovering that it had been moved to a cardboard box with other bits and pieces. This had been pushed to the back, beneath the bench.
At last, he was now holding the box in his hand. There was no key for the box. However, knowing that there was no point looking for it, he found a large screwdriver that he could use to force the thing open. Cracking the lid free, he opened it and peered inside. In there, he found a piece of browning paper that had been folded twice in to a small square. As he picked it up, it began to crumble. When he attempted to unfold the paper it all began to flake apart. He could just make out some fading hand-written letters on some of the larger bits.
He thought, not even his favourite forensic scientist from the current tv show he’d been watching could do anything with this!
He stood, looking down at the fragments in the palm of his hand. Poking them gently with his finger tip, they simply broke up even further. Blowing on it made it all float to the floor like so much dust.
With a sigh, he realised that he would never know!
The campaign headquarters had received threats from an unknown party.
This, in itself, wasn’t something to worry about. Politics being what it is, staff were quite used to this sort of thing, either from the other side of politics or some random nutter trying to muddy the waters. These nasty emails had increased of late, owing to the election now being only a few days away. This particular warning however, had said that explosive devices would be used to make sure that the sender’s message would be taken seriously. This being the case, when the first staff member, the Security Manager, arrived and opened the campaign offices, after making himself a coffee, he always enjoyed a coffee first thing, their new coffee dispenser made a particularly good cup of coffee, he had a quick look around as part of his normal routine.
Finding nothing out of place, and after making himself another coffee, he went to his desk, powered up his computer and opened his email account. Looking at new mail, he was disturbed to find an email that was a follow up to the original threat. It stated that half-a-dozen devices had been planted overnight along with a timing mechanism that would be triggered remotely when the offices were fully occupied, at 09:30am.
Seeing that the time was 09:15am, he made another coffee before doing a thorough search. The campaign’s operations occupied the entire ground floor of the five-storey building. All of the rooms were checked and he found six explosive devices, so, after making another coffee, he did a further sweep and found a timer that was set for 09:30am.
Seeing that the Finance Manager was in, he went to his room. He found him looking at his computer screen and said, “You’ve seen it, then?”
“Yes,” came the nervous reply.
Looking at the time, the Security Manager asked, “Who’s managing today?”
Looking at the roster, the other said, “That’ll be Stinky.”
“Oh! That’s not good. He’s a real panic-merchant!”
“Yes, I know. He is bound to panic,” said the Finance Manager, “but we have to tell him.”
“OK, but…” he paused, looking at the time again, he said, “we’ve only got four minutes; so, let’s make it snappy.”
“Why is that?”
“It’ll give us just enough time to make a quick coffee before the place blows up.”
The text came in on his phone while he was washing up.
His hands were wet; he ignored it. He did all the washing up now, since she left. Of course, this included the cooking, the cleaning, making the bed, paying the bills, watering the garden… It went on and on; an endless list of chores that he hadn’t needed to do when she was still living with him. Although their marriage had gone downhill for some time before she apparently packed her bags and left without a word, moving to another town, he couldn’t help feeling that there had been so many things that she had done that he’d taken completely for granted. It almost hurt him to think that life with her hadn’t been that bad.
It wasn’t until later that evening that he remembered his phone pinging earlier. Opening it, he found a strange text that talked about how he needed to make sure the dog was fed… The fact that he’d never owned a dog would indicate that it had come in on his phone by mistake. There was nothing to indicate who had sent it. The only aspect of it that he found disturbing was the fact that the message ended with her name. He wondered what the chances were of a misdirected text being sent by someone with his ex-wife’s name? Pretty slim, he thought.
He was about to turn in for the night, when he realised that the phone message was still troubling him. Reluctantly, he opened the back door and peered out. Shaking his head, he crossed the back lawn and entered the shed.
Switching the light on, he checked the cement floor.
It had all seemed quite silly at the time, but it wasn’t.
They’d been going out together regularly for several weeks, before it happened. They were strolling through the local park one weekend, just spending time together, when the dog ran towards them. It didn’t look right. It was growling and slobbering. It stopped in front of them looking decidedly vicious. Then, all of a sudden, it turned and slouched off, whimpering. She had seen him make the strange hand gesture before. This time, he had definitely made it toward the animal, and as a result, had questioned him about it. He decided that he was comfortable telling her the truth about the matter and chose a bench, where they could sit and talk. It was then that he explained that his grandfather had been a Great Wizard and that he had headed a secret society.
She said, “I’ve seen you do that before. You seem to contort your fingers in a strange fashion, then raise your arm up at your side.”
“You’ve noticed.”
“I have.”
He nodded. “It’s all about kinesics really. That’s the business of body movements and gestures. Commonly used as a means of communication, but for my grandfather and his followers, a lot more than that, of course.”
“So,” she said, “he showed you how to do that, your grandfather?”
He nodded again. “Yes. As a young lad, this was the only thing he ever taught me.”
“Oh! Really? Why was that, do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
That was how it began.
They eventually married, had jobs, had a family, and lived a perfectly trouble-free life.
Over the decades, both used the hand sign, which they kept very much to themselves, with reliable results. All calamities were warded off. No near-death experiences, no traffic accidents, dog bites or bee stings. Not even the occasional mosquito bite.
It was in these later years that they fell to discussing it, yet again.
Their conversation ended with him telling her that the old man had said, “It’s all very well being in the hands of a few, but it would be a completely different matter if it became commonly known.”
“What do you suppose he meant by that?” she asked.
He shook his head. “You know, I have absolutely no idea!”
They’d been waiting for the plumber for over a week.
He was very popular because he always did a good job and he was very good at cleaning up after he’d finished fixing the problem. When they first discovered the leak, he’d crawled under the sink to take a look. From what he could see, it wasn’t something he could fix himself. He just didn’t have the proper tools to do it. When he talked to her about what he’d found he got the impression that she was unjustly disappointed. After all, if he tried to do it himself, knowing that he could make matters worse, she’d be even more annoyed. He knew he’d have to put up with her being grumpy about it until it was fixed.
She’d just finished mopping up again when he walked into the kitchen. Rather sheepishly, he said, “How is it?”
She glared at him. “Getting worse, that’s how it is.”
He sighed.
She got up and looking at the clock, said, “When you phoned him, you said he may get here today.”
“Well, no. What he said was he might get here today.”
“Oh! Don’t be silly. What’s the difference?”
He got out his phone and stood tapping at it. “Well, they’re both auxiliary verbs, I know that,” he mumbled.
More tapping.
“Yes, may is used to express opportunity or permission. It can also be used to express a wish or a prayer. That’s probably more apt in the present circumstances.”
He looked up with a grin, but couldn’t read the expression on her face.
He began tapping again. “Might, on the other hand… it’s another auxiliary verb, like I said. It’s also used to express possibility, but in the case of might, it is used when making a polite request for permission.”
He looked up.
She was still just standing there with her jaw dropped.
He raised his eyebrows and said, “I’m just telling you what is says.”
“For heaven’s sake!” she shouted. “Just get out, will you?”
Every morning it was the same, as soon as he woke up, it started.
He would hear them; the voices! The same appeals for mercy. They went on and on. Later, after taking in his delivered newspaper and having settled down with his morning coffee, trying to read it, they were still there. Pathetic pleas; all much the same. Men and women, young and old, the same urgent requests for what? Some kind of leniency? He never had the authority, or the actual desire, to disregard the terms of his employer’s contract. It had simply been what he did; what he did for a living. Knocking people off had paid well, but now, in retirement, the continual ‘you don’t have to do this’ and the ‘I can pay you to say you couldn’t find me’ and the ‘let them know, I’ll never tell anybody’. Would it never end?
For years, he had unknowingly convinced himself that he didn’t have a conscience.
He really couldn’t take much more of it.
There was an answer.
He went to his desk, opened the drawer and stood, looking down at the tool of his trade…
She had always used the online marketplace with its home delivery feature.
The idea of having all manner of items being shipped to a consumer directly had always appealed to her. She was continually ordering stuff on line, with at least two deliveries a week arriving at her front door. This love of things being done easily for her was probably as a result of having the kind of life she had previously lived. That was before emigrating and making her home in a new country. Although it was most unlikely that any of her newfound friends or acquaintances would know, but in truth, she did have a shady past. However, this was all behind her now.
This was the case until she was surprised to hear her doorbell sounding during the middle of the evening. She wasn’t expecting visitors and it certainly wouldn’t be a delivery at this time of night. Nevertheless, she felt uneasy as she cracked open the door, leaving the safety chain in place.
Peering through the gap, despite the poor lighting, she could make out that the man was dressed like a delivery person and his van was parked in the street.
Having stood waiting patiently for a few beats, he said, “Delivery!”
She unlatched and opened the door. She immediately recognised the company’s name on the package and knew what it was she had ordered. After signing for it and taking it from him, she started to close the door. This was when he coughed.
“Just one thing…” he said, as she was closing the door.
She half opened it again.
“Before I go,” he said, “I just wanted you to know that we are fully aware of the bad things you have done in the past, madam. Goodnight.” With that, he returned to his vehicle and drove off.
It would be hard to describe her emotional state during the days that followed.
Suffice it to say that regular shopping would now be the regular thing.
