"We're alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone."
Orsen Welles.
I believed in humanity, the newspapers, soap commercials, politics and history books. But one day the world kicks you in the teeth and you don't have any choice, but to see things the way they really are. My name is Lucas Kane. My story is the one where an ordinary guy has something extraordinary happen to him. Maybe it was supposed to happen. Maybe it was my destiny or my karma or whatever. I know one thing for sure... nothing's ever going to be the same again.
A thump. Blood. Then motionless.
I was close to getting caught and thrown in a padded cell or behind bars.
And all because the secret government was trying to take over the world along with the evil technology watching us to attack at the perfect moment.
Was I just crazy? Was I just some over-imaginative writer? Or maybe this is the afterlife?
What else could the world throw at me? What more could the universe have in store? What could God possibly have planned for me?
Who knows. All I knew was that the moment I took that man's life everything changed.
I slouch back on the dining room chair, taking a long sigh, then having a nice long look around our apartment; the neat and open apartment which feels almost bare; it's really clean. The morning light blinds me, the dancing curtains brings in a breeze that makes me shiver, cooling off my sweat. A smell of fruits, particularly lemon, wafts my nose.
This makes it unbearable, adding to my sleepiness, I can't concentrate anymore. Have to focus on something else...
From my seat I can view nearly the entire apartment, the kitchen to my side, the living room on the other. Our bedroom door is open. It's pretty bare in there too. I was thinking about filling it with some more stuff but I simply didn't have the time for that. The breeze makes me cold but oddly refreshed. My vision blurrs from weariness and I lean my head back, closing my eyes, listening to the traffic going over the soft music from the living room.
"Hey, Lucas." A woman's voice calling from behind me, putting a soft hand on my shoulder.
I look behind and see Tiffany. I squeeze her hand. "Yes, Tiffany? What is it?" I open my eyes and the room seems darker. I must have fallen asleep.
"I'm just wondering if I should leave my stereo here. It's quite heavy and I don't have any room in my car." I practically jump up and gawk at her. The room is filled with boxes, boxes that she'll take away and my heart with it. It was all a nightmare, wasn't it? Tiffany didn't break up with me, she didn't die... "My grandmother is probably fine. But I want to make sure I'm there for her in case it's real this time. She's a hypochondriac so you can never be too sure, right?"
"What?" I ask, dazed from sleep.
Tiffany giggles and just looks at me, giving me the brightest smile. She's wearing her pink sweater and blue jeans. She's so small because of her diet and job as a nurse, I'm almost scared for her. "I'm taking a small trip to Florida to see my grandmother because she's in the hospital again. They set up my old room and I'm not sure what to bring. I'm going to be so homesick when I get there. Weird right?"
I feel relieved and cup her cheeks, looking at her green eyes and brushing her red hair. "Not at all. We made a place for ourselves here..." We stand there, Tiffany looking like she's waiting for something else before I bend down to give her a long kiss. She then goes to pick up her purse.
"I'll leave my stereo then. I know how much you love listening to my favourite band when I'm gone. I'll be with my home, my family. If you're gonna be missing me I'll leave it for you, okay? Bye." Before I know it, Tiffany is out the door.
Should I have said I loved her, that I'll miss her? No, she knows I feel it. I don't have to say it but I can't feel but regretting letting the moment pass.
The sun sets and none of the lights are turned on. I'm left in the dark. Tiffany's favourite song is singing of some place called Santa Monica. I go to turn the music on loud, try to stay busy, and I start doing the laundry, shower, mop the floor. I can't stand being alone, the quiet, the space which always leaves behind Tiffany's scent of strawberries, the loud music, and her voice talking to me when I'm half-asleep.
I plop down on my bed with a loud sigh and chuckle. I amuse myself and wonder how it would be like if we went our seperate ways: Tiffany would paint her apartment pink and have only snacks to munch on; while I would have to eat out in diners. Not to mention our collection that we agreed would be given to charity if we ever seperated.
Sleep overtakes me. I dream of my life back in my old home when I was just a kid, a normal kid living in the Wishita military base where my parents were scientists. I just had to know what would happen with Sherlock Holmes' latest case, finish my comic book issues, complete my made up story built with toy blocks and my imagination that I was Superman, ready to be a hero and save the world. I didn't really care for talking to my friends or even my brother. I lived in my own little world.
My whole life was routine, predictable. In the mornings we had breakfast, my parents went off to work while Markus played outside and I stayed inside until lunch where we all gathered, and then bedtime where my dad would tuck us in and -if we're lucky- a story from mom.
The other children used to call me freak, crazy and often said my behaviour wasn't normal. My parents couldn't be more indifferent about me. I was supposed to act immature, play pranks, sneak outside, etc. I did at one time but it wasn't long before things started to change.
I don't remember a lot about it. There was an accident, a lot of fighting, the camp got more guards and my family didn't have anymore time for me. There wasn't any breakfasts with mom and dad, they didn't tuck me in, no bedtime stories, and my brother got up so early and went to sleep late so that he wouldn't have to deal with me. My whole life suddenly changed, or so I thought at the time. And I found out the reason why. I heard my parents arguing one night and it was about me. Did I do something wrong? Were they going to seperate?
I have never felt more lost.
My life from Wishita up to Tiffany was full of drama I hate getting into it. But right now it's all so clear. My mind wanders from leaving the camp to New York, my new home, and then buying my new apartment and meeting Tiffany. When I first met her, she was still studying to be a nurse and she loved how much I knew about famous movies and books. We spent hours planning to see the next James Bond movie and completing our collection of JRR Tolkien's books. Our dates were conventions and concerts, book signings and Free Comic Book Days. We could never get enough of each other. We fell in love.
It's weird to think about it. She got a job at the hospital and moved in with me. I was happy but I couldn't shake the feeling of isolation. My parents had recently passed and Markus found his faith and worked as a priest at some church. I hated him. I hated my parents. I was so angry that my family had abandoned and left me alone again. Markus didn't help with consoling me about our parent's death. Anyways, Tiffany did that job much better.
In these days, we don't meet or talk a whole lot. I'm guessing it won't be too long before I get sick of his preaching and indifference to me that I'll cut all ties with him soon.
I hear the phone ringing throughout the apartment, vibrating the floor and walls, the sound piercing my ears. I always hated that phone.
I jump out of bed and once I pick up the reciever, I stretch and let out a yawn. "Kane and Harper residents." It's still dark outside. For a moment I wonder where Tiffany is.
"Lucas? Don't hang up."
Oh. "Markus. It's midnight. What are you doing calling this late?"
"I tried reaching you all day."
Really? "You could always try visiting me."
Markus attempts to control the quiver in his voice. Was he angry or about to cry? "You won't tell me where you live, Lucas." He sighs. "I'm calling because I wanted to apologize for our last meeting."
Yeah. Uh huh. "Look, I don't want to talk to you or see you. I'm sick of hearing you say how much God helped you get through your grieving or how I shouldn't cry and how much you want us to bond or something."
"Lucas...is that how you felt all along? I know how I can be...how do I say this...kind of a jerk to you. How I was as a kid was years ago, though. I'm trying to change now. I want to prove that to you. Give me another chance. Please?"
How could I forgive him? Where was Markus when I needed him the most while he played with his friends in our youths, when he went away to find answers to our parent's death as adults? Markus wasn't my brother anymore. He was now a stranger.
"Good bye, Markus." My voice comes out as a whisper as I gently lower the reciever.
If I didn't care for my brother anymore what was this pain I felt? It was like my heart was being ripped in two, a piece of me being torn away to leave a scar on my life.
I knew, deep down inside, I did love my brother.
A stabbing pain causes me to double over, feeling like my guts are releasing into the cavity of my stomach; a migrain tightens my forehead muscles and makes me nauseus; and my entire body suddenly feels weak and heavy as I fall to the ground and everything goes black.
I'm cold. My body is devoid of warmth, of emotions, even memories. I feel like an empty shell. I'm alive but inside I was dead. What's happening to me?
My eyelids are made of lead as I try to pry it open, my breathing very subtle as I feel the weight on my chest, the sweat on my body making my clothes stick to my skin. I'm back to sitting on the chair, the morning sun filtering through the curtains with the open windows, a gentle pressure on my shoulder from someone's hand coming from behind. Why was the apartment so bare? I can't remember, my brain slowly functioning again and the pain subsides.
"Lucas?"
No, I can't let Tiffany seeing me so weak, fainting from something as pathetic as talking to my brother. I fainted because of the pain of me cutting off contact but it will get easier over time.
I turn to face my love but instead of the small figure of Tiffany -her silky red hair tied back and wearing girly clothes- I see another woman. She's taller and confident looking -her raven black hair tied in a stylish bun and wearing expensive designer clothing- with a face of fearlessness and determination instead of the sweet and innocent look of my only love. Who is this woman?
"What were you thinking of?" The stranger smiles at me, until she sees my expression, then her forehead wrinkles with concern as she adds pressure to my shoulder. Again, she repeats, "Lucas?"
At once, my mind snaps back to reality as I remember the more recent events of my life.
I grab her hand at once, looking my wife straight in the eyes, and say as sincerely as I can, "Nothing, nothing at all..."
It's cool in New York this morning, the traffic heard through the open windows along with the wind and birds chirping. Hip-hop music is playing on my stereo instead of "Dead Man's Theory", the aroma of sweet strawberries that had seeped into the furniture was now replaced with cleaning chemicals and lemons.
I remember now. Three months has passed since the death of Tiffany and Markus. After they died I had moved out but it wasn't long before I came back to this old place. It was here that I had taken a rare rest and reminisced my old life.
I was a changed man since those times. Though I often think of the past -of my first girlfriend and the life we would have had, of hectic schedules and days filled with plans to go out on dates; and my brother who I never really had the chance to say "I'm sorry" and get to know him all over again- I've never really given anything another thought these days.
I glance to our bedroom where on the nightstand lies my pills and then to the kitchen counter where a half empty bottle of liquor stands. I have a splitting headache and my stomach is killing me.
I see Carla accept my answer, nodding and patting my back. She undoes her bun to let her hair down limply by her side and then takes a leap over the couch, landing smoothly. She straightens out her magazine, making little grunts and crinkles her nose. Whatever she was reading, it didn't sound fun.
Without looking up she calls out, "Do you still want to keep the sex of the baby unknown, Lucas?"
Our unborn baby's gender. With a grunt of effort, I get up and climb over the couch to lay next to her, wrapping her in my arms and saying near her ear, "Lets make it a surprise. We could give her a unisex name." I stifle in a laughter and bury my face in her soft hair, breathing in her vanilla fagrance.
"Her?" She turns to lay on her back, facing me with a smile spreading across her face. "We agreed on naming him Thomas, remember?"
"You can name her whatever you want, sweatheart." She giggles as I put my forehead to hers. She grabs my neck and pulls me in closer for a kiss. Then she sighs.
"Our child won't be alone, will he? He'll have us. His little friends. And if we're lucky he'll get a little girlfriend too, to live with so he won't be alone when he grows old."
Carla knows I don't have to say a word. I close my eyes for a moment and remember the tender kiss, her body for me to hold onto, her blanket of hair my pillow to rest on. I caress her pregnant belly, breathe her in, soak up her affections, let my memories of Carla -of her waking, crying from a nightmare; taking the longest shower so I could join her; her cute laughter when I tell her my overly worked, intricate joke; and when she comes home at 3 AM, carefully crawling into bed and falling dead asleep- run free in my mind.
Soon, Carla is knocked out from stress, her baby magazines scattered along with newspapers and my books. We don't have a shelf to put them anywhere yet.
I quietly get up and walk back to my chair, shocked at these unexpected emotions and having these thoughts. I had long ago changed, taken on this empty shell that had nothing to fill it; no memories, no laughter or tears, no sickness or even death to affect me anymore.
When I think about it, this behaviour wasn't different to how I was after my parent's deaths.
Is that why you left me, Tiffany? Is that why you tried so hard, Markus?
I cannot stop these flashbacks and emotions flooding in. It's unbearable. I put my face in my hands in shame.
Ever since that moment that changed my life...
I know one thing for sure... nothing's ever going to be the same again.
A thump. Blood Then motionless.
Scarlet burns as fire against my murdering hands
Fire spouting forth and painting the cold floor a masterpiece
Whose silent cries does these moments reach?
God?
Man?
No, it is me.
An object which is mourned
By me a thief who stole which isn't mine
Forever shall these hands bear the mark
Of the Devil's?
The Angel's?
No, his whose body lies on the floor,
Yes, him who is watching from up above
Me
"We're alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone."
Orsen Welles.