Scarlett's Web

 

Tablo reader up chevron

Chapter 1 - Pawn to E4

Tomorrow at 12pm I’m going to jump from the top of Hornsey Bridge in London. Before you go thinking, suicide is selfish; anyone who does that is a coward; or good: one less asshole in the world; bare with me. I’m doing this for a girl. Her name is Raven and she’s the only person I’ve ever loved. 

She’s standing there; behind the counter grinding beans and wearing a green hat and orange overalls as part of her uniform. I’ve been staring at her painting on the wall for the past few minutes. I should mention. I’m sitting at Cunt’s Coffee at 9:00pm on the night of my dad’s funeral. Yes, Helltown is a real place and no it’s not actually called Cunt’s. That’s just what Raven and I call it. I’m focusing on the painting while I wait to ask her why she skipped out on my dad’s funeral. 

The sound of grinding beans snaps me out of my wide eyed distant gaze. I squint, realizing Raven’s painting is actually a pale white woman in a red dress holding a red umbrella in front of a black background and not a mangled corpse at the bottom of a bridge. I haven’t seen this painting before but I know it’s hers. There’s an insignia at the bottom. See it? It’s a capital “R” with a slit drawn at the top to make it look like a penis. I was with her in 3rd grade when she drew it on her homework for the first time before she giggled and handed it to Mrs. Wise. Now it’s her artistic signature.

I lean back in my booth wishing my hands were warm from the hot coffee I ordered 10 minutes ago. My ears ding and I glance up to see a yellow exclamation point bouncing at the top of my vision. Each update they get more aggressive with these notifications. I’ll check it later, I think. The notification goes away. 

I look over at Raven, mouthing “have a nice day,” to the large white Helltownian woman standing at the counter. The woman turns to leave. Raven rolls her eyes anxiously before fixing on me. Visceral disdain. Dead eyed stare. 

I know it’s only a matter of time before she comes over. She wasn’t expecting me but she should be. 

Another customer walks in the door. I bite my lip, control my breathing and focus on the fake tree in the center of the table. Dr. Schafer taught me to focus on simple things when I get angry. So I breathe; examining the contours of the white and black salt and pepper shakers dangling from the tree and hung by cute Etsy noose ropes. Comforting. 

Open Death Journal, I think. 

The journal appears in front of my eyes. I set the transparency to 20% so I can still slightly see the kid in the corner talking to himself and dribbling hot coco down his face.

Date and time, I think. 

The date appears: 

 

April 28, 2031: 9:01 PM

Here I am again; in Helltown sitting at Cunt's Coffee at 9:00 am on a Tuesday. 

I guess when the police scan my tag someone will be tasked with reading this. So I should explain before going any further. The name of the coffee shop is actually Cuff’s Coffee and yes, Helltown is a real place. As per my will and my final testament, please send this journal to Raven Love at 2487 Major Rd, Helltown, Ohio 44264. Tell her happy “Python Day.” She’ll know what it means. That’s the last time you’ll hear me say “please” in this journal so buckle the fuck up. 

Dear Raven (and Cops), 

It was nice seeing you one last time at Cunt’s. I didn’t have the courage to tell you but that was the last time you’ll see me. I’m flying to London tomorrow. As you know, my dad’s funeral was today, which for some reason you avoided. His final wish was for me to play in his seat at some chess tournament. Yeah, I know. I suck at chess but I’m doing it for him. After that, I’m going to wait until midnight, walk down the street from my hotel; take a final look around; and then think about you before I jump from the Hornsby Bridge. 

You’re probably angry right now. Don’t be. Just so you understand where I’m coming from, my fiance just left me (yep, the one you hated), I’ve been laid off from my job and, as you know, I buried my dad this morning. This leaves you as the last remaining person I care about… and well, you won't talk to me.  

5 years of silence may make me look like an asshole but don’t think our childhood was wasted on me. It’s funny what memories go through your head when you know you’re going to die. 

I laughed earlier in the bathroom thinking about when we used to sneak out freshman year stealing goose statues, dressing them up and putting them in random people's yards. I was laughing insane enough that the guy in the stall next to me asked if I was ok. I told him to fuck off. 

My favorite was our Freddy Mercury Goose: Assless chaps; giant black strapon dildo. You almost fell laughing when Pastor Jacobs turned on his porch light and you ran back to the bushes. The look on his face seeing Freddy Mercury pointing straight at him. I’m sure his dark side will smile when he hears the news about my bridge encounter. He always knew it was us.  

The truth is, my whole life I’ve been wandering. I know you can relate. 28 years old; going on nothing. I beat the odds. One more than Kurt, Jim, Janice and Jimmy. One too long. It’s only a matter of time before automation swallows up any purpose we might have had. 

I’m sure Lance told you how we forged my degree to get me the job at the power plant. My whole life has been like that: A forgery. When I think about you, you’re someone who still has a chance.

I’ve heard your excuses. I know your situation. You haven’t convinced me. It’s all about money. It’s always been about money. What’s left over from my dad’s inheritance should be more than enough for you to put your grandma in a good home and not have to worry. I know you love her but someone else should be changing her diapers. She doesn’t even know who you are anymore. 

I want you to be free. I want you to use your UBI to travel and paint like you always wanted. I’ve finalized my will to transfer dad’s inheritance to you and it should be going through in the next few weeks. All that's left is for me to jump. 

Alright, last thing. If you’re going to paint I want you to do one thing. Paint something of me. Make me look cool. Give me a chiseled jawline and a piercing gaze. Tell everyone how amazing I was. Lie. That’s what I’m saying. I want you to lie.

Close note, I think

Raven walks around the counter. I act natural, tapping my fingers and pretending to look at the black ghost mural painted over the flat orange wall. I hate how everything in this town is halloween themed. Another customer walks in the door. Raven stops, rolls her eyes and lets out a visible sigh as she turns around and walks back to the counter.

“Welcome to Cuff’s Coffee,”

My concentration returns. 

Open “Death Journal"

I hate coming home. This is the only place in Helltown I've ever liked. Mainly for the old jukebox and story machine in the corner that spits out 500 word narratives on printer paper. I get the feeling kids don't even know what paper is anymore. It bums me out. 

All the stories are written by the same three locals which means they’re all terrible. Have you read the one about the romantic astronaut or the little boy and his horse? It’s obvious the author has never been on a horse because he mentioned mounting it from behind. You never mount a horse from behind. Never. Unless he meant something else. 

As much as I’ve avoided Helltown, Cunt’s is the last bastion of hope for people like us. Paper and buttons; switches and knobs. Of course, we’re the only ones who notice. Everyone else is captivated by invisible holograms painted over their contact lenses. I won’t pretend I’m innocent but we’re beyond repair. There are no more letters left after Generation Z. We’re just the Lost Generation: A class of fading stars and exploding supernovas. A whole society fading into Snapchat ghosts; looking through each other to find meaning. For once, Howard Zinn style, our history is written by the losers. 

Close note.

The lack of noise at the counter catches my attention. I look over to see Raven glaring at me. Her “Coffee Artist” co-worker hands her my 15 minute, now cold, coffee like it's a grenade with the pin pulled. She rounds the counter without breaking eye contact. Shit face intact, she slams my coffee on the table as if she’s trying to spill it. The lid pops off and spins like a coin. 

“Black coffee. No cream. No sugar,” she says. 

“Yeah," I say, "That’s the definition of black." 

            She stands, staring. Dark brown demanding eyes. 

“Why did you come here?” 

“Excuse me?” I say.

“I said, why did you come here?”

I pause. 

“Why weren’t you at the funeral?”

She looks away.

“You really came here to make me feel like shit didn’t you?”

“Yeah, exactly. I want to know. You couldn’t even show up?” 

“Tim...I haven’t seen you in 5 years,”

I try to think of something to say. I knew that was coming and still failed to plan a response. I look away. She continues, “I couldn’t get the time off. I thought about quitting... but... treatments are getting more expensive.” 

“No,” I cut her off. She’s repeating the same programming she’s convinced herself of since school. I allow my neck muscles to relax because I'm sure they're twitching and she knows my tells, “It’s ok...It’s out of your control,” I try to say this without judgement but I’m certain it comes out as condescending. I take a sip of my cold coffee and look up, “So how is she?”

“Worse as always,” she says, “But at least she doesn’t know what name to call me anymore,”

“Do you think she’d recognize me?” 

Raven laughs, “She’d probably think you’re a burglar and beat you with her cane.”

I laugh, choking on my coffee, “It’s worth it if you record it,” she smiles and I continue, “maybe we can even make some money and you can travel the world and paint.”

She rolls her eyes again and starts to walk away.

“Hey, stop...” 

She turns back, “Why? I don't see you in 5 years and you immediately go back to that shit? It's not going to happen Tim. And there's a reason we don't talk anymore."

“Oh, is this what your life is supposed to be? Selling coffee to pay for your grandma's medication? Missing my dad's funeral. Rolling your eyes and non verbally telling me to fuck off?”

"Fuck off," she says. 

The manager and her co-worker look around the corner. 

"Got it…"

“I do what I have to do Tim,”

“Yeah, well what about that painting?” I point to the woman in the red dress on the wall. 

“That painting has been sitting on the wall since you left 5 years ago.”

“So what? Helltown isn’t an art community. What about in Europe?” 

“Tim, stop.” 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the words cut through the air and fan her flames. 

“Yeah, well you weren’t supposed to leave.” 

She turns around and walks back to the counter.

“Raven,” 

She disappears behind the counter as the manager glares at me before walking after her. 

“Real nice Tim,” her co-worker says with her arms crossed. I try to ignore her but wonder why she thinks she can use my name. I've never see her before. 

A new exclamation point appears at the top of my vision. It’s a thought from Lance. 

“Where you at?”

“Cunts,” 

“When you coming?”

I really don’t want to answer. Lance is throwing a “dying party” to celebrate my dad's death and thinks I’m ok with it. He says we should celebrate rather than be sad. It’s just another reason for him and his friends to get fucked up. Another message comes through. 

“You can’t skip on your dad’s dying party. Plus, you need to come get this,” 

“Lance...my dad didn't give you shit. You’re the last person on Earth he would ever trust with something important.”

A moment goes by.  

“Get the fuck over here neighbor. The coke's getting flat.” 

“You better not be lying to me Lance.” 

“Come on man...Your dad’s dying to see you.” 

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 2 - Knight to F3

This is my dad’s death party. For a moment I forget I’m going to die tomorrow and instead fixate on the sound of ripping Velcro as I lift my leg from Lance's leather couch. Lance is the only person in the town who opted out of air conditioning in his membership. If you ask him why he'll tell you that he's practicing for hell. 

“Nigga Gangsta damn near froze to death 69ing a moose!” everyone takes a drink. I didn't choose the events of this party but the kids are playing a drinking game called "Nigga gangster" based on a parody voice over of the 1990s kid show Power Rangers. Each time the villain in frog suit (Dennis Frogman) says "Nigga gangster" everyone drinks. It lasts about 8 minutes and each delinquent is holding three beers. The harsh reality of how I’m spending my last hours serves as a flashing indicator of how shitty I've lived my life. 

“You’re not drinking,” 

I look to my left, somewhat surprised by the sudden appearance of a random kid wearing a tie dye shirt on the couch next to me. 

“No… Don't really feel like it.” 

"You're Tim right? He was your dad."

I nod. The kid turns his shoulders towards me in obvious preparation to drop some knowledge. 

“Crazy...You know sometimes man you just gotta let it go even if it's just for a few moments, that's the power of the mind.” I imagine a string attached to his back I can pull for other unhelpful cliches. 

“Nigga gansta!” the frogman says.

The hippy drinks. 

"Yeah, I guess" I nod. Hoping he'll leave me alone. 

“What did Lance give you?”

“Lance?”

He points to a small cloth bag I forgot I was holding in my left hand.

“Oh yeah...I dunno, something from my dad.”

“What’s inside?” 

“I don’t know. He told me not to open it” 

“Like, ever?” 

“Ever, I say,” with my best Robert Downey Jr. sarcasm attempt. 

“Wow,” he turns his head forward, contemplating what just happened. I watch as his eyes flutter a few times and his head nod down into a comatose sleep. Must be that part of the roll. 

I feel a sense of relief and go back to observing my surroundings like a third person narrator. There’s 7 people in total standing around holding beers, all fixated on a shared hallucination of a man in a frog suit fighting power rangers. This is the tragedy of self awareness. 

In the midst of all the chaos, a small chihuahua enters the room from stage left. He stops, turns and looks directly at me. Rising on his hind legs like a prairie dog, his two front paws begin to scratch between his legs. 

“What the fuck?!” I say out loud, looking around amazed to see that no one else seems to notice. The dog is staring...he does not break eye contact. 

“I need help,” I think to Raven.

The dog continues. His determination is relentless. Surprisingly, she thinks back immediately. 

“Fuck off."

I send her a live video of what I’m seeing.

“Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you Tim? Why are you showing this to me?”

“I really need your help”

“Why is he looking at you like that?”

I’m scared Raven…” 

“Are you at Lance’s?”

“Yeah, I don't think I'm going to make it out of here alive."

“I’m surprised you went.” 

“He baited me. Said my dad gave him something to give me.”

"Can you stop showing me that fucking dog?"

"Oh yeah sorry."

I cut the feed.  

“Wait your dad gave Lance something to give you?” 

“I know, I didn’t buy it either.” 

“How drunk are you?”

“Lance left me here and I’m stuck. I can’t stay here. These kids are rapists. I can sense it.”  

"You sure you're only drinking alcohol?" 

“Hey! Stop that,” Lance runs into the room and shoos the dog away. He's wearing a black shirt, a fake gold watch and a James Dean haircut with a toothpick sticking out of his mouth, “Sorry about that man. Fuck,” he puts his hand on the back of his head watching as the dog runs into the other room. ”Man...you know. Sometimes he just does that. I should probably get him fixed or something...” 

“It’s all good...”

“Hey, why aren’t you playing Nigga Gangsta?” Lance spills his beer as he motions to the crowd taking swigs of beer. 

“I don’t want to be here man."

“Tim. Wake the fuck up. This is a celebration. You're the star. Your dad was a great man. He would have wanted this for you.” 

"I guarantee you this is the last thing my dad would have wanted for me."

“Come on, man… drink. Dennis Frogman is about to eat the Yellow Ranger. You gotta drink man” 

“Lance I don’t want to be here.” 

"Drink"

"Lance,"

"Oh shit! He swallowed her whole!'

Everyone cheers. 

Lance looks away and points at my beer. 

“So... how’s your beer neighbor?” he laughs.

“I feel fucked,” 

“Yeah, you should."

"What do you mean I should?"

"I mean you should… Since I put molly in it,” he laughs again taking a drink. 

“You did what?”

“You heard me you little bitch, this is your time. You can't hide from your own mortality forever.” 

“What the fuck man? I have to be on a plane in 7 hours.” 

“Lighten the fuck up,” he sits down on the couch and puts his arm to me like I’m a girl he’s trying to finess, “Listen, this is the perfect time for it. You’ll have a great night. You’ll remember your dad.. then you'll forget your dad. Then you'll remember him again. You'll laugh; you'll cry and then you'll get on the plane tomorrow and pass the fuck out with a big dumb smile on your face.” 

“Lance…I’m going to be a wreck. I have to go through security and customs and shit.” 

“Yeah you’re probably right,” he takes a drink unphased and starts to walk towards the sound of echoing girl voices from down the hall. 

"What the fuck Lance?!"

He doesn't even turn back.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. He runs full speed down the hall. I hear some crashing followed by laughter. 

A confused moment of silence turns to dread as I imagine how to navigate this new reality. 

“I can’t stay here,” I think to Raven. 

“You’ll be fine,”

I look up at the hologram to see a group of kids with black and white painted faces punch dancing in slow motion to Christmas music in a drainage ditch. 

“Raven I’m not going to be ok. They’re watching juggalos now."

"What's wrong with juggalos?

"Everything… Raven I can’t be here. I’m drugged. I’ll wake up with something in my ass and miss my flight. Can you come pick me up?” 

“I can't. Flight? What flight?”

“Why not?” 

“My grandma will choke on her spit if I leave,”

“Raven, Lance put molly in my drink and I have to be at the airport in 7 hours. Ryde doesn't exist in this town and Uber's not part of my membership. You’re the only person I still know.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  

“I know, it’s shitty.”

"Why didn't you just go home? Now you gotta drag me into this?

"I'm sorry." 

“You’re flying out tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” 

“For another five years?”

I pause, not knowing how to answer her. 

“I’m playing in a chess tournament for my dad.”

“For your dad?”

“Yeah, he wrote me a letter. The guy at the hospital gave it to me. It says it's the last thing he wanted.” 

“Like on paper?”

“Yeah,” 

“Weird,” Raven thinks, “Alright..I’ll come get you. But I know you’re high. You have to promise me. No touching, groping or feeling.”

“Not even a nipple?”

“Timothy.”

“Fine.” 

Some time goes by and I roll in and out of consciousness as the molly intensifies. I pull myself together as a thought comes in from Raven. 

“Should I come in?” 

“No. Never. Not if you want to survive,”


I trip over bodies as I stumble to the front. I turn the door knob and I'm overcome by a wall of bright white and blue blinding headlights. Like walking through a hurricane, I fight my way down the driveway to the side of her car and reach for the handle. It’s cold. No. It’s hot. What is hot? What is cold?

The window rolls down. 

"Are you going to get in?"

"Oh… Right."

Somehow, I fling myself into the passenger seat. 

As soon as my ass hits the seat I place both hands on Raven’s face who stares back with pure unadulterated anger. 

“What the fuck did I say about touching?” 

I pull my hands back.

“Sorry, it was an acident,” 

"A what?" She laughs looking concerned. 

"An acident"

“Those kids roofied you?!” 

“No. It was just Lance. The other kids… And the juggalos. God ...you're so beautiful. Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” 

“Jesus Timothy. Stop. You’re fucking grossing me out," I feel myself smiling wide, “What the fuck is Lance’s problem anyway?”

“I don’t know,” I melt back in my seat. 

“He’s 27 years old and still acts like he’s 12. He’s a walking argument against UBI” 

“Your seats are so soft,”

“Zero responsibility or care. Everything’s a fucking game to him.” 

“Do you like...soften them?” 

Raven looks over laughing like she’s watching a cat do something stupid.  

“You’re way more gone than I thought you were,” She pulls out of the driveway and heads down the road. 

A minute or so of silence goes by. 

“You still with me?” Raven says. 

“I think so,” 

“So this means you’re like on truth serum then right? I can ask you whatever I want.”

“John F Kennedy was an alien and Lee Harvey Oswald was a great woman. What else do you want to know?”

“Where’s Sara?” 

“Sara?”

“Yeah, you know...your fucking fiance.” 

“Never heard of her.” 

“Timothy be serious for a second. Where’s your hotel?” 

“There is no hotel.” 

“You’re staying at your dads?” 

“No, I don’t have a key anymore.”

“Then where is she staying?”

“At home.” 

“She didn’t come?!” Raven's eyes dart around looking for answers, “She didn’t come to your dad’s funeral? Timothy, what’s going on.” 

“She thought I was cheating on her.”

"What?! Oh... Wait...Were you?"

"No."

“Shit. She kicked you out? 

“No, I left.” 

“Jesus, Timothy. When was the last time you talked to her?” 

“Ya know, time...time is such an abstraction.” 

“Timothy, when’s the last time you talked to her? This is serious shit.”

“About a week ago, right before my dad died."

“Tim...fuck… But seriously were you?"

“Were I what?” 

“Were you cheating on her?” 

“No. I said no didn't I?" 

“Don’t act pissed by the question. It seems like a very legitimate thing to ask right now."

A few seconds go by as I watch Raven process. 

“Someone schabatoshed us," I mutter. 

“They what?”

“They schabatoshed us.”

“You're not saying words.” 

“Someone sent her pictures and thoughts.” 

“Of you with another girl.”

“Of me with you.” 

“What?!”

“That's what I said..”

“Timothy…"

“They weren't real. Pictures of our heads on someone else's body. I dunno. I even looked through my logs for your number just to make sure I didn’t have an alter ego or something.”

“What the fuck.” 

“Yeah.”

“Who could have?” 

“I dunno, I don’t even really talk to anyone. I was going to ask you.”

“I don’t talk to anyone either. Ray left right after the accident and I haven’t dated anyone since.” 

“Well someone did it and they fucking knew what they were doing.” 

“I’m really freaked out right now.” 

I pause and look at her. 

“You’re the only one who even cares about me.”

“Seriously, this is some crazy shit Tim."

"I know"

"And who said I care about you?” 

I look to see if she's serious. She reaches out and pinches my nipple. 

“Hey,” I giggle, “you said no nipples,”

"You're a fucking asshole"

"I know" a few moments of silence pass, "You promise me it wasn't you?"

“Fuck you.” 

“Who else could it be?”

“That’s some next level genius psychopath shit. I barely remember to clean the machines out at work.” 

I watch as her face morphs, going from how I remembered her growing up and back to her 28 year old self over and over again. She looks at me a few times. 

“What are you looking at?”

“You,”

She laughs. 

“Timothy, you are so fucking high.” 

I always loved her laugh. 

“I can’t help it, it's like a disease." 

“Yeah," she laughs rolling her eyes, "definitely a disease."

“You don’t need to worry,” 

“Yeah. I'm sure. I fully trust you in your current state. What are you going to do about your job?”

“I don’t have a job.”

“What?” 

“I got fired.”

“Timothy, what the fuck! This is bad. Why did you get fired.” 

“Automation.” 

“Wait..They automated YOU??”

"Yep, the irony"

“Well, what are you going to do?”

I pull out the crinkled up letter my dad gave me and push it towards her. 

She attempts to open it while driving and gives it back to me.

“I can’t read this, I’m driving.” 

“Put it on autopilot,” 

“It's not part of my membership.” 

“I just..I don't know."

"What does it say?"

"I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,”

"That's not what it says."

“When your parents died.” 

“I don’t think this is the time,”

“I should have been there,”

She sits quietly. 

“Well, I’m sure you had things to do. With Sara and the new job.” 

“She knew about us. That’s why I didn’t message you back.” 

Raven looks at me concerned.

“She knew,” 

“She knew we talked. We met up,” 

“But we didn’t…”

“I know, but she didn’t believe that. She threatened to tell my boss about my fake ID and felony.” 

“Jesus,”

“Yeah,” 

“So when she saw the thoughts and pictures.”

“Yep.” 

“Wow.” 

"Then suddenly I was automated…"

A moment of silence passes over the car.

“So, you got fired, Sarah kicked you out and then your dad died,” 

“In that order, but I left.”

She pauses. 

“Someone’s after you Timothy. Do you think it’s something to do with your dad? Or someone from prison?”

“I can't think of anyone."

“Well, it’s gotta be someone. And, me. What the fuck. How do they know about us?”

“I have no idea. I don’t know about anything anymore.”

Raven stares at the road. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,”

“Tim. Seriously,"

“Look at you. You’re here for me now. You could have just stayed at home and ignored me. Acted like you were asleep.”

“And let you get raped by Lance’s hell spawn?”

“You wouldn’t even talk to me at Cunt's. But now you’re here. You’ve always been there for me when I’ve needed you.”

"You're being gross."

She pulls into the driveway and turns off her car. A moment of silence passes. 

“Tim. You’ve always been my best friend and always will be. Even if I never talk to you again."

My stomach turns, "I know I should have been at the funeral but this shit’s really freaking me out right now.”

I start to cry. 

"Tim, stop," she struggles to decide if she should be compassionate or annoyed. She hesitantly put her arm around me.

"I just love you a lot," I say. 

"I know. I love you too. Just understand... this is a lot." 

“You don’t have to worry, after tomorrow,” 

“After tomorrow?” 

“You don’t even know who’s after you Timothy? After both of us maybe.” 

“I promise you, after tomorrow everything will be fine," she looks at me even more concerned, “I promise.” 

“Tim, you’re fucked up. What time is your flight?”

“7”

“Fuck.” 

I nod

“Ok, well be quiet. If you wake up grandma she’ll think you’re ISIS."

"What's an ISIS?"

"I dunno, she thinks everyone's ISIS. Get out of the car and don’t say a word."

She unlocks the front door and puts her finger over her lips. I look around the living room as she quietly closes the door behind us. For a moment, I get a flash of all the memories we had in the house growing up. She walks down the hall and comes back with sheets and a blanket. I watch her make the bed on the floor. We used to sleep on the floor growing up all the way through high school. Besides the couch forts and late night video game sessions I always liked sleeping on the floor with her. For some reason it was better than a bed. 

“You ready?” she says; voice sweet as a hospice nurse.  

I lie down facing her and brush the hair out of her eyes. 

"I'll let that slide," she says, "what are we going to do?" 

“Do you remember when we put the dildo on the goose statue?”

“Freddie Mercury Goose?”  She laughs, “Of course. How old were we?”

“I dunno, it was high school. It was all a blur. Maybe freshman year? You were driving. I remember that.”  

“Yeah. Why do you ask?” 

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about how happy we were back then. All that freedom. We were free to be whatever flavor assholes we wanted to be that day.” 

“Yeah, then they put us to work.” 

“What are people going to do without jobs? Are we going to be a world of bored assholes stealing each other's gooses?

“It’s geese,” 

“Whatever,”

“No they’ll sit at home in VR like good little UBIs and no one will talk to each other. Ya know. Perfect world.  

“How many goose statues do you think we stole that year” 

“Enough to get the police involved.” 

“It’s crazy that spawned a police investigation. You'd think people had better things to care about.” 

“It’s easier that way. No one cares about anything until it affects them.”

A coughing noise comes from the other room. Raven covers my mouth with her hand.

“Shhh. I’ll be right back. No masturbating.” She kisses me on the cheek out of habit. She realizes the mistake. 

"That was uncalled for," I joke.

"Well, that's the most you're getting tonight so go to sleep." 

She pushes herself up and tiptoes out of the room. 

Open “Death Journal"

“I’m laying next to you knowing that this is the last time I’m going to see you. It’s a weird feeling. Like laying next a ghost. Even though technically I'll be the one that doesn't exist. If I could tell you one thing it would be...

Raven walks back in the room. 

“She’s fine, it was just her spit again,” She lays down and puts the sheets over her,“What were we talking about?”
“Goose statues,”

“Oh yeah that’s right."

“I wish I could have heard Pastor Jacob's explain it to his kids.” 

            I fold my hands to make a goose shadow puppet on the wall.

"Well, you see. God gave Goose's giant black dicks." Raven helps by making a fist and adding her arm between its legs.

“Shhhh,” I grab her and pull her closer to me. With our bodies pressed I can feel her stomach contracting; holding in a laugh. I reach in and put my lips on hers. She pulls back. 

“Tim, I told you. We're not,” 

“It’s cool. Grandma can watch.” 

I reach back in. 

“Tim," she says sternly, "We're not,"

“I know,” I say defeated. 

"Let's get some sleep. We have to be up in like 4 hours."

She rolls over on her side and I watch for a few seconds as I think about that being our last kiss. 

Open “Death Journal" 

“You walked in the room before I could finish my last thought. I forgot what it was. And yes I’m writing this laying next to you. Even though it’s a terrible way to say goodbye I’m glad I got to kiss you one last time. I wish”

I roll out and roll back in to Raven shaking me.  

“Tim...Tim! You gotta get up," there's light shining in the window and she hands me a glass of water. 

“What?”

“Your flight leaves in an hour. Where’s all your stuff?” 

I reach for my pocket and feel the bag my dad left me. 

“I have it."

"Have what?"

"Everything I need.”

She looks at me puzzled.

“Ok. Whatever, We have to go now.” 

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 3 - Bishop to C4

I read somewhere that a man is only as good as the emotional ride he can give a woman. From the first conversation to the last fuck there's no recourse for a boring ride. A man may be a pilot in the relationship but every woman has a parachute. If the ride gets boring all they have to do is jump for a thrill. Plenty of pilots out there. Plenty of boring flights. 

This is not one of them. My head is throbbing. I downed two bottles of Gatorade Raven gave me which were half drunk and warm from her back seat. Quenching this hangover is like dropping a bucket of water in the desert. 

She left me at the terminal a few minutes ago. I leaned in for a kiss but she pushed me away saying, “you have to go” and pointed to the police officer motioning to keep moving. “See you when you get back,” she said. I closed the door and she sped away. 

My only possession is the mystery bag Lance gave me. The only thought running through my head, with 15 minutes before my flight leaves and standing in the security line, is that I hope this isn’t another joke by Lance: The world’s smallest bomb or some extra molly for the flight. Anything but a buttplug. I’m on a one way trip to London and I don't want to explain to the police that my only possession is a butt plug. 

I step forward. It’s my turn to put my stuff on the belt. A security guard eyes me from behind the line. [describe panic]. I keep the bag in my pocket and look away as I step towards the body scanner. 

“Sir,” the guard says. I pretend not to notice, “Sir!” I purposely look forward, “Excuse me...sir!” 
I look at him.

“You have to take your shoes off.” 

“Oh, yeah...of course.” 

I take my shoes off, put them on the belt and take a position in front of the scanner, buttplug in pocket. I walk through the scanner. No alarms. No sirens. I’m in the clear. 

“Step out,” The guard says. I start to walk forward. He holds his hand while looking at the monitor, “Wait.”

Shit. 

“Do you have anything in your pockets sir?” 

I feel my pocket like I’m dumb and forgot. 

“Oh yeah, there’s this.” I say. I hand him the bag.

“Is there anything in here that will stab me or poke me?” 

I stop myself from saying ‘I don’t know.’ 

“No…” 

He looks in the bag. A moment passes as he examines with a strange look on his face. He closes the bag, looks at me [describe eyes] and hands it back to me.

“Hold out your arms,” he runs a wand over my limbs, “Go ahead,” he continues to give me a distrubed look.  

I glance up to see the time hovering at the top of my vision. I have 5 minutes before my plane leaves. I scramble to the terminal pumping my arms as I run through the crowd. I can feel the stiff muscle fibers in my legs and torso ripping from lack of hydration. Blood is the only remaining moisture in my body. 

“Timothy McVay,” the loud speaker calls out, “Last call for Timothy McVay.” 

I hate it when they say my full name. It always invites stares and questions. I reach the gate to find empty chairs and a closed door. I peer through the little circle window to see a flight attendant moving a wheelchair to the side. I bang on the door with the flat of my hand. She doesn’t notice. I bang louder. She looks over and I wave. She walks over. 

“Mr. McVay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Got held up in security”

She holds out a scanner and scans my ear chip. 

“This way.” 

I walk onto the plane to see the majority of passengers staring. I can tell the looks. Some know I held up the plane. Others are just wondering what the hell happened to me. I notice a girl with big brown eyes and dark hair laughing at me one aisle behind as if she knew what kind of night I had.

“What?” I say laughing. She shakes her head.

“Nothing. You look great,” she laughs. 

I look down to see my travel companions: One is an annoyed looking blonde girl blocking my seat and the other an old man gripping the window; ready to be sucked out the moment a bird hits the engine,

“Excuse me,” I say to the blonde girl. 

She looks up like I just asked her to clean a toilet and sighs. She stands and I take my seat. 

Getting comfortable for a flight over the Atlantic proves to be difficult. Especially when I realize again this is my last full day. We take off and the hum of the engine puts me to sleep. 

I wake up to the captain turning off the seatbelt sign and narrating the visuals of the blue ocean we’ll see for hours. 

The blonde girl is covering her face with a disgusted look. 

“Are you ok?” I say. 

“You didn't have time for deodorant?” 

"Is it that bad?”

“You smell like a homeless guy's asshole. I can’t do this for 7 hours.” 

“I'm sorry, I was in a rush. How many homeless assholes have you smelled?” 

“You’re disgusting,” she says. 

I look over at the window to see the old man asleep and drooling. 

A finger reaches from behind the seat and taps the girl on the shoulder. She turns around.

“Excuse me, can you switch me seats? We were supposed to sit together. He’s my husband. I’m used to the smell.” 

“Oh my God. Yes. Please. Thank you,” 

The women switch seats and during the transition I get half a second to glance at the new girls ass before she sits. It’s round. She’s small. Tailored to my likes. She takes her seat.

“Hey wifey,” I say. 

She fastens her seatbelt.  

“Hey hubby,” her lips are large and curled up forming a dimple and mischievous smile,

"You really do smell like shit."

"So I've been told. It’s too bad I forgot both of our wedding rings at security. You think they’ll mail them?” 

“No. They’re pawned already I’m sure. Diamonds are murder anyway.” 

She puts her hand on my leg and leans into my ear. 

“Have you ever fucked in an airplane bathroom before?” she whispers. 

I whisper back.

“You want to fuck a guy who smells like a homeless asshole?

Our eyes lock with her lips inches from my cheek. 

“I've smelled worse." 

“Yeah? You down for syphilis too?" 

She laughs and gives a crooked smile without breaking eye contact she stands up. 

“Asshole!” she screams as she pulls her hand back and slaps me across the face. There's an audible clap and heads turn. 

She leans back in and whispers. 

“Shut up and call me a bitch before I dry up like the Sahara.” 

“Bitch!” I yell. The flight attendants take notice. An actor's look of disgust washes over her face. 

“What did you just call me?” She rushes from her seat. Hot pursuit. Keep the act. Hide the erection. 

She slams the door. Everyone around me watches. 

“You better go get her,” a guy in another row says holding one ear bud out. I nod.  

I walk towards the bathroom ready to pound on the door. Shit, I think. She didn't give me her name. I pause and contemplate before knocking. 

“Jezebel open the door,” I beat. Jezebel? What the fuck, “Jessie, Jessie. I'm so sorry you know I didn't mean it. Just let me in.” I lean against the door. 

“Go away!” she says from inside. 

“Please, come on. Everyone is watching. Can we please just talk. I know I was wrong. I just want to tell you my side.”

A few seconds pass and the latch clicks. I push the door open and close it behind me. She grabs me by the belt loops and pulls me into her before putting her hand around my throat and pinning me against the wall. She holds me in place and moves closer so our bodies are pressed. I take one hand and go to brush the hair over her ear. She grabs my wrist and forces it into the wall. I feel a cold sharp point against my throat. I look down to find she has a plastic box cutter to my throat.  

“I don't understand how you could have done this to me.” Her voice is loud and shaky as she stares me down like a python. She lets go of my hand, still holding the knife to my neck and pulls out a piece of paper from her breast. With one hand she unfolds it and holds it up so I can read:  

Take out your cock and I'll tell the police you tried to rape me.

She turns it over:

The edge of the sink is sharper than people realize. It won't kill you but it'll hurt. 

She raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“Say something,” she mouths

“I would never knowingly hurt you Jessie,” I stumble through my words. 

She nods with approval.

“Do you fuck every old woman you see walking down the street Timothy!” she tries not to laugh. 

Wait. She knows my name. How the fuck does she know my name?

She pulls another paper from her shirt. 

I'm not the only one following you

Flips over

Goto the chess meetup by Elephant and Castle. I'll play your wife again

 

She stares; waiting for me to talk.

“I didn't mean to,” 

She pushes her cheek and the flat of the blade closer to me.

“You didn't mean to? What does that mean?” she screams into my face squeezing my neck tighter. She kisses me on the cheek and whispers “My name is Scarlett. Look for me at Elephant and Castle,” she holds her face next to my ear for a moment before stepping back, closing the blade and putting it back in her pocket. 

She reaches in her pants this time to pull out another piece of paper holding it with both hands in front of her face.

Everything will make sense soon. Don't worry about the police.

Flips over

And sorry about the moan

 She tears up the paper. Throws it in the toilet and flushes.  

“I hate you so much!” She screams.

In one motion she slaps my face. pulls down my pants and lets out moan loud enough to make the captain hard. With my pants around my ankles she unlatches the lock and gives me a push. I lose balance and fall through the door landing on my back. Head down; dick up exposed for the cabin to see. 

I get a glimpse of her laughing before the door slams shut. A few seconds later I’m spun around by the air Martial who handcuffs me as he straddles my bare ass. He pats me down before going through my pants. 

“What is this?” he says dangling my dad's bag in my face. 

“I don’t know.” 

“I said what’s in the bag.” 

“I don’t know,” 

The martial gives me an angry look, slams my face to the ground and opens the bag. A dark red pawn falls out of the bag and lands on the floor. 

“Why are you carrying this?” The martial asks, “Is there anything inside the pawn?”

“Inside, why would there be anything inside?”

“Answer the question, Is there anything inside the pawn?”

“No. I don’t think so. My dad gave it to me.” 

“Your dad?” 

“Yeah, I’m going to play in a chess tournament. He told me not to look in the bag until I got to London.” 

The martial puts the piece back in the bag. He seals it and puts it back in my jean pocket. He pulls my pants up like I'm 5. 

“Did I hear you say that’s your wife?”

I nod.

“Where’s your ring.” 

“We pawned them.” 

The martial looks at me unamused as if I was trying to make a pun. He lifts me up and drags me to the front of the plane. The passengers applaud at the Martial's heroics. All I can think about is the the ground getting closer and closer. 

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 4 - Giuoco Piano

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 5 - The Evans Gambit

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 6 - Accepted

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 7 - Center Control 

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 8 - The Greedy Pawn

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 9 - Castles

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 10 - Queen B3

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 11 - Knight Takes Pawn

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 12 - Four Knights

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 13 - H4 Lure the Queen

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 14 - Spring the Trap

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 15 - Bishop takes G7

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 16 - Queen Trade

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 17 - Resignation

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...
~

You might like Jayson Kristen's other books...