In the time it took Helen to consider the eyes of her lover, she had taken two Advil’s and gestured to the man who filled her heart with love to stay still. Eyes closed, he wondered about the mind of Helen, her brown eyes and brown hair were still vividly in his heart. They’d met two summers ago, at Jones Beach in Long Island. She was originally from the West Coast and didn’t like her one bit. Tonight, after an evening of a game called sheets. As the two, completely nude felt each other’s beating. Mr. Black, Helen’s boyfriend entered. All of her victims were found at the beach.
“Okay now, wrap yourself in the sheets.” Said Helen.
“Don’t you think this is silly Helen ? I feel like a goof.” Mister Black was smiling; he stood about 6’ 2” and was quite built. He had long hair, always tied in a ponytail.
“Go on, wrap yourself, or else you won’t see me again.” Said Helen, as the young man obeyed. He wrapped around, struggling to maintain his face together, he wanted to laugh.
Mr. Black placed his hand on Helen’s shoulder and smelled her hair; he was upset that another man took pleasure in her. The bedroom was small, the floor was wooden, and the walls exposed brick, a small picture hung on the wall, they had drawings, of animals and other abstract images. Mr. Black smiled; he knew what would come soon, as the victim played along with what he believed what a kinky game, the sheets, suddenly became violent. They wrapped his chest tightly, he hardly could breathe, eyes bulging, the young man saw Mr. Black now.
“What’s happening ?”
“Sugar, is this how you re-pay a lady ?” Asked Helen.
“What ?… What are you talking about ?” His voice cracking. As he saw Helen’s breast, just minutes ago he had her in his arms, she was warm and soft, her nails neatly cut, as she combed her fingers through his hair. He was mistaken, and un-sure of the world now, as he gasped for a final breath of air, Mr. Black whistled a tune, the sheets softened and relaxed.
“Why did you do that ?” Asked Helen.
“He’s your boyfriend Helen, don’t you have enough feathers ?” On a mahogany desk were dozens of large white feathers. All neatly spaced on the desk, a notebook with a sales receipt atop had the initials M.M. The sun was rising, and the wind was blowing leaves off the trees, and onto the windows.
“Kill him !” Said Helen, her voice icy, and her eyes firm, she twitched her lips, as the thought of all the others, who foolishly allowed themselves into her bed. At the moment her lips closed, the young man jumped and tried to escape, only to have the sheets reach for his wrist. As the white sheets wrapped themselves harder, the body completely covered, Mr. Black turned to Helen and begun kissing her delicately, her hands reaching his and the victim quietly vanishing. When Helen eagerly pulled away the sheets, she looked at her trap, her bed, and saw another feather.
“You’re building quite a collection Helen.”
“I’d like to be a writer some day Mister Black. I want to make my point, clearly and confidently.” Helen kneeled, reaching for a dress and a rose, which she placed on her hair. Reaching for the window, she whacked it open, and turned to the bed. The feather was larger than usual, and running her finger over it, she felt a chill run down her legs. An urge to let a tear drop was suppressed by turning the radio to a country station. Mr. Black begun shaking and nodding to the tunes in the room, Helen ran towards him, kissed him and whispered her plans for the next feather, as Mr. Black smelled the hair around her shoulders, he enjoyed kissing her neck and bite her ears.
The next morning, Mr. Black stopped on the corner of the street looking at squirrels racing along tree limbs. Some small children were playing near a playground, and an old man was attending to them. Waiting for the street sign to turn red, Mr. Black waited and begun to think of a clean introduction. He was out of place, Mr. Black would take details on a pad, which he records all his choices for Helen.
“Nice day huh ?” Asked Mr. Black.
“Sure is. Taking my grand-kids for a little fresh air.”
“Yes. Fresh air does brighten the spirit.” Mr. Black uttered, with his hand behind his back. The elderly gentleman had a glow on his face, a simplicity Mr. Black admired and resented inwardly with-out consciously admitting. It was fall and the leaves had begun falling. The children did not seem to notice their grand-father and his new friend. They played tag, and smiled whenever someone waved at them.
“How old are they ?” Asked Mr. Black.
“Um, the little one is six and the girl just turned ten.”
“Wow !” Said Mr. Black, masking his dislike for children.
“Me and my wife always wanted children, we’re thinking of adopting.”
“Really ? My daughter is thinking of adopting. I think she should but her husband doesn’t want more. He thinks they’re expensive.” As the two laughed, the two little ones finally looked and saw Mr. Black.
“My name’s Mr. Black !”
“I’m Edward. Retired.”
“Really ? Where from ?”
“Small business owner. Sold the business to my son-in-law.”
“Construction ? I only ask because your hands…”
“Oh no, close, furniture company. Been making furniture for forty-seven years. Had to give it up. Heart isn’t as strong as it used to.”
“I’m a salesman.” Said Mr. Black, sure the lie was believable.
“A salesman ? You must be good with your words. Like politicians and writers. Hate ‘em both I tell you.” As the wind gained speed, Mr. Black looked at the toupee. He had an urge to rip it, only to see which one of the small children would scream first.
“Well.” Said Mister Black. “I… I… am an honest salesman.” To which Edward chuckled. His rosy cheeks glowing and his double-chin juggling as Helen’s breast thought instantly Mr. Black.
“Furniture is a great business. I love using my hands. It’s humbling, building with your hands, you know ?” Mister Black nodded and scratched his face. One of the children stuck his tongue out at Mr. Black. As the water sprinklers near a fountain, a ball rolled along, turning to stone when it reached a stop. Edward looking at this, his eyebrows arched, then calling for the children, he accepted a feather from Mr. Black.
“What’s this for ?”
“Happiness ! You should see have a well winter. Many are happy to receive it.”
“A feather ?” Asked Edward, as he laughed.
“Take it, it’s a gift from your new neighbors.” Edward grabbed the hands of the children, he looked at the clouds. Their shapes, their tone, it had been years since Edward took the time. He needed to rest, this he told himself. It had been months, since the death of his wife.
“Thank you. I shall make good use of it.” Said Edward. Nodding and exiting the park. Mr. Black sat on a park bench, thinking of his own youth. He had been in love with Helen, even proposing to marry, and thinking, of all that had occurred in their past. Mr. Black wanted to be a writer, Helen was encouraging, she would hold his hand as he purchased paper from the stationary. Helen made him drunk, her legs, her arms, she had the qualities of a drunkard, the smell of shame. Little did they ever argue, she had all the control in the relationship, a way which was un-familiar to him.
The window of their apartment were not clean, and he could tell from the park. He looked at Helen’s face. She smiled and motioned for him to come back. Her breast were firm and examining his fingernails, he thought of hers. Helen’s fingers were long and delicate. She had two bracelets, she breathe softer around him, as a way, of enticing, of averting. Thought Mr. Black, though, as he rose and fixed his collar. The wind blew, and reaching for a Malboro, Mr. Black carried a single cigarette behind his ear.
“Hello !” Mr. Black, smiling and waving to a young lady, she had a college sweater on, and her eyes were still filled with hope.
“You know Edward ?”
“The grand-father ?”
“Yes ! He likes the weather ‘round here.”
“As do I.” He smiled, offering her his cigarette. Reaching onto his coat pocket, she licked her lips, soflty and with out conscious, before wrapping her lips on the filter. Looking both ways, she walked towards him, she extended her hand.
“Hi. I’m Theresa Sanchez.”
“Hello Theresa. As you also new to the neighborhood ?”
“Not too long, I moved here two years ago. I barely see it, busy with college and…”
“College ? Which one ?” Interrupted Mr. Black. Eagerly chirpy, he masked his displeasure easier now, as an enemy he thought.
“Columbia University, in Manhattan.”
“I know where it’s located. I used to walk in the winters around there. I loved the white snow in the night.”
“What was your name again ?”
“Forgive me, my name’s Mister Black. Please, don’t make fun of my last name.”
“Why would I do that ?” She asked, he invited her for coffee in a nearby restaurant. They sat opposite each other, and casually made eye contact. Theresa tired to speak with authority as Mr. Black would lean towards her, she isn’t used to large men, men with presence. This frightened and focused her mind. Mr. Black assured Theresa.
“I always had it hard, found it difficult to relax, men can be difficult to please. Pay no mind to me. “ Said her, softly and with slight remorse.
“I feel that about flying. I tend to pee on myself.”
“Really ?” Asked Theresa, with new brightness across her eyes.
“I’m lying. I’m a writer. Please don’t hold that against me.”
“A writer ? What do you write ?”
“Small articles here and there, I’m trying to build an audience.” She laughed, and drunk her first beer in months.
“An audience, an audience of what ? Magazine articles ? I’m sorry, but that seem just well, stupid !”
“Does it ?” Asked Mr. Black. Watching her freckles closely, accented by a small dimple. She had heavy eye liner on, and some lips gloss.
“I’m sorry. Don’t pay no mind to me.”
“No worries, I’ll be a big author some day, you’ll see.”
“What type of pen do you use ? Fountain ? Ball point ?”
“Neighter, I’m a romantic, I use feathers, it’s quite liberating you know ?”
Looking around the restaurant, she looked intently at Mr. Black. They talked of Edward, and the children, the changing neighborhood and the hearts of lovers and the creative.
“You know, you’re quite tall.”
“Six feet, two inches tall, that’s my height. Not my penis !” Blushing, she tried to look interested, and instead spit into a napkin.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t drank alcohol in some time.”
“Do you miss it ?”
“I miss the courage, I’m a bit of a coward. Most people don’t know that.”
“Perhaps, you should get a sweater. Advertise it.” She laughed.
“Do you ever worry, about your soul Mr. Black ?”
“I don’t understand the question !”
“Sure you do, don’t…”
Mr. Black stood, paid the bill and left immediately.
On the first floor of the building was a statue of a bird, which species, eluded Mr. Black, nor did he care to know. He often stared at it, as he passed it on his way home. Today, Mr. Black didn’t bother to look at the bird and continued directly to the door, as he fished thought his pockets, a far crying fell, and before he reached his keys, the bird was flapping over Mr. Black’s head.
“Get off me, Helen, help me… Help me Helen.”
“Is that you ?” Mr. Black heard her voice echoed though the steel door. He knew she was looking at him through the peep-hole.
“Damn it Helen, open the goddamn door.” She laughed, and pretended to have difficulty un-locking the dead-bolt.
“Do you ever worry about your soul ?” Asked Helen, making Mr. Black’s heart cold. The bird turned to stone, falling and crack a wing. The door opened now, and he saw Helen’s mischievous eyes.
“I could have been killed Helen.” Said Mr. Black, as she stared at the statue on the welcome mat.
“Are you going to clean this mess ?”
“Are you insane ?” She smiled, rolling up one sleeve of her shirt and slapping his face. She had wanted to kiss him, and she yet, she held his eye, feeling, searching for a new emotion, only to have it fleed.
Inside, Mr. Black locked the door. Kicking his boots off, hanging his jacket, and missing the hook. The jacket, a present from a college friend. The apartment smelled of fresh pine and the tables were sparkling. The dishes were clean and the spider webs missing. Mr. Black’s mouth was open, sticking his tongue out, he wanted to yell at Helen, instead he ran behind her, wrapping his arms around her, whispering in her ears.
“You smell magnificent.”
“Who was that old man ?”
“Our new neighbor. Find him attractive ?”
“Yes. I wanted him, why didn’t you bring him over ?” Mr. Black let the comment go, he was looking at her neck, and the hickey fading. Walking around, he sat and thought of last night’s soup. Creamy onions and carrots, he had felt better afterwards, even rested. Believing his eating habits were improving.
“Pizza tonight ?”
“No, I’d like some more soup.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry dear.” Opening the refrigerator, she looked at and took out a can of Coca-Cola. Mr. Black focused his sight on a framed photograph on the wall, a picture of their first date.
“Why did you frame that ? It’s not a very good photo.”
“I thought you looked so handsome.” Said Helen, firmly, and rubbing her lobe. Crushing the soda can against her forehead, she smiled coyly at him.
“You should be a tad more lady-like.” Said Mr. Black, rising and looking at the sink window. The wind blowing, and the feather on the table. The hand-written letter intrigued him, he leaned over it as Helen rushed, pulling it away and folding it. Swallowing it lastly.
“Why’d you do that ?”
“I like the taste of ink, besides, when I say I hear voices, I’m justified.”
“Voices ?” To which an immediate chuckle of a response he emitted.
“C’on Mr. Black, don’t you think I’m a bit colorful ?”
“I enjoy the sight of your new eye liner and lipstick.”
“Well then, no sex for you tonight mister.” Her smile was broad, always eager to match his shoulder’s length.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me at least ? Before I go to bed, I’d like to feel you.”
“BRING, BRING MORE !!” She said, Mr. Black knew the meaning, he looked down, and noticed his toes, neatly trimmed toe-nails, he turned the lights off.
Deep into the night, Helen left some candles, then, the candles lit themselves, and begun dancing to a rhythm un-known, nor seen. From the bedroom, Helen opened her eyes, knowing and expecting the fire and the dancing. Six flames jumped and skipped around, entertaining Helen, as she quietly gushed. She tried to wake Mr. Black, whose snoring irked her instantly. Lipstick smudged on his neck and shoulders, Helen prefers kissing him while he sleeps. A fact Mr. Black isn’t aware of in the mornings, he fears mirrors, and avoids them at all cost. Helen left a feather on the floor, waiting for the one of the flames to engulf it.
“Mr. Black, wake up Mr. Black !” The telephone rang, startling the flames, as they extinguished themselves. Mr. Black tusstled in place. Helen stared at the telephone, strangely un-sure if she should answer it. Looking at the framed photos on the wall, she notices the images missing.
“Hello ?”
“Is this Mrs. Black ?”
“I’m sorry, you have the wrong number !”
“I doubt that Helen. Do you recognize my voice ?” Helen looked at the digital clock, squinting and un-sure if she’s now dreaming or demented.
“Is this ?”
“Yes, yes, this is I Helen. Did you miss me ?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Helen slammed the phone. The flames on the candles awaken again, and cautiously approached the bedroom.
“I’m really, really sorry. Some people are just…” Whispered Helen now. “Awful !” Mr. Black turned, feeling for her, she looked at him, his breathing was soft, and gentle, she looked up and shadows were laughing at her. Wild trees were swaying along to a violent breeze, behind a tree trunk was a little girl, giggling initially and pointing at Helen. As she Helen looked at the portraits on the wall, she saw lines of thick blood crawling down. Then, the pig-tailed girl quietly sobbed, a gorilla hunched behind the child with a dagger in it’s teeth and reached for the small head, cutting the innocence which tearfully Helen begun to plead for silently.
“NO-o-o-o-o-o !” Yelled Helen, as the knife popped out of her imagination, and onto the bedroom floor. Whose blankets would stain in streak of red. Helen’s foot land on the cool floor, the flames in fear extinguished instantaneously.
As the alarm clock rang, Edward’s large, hairy knuckles slammed onto the snooze button. Yawning, stretching, he rubbed his eyes and looked at the feather, Mr. Black’s gift. After breakfast and a small jog, Edward took out some loose sheets of printing paper and tried to write a poem he had heard whispering itself through the jog, as rain splashed against his face. The feather would be dipped in blue ink, yet, as Edward pressed the tip onto the page, the words wrote in red.
Help… Help me… I am trapped.
Call the last of the stained mailmen…
Edward sat back, looked at the words, aware of his error, the poem in his soul couldn’t birth itself. Looking at a small mirror, he tried to remember the color of Mr. Black’s eyes. They struck him as intricate, and in a small way, intimidating. Edward didn’t like the feeling stirred up inside himself, Mr. Black reminded him of someone from his youth, a man who died in an automobile accident. He had the same eyes, but couldn’t recall their color. Edward thought they might be red, but this color only appeared in film photographs.
Help… I am six years old, a small
Girl, I see a knife, a big monkey took
My life
Writing on the next page, Edward could not believe these words were written, he had tried to force, to see the poem clearly. Yet, his hands disobeyed him, causing him to curse, and reach for a small flask under the table.
“Goddamn feather !” Snapped Edward, as he tried to bend it and break the feather in two. His back gave out, falling to the floor in agony. Looking up with disbelief, he saw the framed picture of his family on the walls, all were laughing at him. Edward rubbed his eyes, believing this were some dream.
“What the hell is this ?” Screamed and asked Edward, the telephone rang, quickly picking it.
“Hello ? H-E-L-L-O ??”
“Edward, hi ! It’s me, Mr. Black. Are you enjoying the feather ?”
“Who the fuck are you ?”
“Is me, Mr. Black, we met in the children’s park yesterday afternoon. I met, I met your grand-children too Ed !”
“My family, they’re all laughing at me. They think I’m stupid !”
“They don’t think you’re stupid Edward !”
“Then why…”
“You believe something’s wrong. You need to believe in something right !”
“Mr. Black ?”
“Yes ?” Asked Mr. Black, as Edward looked at a small clock on the desk. Time stopped moving, he reached for it and examined it closer. Slapping it and wishing it would work.
“Am I dreaming ?” Asked Edward, almost whispering with slight shame. Mr. Black laughed a bit, and then whistled a children’s nursery rhryme.
“What are you doing ? STOP THAT !!” Said Edward.
“I’m sorry !”
“How did you get my telephone number ? It’s un-listed !!”
“I didn’t, I just dialed some numbers at random as I thought, as I believe in you. This is how faith works Edward. You have to believe !!”
“I had a dream last night. A nightmare rather.”
“Tell me about it !” Said Mr. Black, his voice growing more pleasant to Edward.
“I saw a child, a girl, of I don’t know, six years old. She was murdered, murdered by some, giant gorilla.”
“Wow ! Some story you got there. Maybe you should write it down, use the feather I gave you.” Silence ensured the phone line, the clock begun moving. Feeling dizzy, Edward nervously at the age of 76 couldn’t believe he’d feel this ill. Having fought in World War 2 and after two heart attacks, Edward could now feel the sweat beads rolling down his forehead.
“Am I crazy ? Is this… Is this real ?” Nearly in tears, Edward asked.
“How old did you say you were Edward ?”
“Seventy-six, I’m seventy-six years old. I’m an ex-Marine, I served my country.”
“And how old is your grand-daughter ?” Asked Mr. Black, Edward looked up, saw the photographs on the wall, his family, no longer laughing at him, he decided to hang up the telephone. Taking another swing at his flask, he opened an iron safety box and took out a .38 caliber hand-gun, checking the magazine, and putting the safety off, he placed the gun in his backside and covered it with his leather jacket. Turning on the balls of his bare feet, Edward gasped and shuttered at the sight of his grand-daughter’s corpse. She laid over a small pool of blood, her frail body, her hair messy and covering much of her face. Edward recognized her by the large birthmark on her shoulder. Falling to his knees, he took a handkerchief, wiped tears off and bowed in sorrow, suffering an sharpened pain in this his chest. The Smith & Wesson was pulled from behind, and aimed the barrel directly at his temple, pressing firmly, drool falling on his designer shirt. As the shaking intensified, the gun fell out his hand, landing near the child’s cold blood.
Thuds on the door shook Edward, the banging continued, intensifying with each new blow.
“POLICE ! OPEN THIS DOOR, EDWARD S. SMITHSON, OPEN THIS DOOR, WE HAVE A WARRANT FOR YOUR ARREST !!” Edward, shaking, reached for the .38, un-sure of his fears, struggling to form thoughts, he imagined other mornings in his life, how different they had been, how calm and soothing was boredom. The telephone rang once again, before looking at it, he wiped his salty tears, licking them off.
“Hello ?”
“Still there ?” The voice, rich, silky, it was Mr. Black.
“My grand-child is dead ! The police are at my fucking door. What the fuck is happening to me ??”
“Try and relax Edward ! I’ll explain everything soon enough. You have to escape, meet me on the corner, disguise yourself well. I’ll solve all of your issues.”
“All of my issues ?”
“We haven’t got enough time Ed. The police are…”
“How do you know all this Mr. Black ?” A small silence cut through Edward’s heart.
“You want your life back, don’t you Ed ?”
“YES !!”
“Then follow my instructions !”
Helen’s hand reached for the deadbolt, un-locked the door and Mr. Black entered, followed by Edward. Edward notices Helen’s breast, she’s in nude except for black panties, her pierced nipples and a small rose tattooed to the small of her back.
“I’ll need the gun !” Said Mr. Black.
“W-H-A-T ??” Snapped Edward.
“You heard me, the gun, now, don’t even lie to me. I know you’re carrying.” Looking at the kitchenette, Edward tried to get a sense of the characters in his presence, the tastes and beliefs of his hosts. Removing the gun, he un-loaded it’s magazine, and handed it to Helen instead of the gun.
“The gun stays with me at all times, there’s a single round in the chamber. One lie from either one of you two, and you’re…”
“Shut up Edward, take off your clothes. Go lay on the bed.” Said Helen, as she wiped her prints off the magazine. Dropping it on a wastebasket.
“I’m sorry about your grand-daughter.” Mr. Black said.
“This apartment, it looks very much like my own.” Edward said. Things do change in life, this thought incensed Edward, he wasn’t expecting such new failures. Examining the rest of the place, he saw a blooded knife on the floor of the bedroom.
“The knife.” Said Edward.
“Yes. The knife, I witnessed the murder last night.”
“What am I doing here ? Huh ? Tell me anything, something…”
“Why are the police after you ? Have you noticed Mr. Black’s eyes Edward ?” Asked Helen. Nodding, he looked at Mr. Black’s eye closer than ever, they were completely black. Never noticing this, Edward felt chills run through his body.
“Am I, am I under some spell ?”
“Would you actually feel conscious of that Edward ? If indeed you were ?” Asked Helen. They all sat down. Mr. Black did most of the talking, Helen only smiled. Looking occasionally at the blood running along the blade of the knife. Edward stood calm, and listened pensively. Crying, apologizing, and crying more after, he hated his faith in war, how little strength he failed to gain from it. Mr. Black glanced at his girlfriend, deciding to proceed.
“Tell us about that night in France in 1940 ?”
“Children were killed, murdered savagely, the official version, as always differed in scope, like all soldiers, I obeyed my orders !”
“Orders, orders are…” Said Helen, before being silenced by Mr. Black. Taking a black hanckechief, Mr. Black thought of the two children, wishing he had some of his own. Perhaps if he had their innocence. Perhaps it was their laughter, now that young child is gone. It is different to see one another. This echo of a voice told him, as he folded the cloth back into his pocket. Edward was told the truth, he had been seen in a dream by Helen, and she choosed him because his hands were beautiful. Edward was told of the hands of time, of how they seize you, change you and create the callous courage, so stubbornly refused by men.
“Why me ?” Asked Edward, softly, as he thumbed his thumbs.
“Because, we already told you. You were a professional killer.”
“I was a soldier, I did my duty !”
Edward was instructed to enter the bedroom. Refusing to take his clothes off, he laid on the bed, and thought of his grand-daughter. The wind entered through the open window. Edward was sure these people would change him forever, he had the sensation, the blankets begun flapping, growing violently and covering him from head to toe. Edward shock and his strength weakened the legs of the bed.
“How long, how much longer ?” Mr. Black asked. Watching the police officers removing Edward’s SUV from his drive-way two blocks away.
“Are you getting soft Mr. Black ? You want me, don’t you ? I’ve become your weakness, and you my strength.”
“Stop with this mind shit. I don’t want to do this, that little girl Helen, she was just a child.”
She looked at him, smiled and extended her hand. She hoped he would reach it, and nodding in acknowledgement. Slamming the door shut, she took the feather, placing it against the red on the table.
“I’m going to write you a letter Mr. Black. I think it’s time to learn a new dance darling !” Helen’s words echoed through-out the apartment.
“I want out.” Said Mr. Black, as Helen laughed. Mr. Black was still standing on the hall, when the knife’s tip smashed through on his end.
“The end is always in sight isn’t Mr. Black ? How will this story, our story end Mister ? Huh ? Tell me, tell me mister Black ?”
Walking by the crime scene, Mr. Black begun thinking of the knife. Thinking of the blood on the floor. A team was removing the small body and all he could do was look away.
“Excuse me ?” Yelled an officer.
“Me ?” Asked Mr. Black.
“Yeah, you, did you know the man who lived here ?”
“No, never met ‘em. Is everything okay ?” The officers could not see the black eyes on Mr. Black. He wore shades.
“Thanks !” Said the officer, turning away, nodding to his colleague. Mr. Black entered the children’s park stood exactly on the same spot as yesterday. Revenge was the final emotion in his head, looking at his window, he secretly hoped Helen would change. She was an orphan, walking the streets of San Francisco. In their first date, Helen showed her slip tongue tip, she found Mr. Black, his ideas rather odd. Once Helen told him of a feather, they given to her by her father. Up towards the clouds, Mr. Black glanced at the skies, wanting to see an image, an image of a different future across the blue innonce.
THE END
