"Letters"
by Acey
Disclaimer Haiku: DBZ is not [line break if "Text Only" is too dumb to put one]
mine, which is extremely sad [line break " " " " " " " " "]
for me, not for you. [line break "" " " " " " " "]
Oh, yes, and the story mentioned in this chapter is not mine, either, so don't try to sue me on that one.
The shoutouts (reviewers who ran away, I told you last time that I have no creativity demon ^_^):
Kelly Neptunus: Don't worry, your curiosity will be satisfied little by little, in these next chapters.
evil b---- monster of doom: I never thought of that! That's a really great idea!
Chuquita: Good point! Does she know? Well, have to read to find out!
And now, the seventh chapter (man, if I keep this up, this is going to be an epic-- well, sort of, in terms of the number of chapters. I don't know about the quality, that's for the reviewers to decide. I just write the stuff.) of the fic known as "Letters."
The second half of the third letter he wrote to her read as follows:
It was quite easy after that, quite easy. They had a fair amount of questions-- the safety of the experiments and so forth-- but I assured them it was fine, quite fine. In fact, I was surprised they weren't more suspicious.
"Wait," said the girl, "how do we know you're not planning on killing us?"
How, indeed. I smiled a bit at the question.
"If I really had the desire to kill you, I would have done it by now, don't you think, dear?"
The boy started on the word "us."
"You're not getting into this, Sis," he said quietly. "I'll give you the money and you can--"
"No," she said, and her voice was firm, pale blue eyes suddenly flashing. "If you're going to have the experiments done, then I am too." She turned to me. "Did you say ten million for the both of us, or ten million each?"
"Stay out of this!" her brother demanded. "I'll come back after it's over, I promise, so then--"
"Ten million each," I said, as I watched her brother argue with her, downright beg her to change her mind, to decide not to come. The old nostalgia returned as I saw their dispute-- the Biblical Jacob and Esau, these two were most definitely not. Odd to see twins that close in the age of the proud dysfunctional family.
"Then it's settled," she said, and it was.
They came willingly along out of the clothing store, following me to my headquarters nowadays, namely a-- no, that would be telling you too much, and I'm the first to admit that we don't know each other as well as we used to. I know that you would not betray any confidences back at the alma mater, but times change. People change. I've even changed-- but you knew that already. It would be unsafe to disclose that bit of information, for some truly are not to be trusted with anything. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean you, but let me tell you what I am talking about when I say that, so you won't get the wrong idea.
I don't remember the name of the story exactly, but I do recall most of the plot of the little tale. I believe it was called "After Twenty Years," or something similar to that. Anyway, it was about two very close friends that had promised that they would return to this one place, no matter what happened to them, twenty years later. After they made the said pact, they went their own separate ways entirely, neither hearing word from the other-- until that exact day they'd said they would return.
You may think you know where this is going. Unless you've read that short story, however, you've got no idea, none at all, which is certain proof of how good that author was.
They find each other in the designated area, each sure that the other had forgotten, coming close to not even recognizing each other, until one yells out his friend's name. Twenty years-- they have a good time, telling about what they've done in the past two decades. They are both quite startled at how time has altered one another's appearances-- when last they met, they were in the very prime of their lives.
I can't recall what the other friend was called, but I do remember that one was referred to as Jerry, and I think, though I'm not entirely sure, that the other was named Morris. For the sake of continuity I'll call him that, regardless of whether it's the correct name. Their dialogue goes somewhat along the lines of this:
"Jerry! You remember me, don't you? I'm Morris, the one that promised I'd come--"
"After twenty years! Of course I remember you-- I thought you'd forgotten, I would have forgotten myself, if--"
"Oh, don't worry, Jerry. It was a promise, and I intended to keep it, just like you did. I'm sorry for being so late."
"No, it's fine!"
All goes well, and they see for themselves what a difference twenty years can make in how one looks.
"Almost didn't recognize you, Morris! I didn't think-- wait, you weren't this tall last we met!"
"Eh, I grew a bit after twenty. This place sure has changed, hasn't it?"
"You're not kidding. Why, back then it was nothing but an old boom town, about to be closed up, and now-- well, look at it!"
This short story was written many years ago, so the references are old.
"Oh, yes. Twenty years is a long time."
"Sure is. Seems like yesterday-- but you go on first. So, Morris, tell me what you know."
Morris starts in on a discourse about all he's done, mentioning the railroad and a dozen outdated things like that.
Midway through, as he's talking, Jerry looks at him, really looks at him. The smile disappears from his face, and a cold look replaces it.
"Twenty years is a long time," he says, standing up slowly, "but not long enough to turn a Roman nose into a pug!"
"That's right, 'Skullface' Jerry, that's right. Hands up, we have you surrounded. Took us a long time to find you, but we got you cornered, didn't we, cornered like the skunk you are. But don't worry-- Morris sent you his regards."
A piece of paper is in his hand, reading something like:
"'Chief, this is the only place you'll be able to find him. I didn't have the heart to do it myself, so I sent a plainclothes man to do the job. Morris."'
Twenty years-- in that time, one had become a criminal, the other, a lawman.
And the lawman betrayed his friend.
Doctor Gero **********************************************************************
She finished the letter at 1:40, carefully folding it back into the envelope, stacking it with the other two letters she had completed reading.
She'd gotten the message, gotten it loud and clear. Gero didn't trust her farther than any stranger on the block, in fact, he trusted her less. He'd twisted the parable to make it sound like Morris was committing a sin by doing exactly what he was supposed to do, turn in the criminal, no matter who it was. Yet it was Jerry who was in the wrong the whole way through.
Jerry was wrong, didn't he see that? Perhaps he did, but all the same, the so-called betrayal had evidently struck a chord with the other doctor. Now he was more doubtful on whether she could keep her mouth shut than ever. Before he'd thrown out hints, or seemed to, at any rate, by the tone of the letters. She couldn't really decipher them but knew they were there. She wasn't gifted at playing detective. He'd known that, which was probably why he'd put the clues in the first place, to fascinate and vex her like Tantalus in the ancient myth, doomed to stand in water to his neck and be unable to drink it, she was doomed to puzzle through his letters and never figure out what he meant.
Fine, then, she'd play along. If he didn't think that she wouldn't tell, then she'd prove him right as rain. No reason to do otherwise. He'd done enough to incriminate himself without dragging her into this secrecy. It was unfair, totally unfair of him to do this to her.
She didn't know of any people who'd believe her right offhand. Heck, she'd already tried the police, and that had been worse than no help, almost. She'd been known around the scientific field especially as the much-overdone lone scientist-- that'd probably be on her grave, not that it was helping her any now. She'd made people aware of her through her own achievements, never helping anyone else with theirs. Unwittingly, she'd shut off the very people who could help her out now.
It was too much to mull over late at night. She turned off the lamp and reverted to restless sleep. Acey: More to come... my fingers are so sore... well, you know what to do!
Disclaimer Haiku: DBZ is not [line break if "Text Only" is too dumb to put one]
mine, which is extremely sad [line break " " " " " " " " "]
for me, not for you. [line break "" " " " " " " "]
Oh, yes, and the story mentioned in this chapter is not mine, either, so don't try to sue me on that one.
The shoutouts (reviewers who ran away, I told you last time that I have no creativity demon ^_^):
Kelly Neptunus: Don't worry, your curiosity will be satisfied little by little, in these next chapters.
evil b---- monster of doom: I never thought of that! That's a really great idea!
Chuquita: Good point! Does she know? Well, have to read to find out!
And now, the seventh chapter (man, if I keep this up, this is going to be an epic-- well, sort of, in terms of the number of chapters. I don't know about the quality, that's for the reviewers to decide. I just write the stuff.) of the fic known as "Letters."
The second half of the third letter he wrote to her read as follows:
It was quite easy after that, quite easy. They had a fair amount of questions-- the safety of the experiments and so forth-- but I assured them it was fine, quite fine. In fact, I was surprised they weren't more suspicious.
"Wait," said the girl, "how do we know you're not planning on killing us?"
How, indeed. I smiled a bit at the question.
"If I really had the desire to kill you, I would have done it by now, don't you think, dear?"
The boy started on the word "us."
"You're not getting into this, Sis," he said quietly. "I'll give you the money and you can--"
"No," she said, and her voice was firm, pale blue eyes suddenly flashing. "If you're going to have the experiments done, then I am too." She turned to me. "Did you say ten million for the both of us, or ten million each?"
"Stay out of this!" her brother demanded. "I'll come back after it's over, I promise, so then--"
"Ten million each," I said, as I watched her brother argue with her, downright beg her to change her mind, to decide not to come. The old nostalgia returned as I saw their dispute-- the Biblical Jacob and Esau, these two were most definitely not. Odd to see twins that close in the age of the proud dysfunctional family.
"Then it's settled," she said, and it was.
They came willingly along out of the clothing store, following me to my headquarters nowadays, namely a-- no, that would be telling you too much, and I'm the first to admit that we don't know each other as well as we used to. I know that you would not betray any confidences back at the alma mater, but times change. People change. I've even changed-- but you knew that already. It would be unsafe to disclose that bit of information, for some truly are not to be trusted with anything. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean you, but let me tell you what I am talking about when I say that, so you won't get the wrong idea.
I don't remember the name of the story exactly, but I do recall most of the plot of the little tale. I believe it was called "After Twenty Years," or something similar to that. Anyway, it was about two very close friends that had promised that they would return to this one place, no matter what happened to them, twenty years later. After they made the said pact, they went their own separate ways entirely, neither hearing word from the other-- until that exact day they'd said they would return.
You may think you know where this is going. Unless you've read that short story, however, you've got no idea, none at all, which is certain proof of how good that author was.
They find each other in the designated area, each sure that the other had forgotten, coming close to not even recognizing each other, until one yells out his friend's name. Twenty years-- they have a good time, telling about what they've done in the past two decades. They are both quite startled at how time has altered one another's appearances-- when last they met, they were in the very prime of their lives.
I can't recall what the other friend was called, but I do remember that one was referred to as Jerry, and I think, though I'm not entirely sure, that the other was named Morris. For the sake of continuity I'll call him that, regardless of whether it's the correct name. Their dialogue goes somewhat along the lines of this:
"Jerry! You remember me, don't you? I'm Morris, the one that promised I'd come--"
"After twenty years! Of course I remember you-- I thought you'd forgotten, I would have forgotten myself, if--"
"Oh, don't worry, Jerry. It was a promise, and I intended to keep it, just like you did. I'm sorry for being so late."
"No, it's fine!"
All goes well, and they see for themselves what a difference twenty years can make in how one looks.
"Almost didn't recognize you, Morris! I didn't think-- wait, you weren't this tall last we met!"
"Eh, I grew a bit after twenty. This place sure has changed, hasn't it?"
"You're not kidding. Why, back then it was nothing but an old boom town, about to be closed up, and now-- well, look at it!"
This short story was written many years ago, so the references are old.
"Oh, yes. Twenty years is a long time."
"Sure is. Seems like yesterday-- but you go on first. So, Morris, tell me what you know."
Morris starts in on a discourse about all he's done, mentioning the railroad and a dozen outdated things like that.
Midway through, as he's talking, Jerry looks at him, really looks at him. The smile disappears from his face, and a cold look replaces it.
"Twenty years is a long time," he says, standing up slowly, "but not long enough to turn a Roman nose into a pug!"
"That's right, 'Skullface' Jerry, that's right. Hands up, we have you surrounded. Took us a long time to find you, but we got you cornered, didn't we, cornered like the skunk you are. But don't worry-- Morris sent you his regards."
A piece of paper is in his hand, reading something like:
"'Chief, this is the only place you'll be able to find him. I didn't have the heart to do it myself, so I sent a plainclothes man to do the job. Morris."'
Twenty years-- in that time, one had become a criminal, the other, a lawman.
And the lawman betrayed his friend.
Doctor Gero **********************************************************************
She finished the letter at 1:40, carefully folding it back into the envelope, stacking it with the other two letters she had completed reading.
She'd gotten the message, gotten it loud and clear. Gero didn't trust her farther than any stranger on the block, in fact, he trusted her less. He'd twisted the parable to make it sound like Morris was committing a sin by doing exactly what he was supposed to do, turn in the criminal, no matter who it was. Yet it was Jerry who was in the wrong the whole way through.
Jerry was wrong, didn't he see that? Perhaps he did, but all the same, the so-called betrayal had evidently struck a chord with the other doctor. Now he was more doubtful on whether she could keep her mouth shut than ever. Before he'd thrown out hints, or seemed to, at any rate, by the tone of the letters. She couldn't really decipher them but knew they were there. She wasn't gifted at playing detective. He'd known that, which was probably why he'd put the clues in the first place, to fascinate and vex her like Tantalus in the ancient myth, doomed to stand in water to his neck and be unable to drink it, she was doomed to puzzle through his letters and never figure out what he meant.
Fine, then, she'd play along. If he didn't think that she wouldn't tell, then she'd prove him right as rain. No reason to do otherwise. He'd done enough to incriminate himself without dragging her into this secrecy. It was unfair, totally unfair of him to do this to her.
She didn't know of any people who'd believe her right offhand. Heck, she'd already tried the police, and that had been worse than no help, almost. She'd been known around the scientific field especially as the much-overdone lone scientist-- that'd probably be on her grave, not that it was helping her any now. She'd made people aware of her through her own achievements, never helping anyone else with theirs. Unwittingly, she'd shut off the very people who could help her out now.
It was too much to mull over late at night. She turned off the lamp and reverted to restless sleep. Acey: More to come... my fingers are so sore... well, you know what to do!