Today. Today was the day he was going to get rid of her for good. Too many things were weighing on his mind and if he could do one thing to remove even the tiniest bit of it, then today was the day. He walked to the back of his car and popped the trunk, rummaging around for the black box he had buried under the emergency supplies. His hands fell on the package and he stopped cold. A flood of memories came back, unwelcome in his crowded mind.

Shaking it off, he opened the box and pulled out the book inside. He felt his body tense up as he found the pages she’d written on, and he tore them out as quickly as possible. Tossing the book and the box back in the trunk, he walked to the side of the car and flipped open his lighter. The pages were done for. Their fate had been sealed.

He held on to them as they burned, watching the fire lick at her handwriting. It was as if the fire was burning away the last few painful memories of their time together. He let the fire find its way towards his fingers to the very last second and let the papers fall down onto the dirt. It was almost over.

Returning to the trunk, he lifted the box and the book and shook his head in disgust. Closing the lid and returning behind the wheel, he tossed the two unwanted items in the passenger seat. He’d thought about burning them, but that would take too long. The miles crawled by as he debated the best way to just get rid of that damn book. If it was so easy for her to get rid of him, it had to be easy enough for him to get rid of the last piece of her.

Deciding on an upcoming car wash, he pulled in, pulled the book and the box out of the front seat, and headed for the garbage can. The box went first. But he had a thought, why not just leave the book for someone else to find. He laughed to himself at the thought of someone else picking it up and never knowing what the story was behind it, never knowing the pain he’d endured from someone doing everything in their power to change what he is and what he believes. They’d never guess that he’d tried to read it, and understand it, but so much of it went beyond what he knew was right.

She’d given it to him for Father’s Day, with an inscription inside that had now been burned into oblivion. It had said something about love and forever, but all of it rang false to him, just as what was printed on the following pages. Forever love can’t exist when one person’s goal is to break down the other, and glue the pieces back together as they see fit. She had no regard for him as he was, only how she wanted him to be.

She told him the book would help them become what they needed to be for that forever love to grow. She told him how much it meant to her, and because he loved her, he tried. He tried but he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want it. He wanted her, and she wanted whatever pieces of him she could make into her own creation. It disgusted him, but it was time to close the book on that chapter of his life.

He propped the book up on the outside window ledge, next to the ‘Open’ sign, and thought maybe he would wait to see what poor soul was about to release him from the very last piece of her that was holding his mind hostage. Shaking his head, he decided to at least get a car wash, to somehow repay the window ledge for being there in his time to need.

As the water rushed to its purpose, he felt somehow it was his heart in that car wash, being washed clean of her memory. Smiling, he pulled back onto the road unaware of the car that had pulled in behind him and the driver that had watched him place a book on the window ledge.

She had been driving for days, not sure of the path that she needed to take in her life. Her inspiration had been gone for years, and it wasn’t getting any better. She had options, none of them good, and little time left to figure out the lesser of her evils. The stranger in the black car with the black box and book took her mind off of things for a while. She’d been sitting and watching his every movement, watching how long he stared at the book, and how he seemed to walk a little taller after he’d left it.

She waited until she was sure he wasn’t coming back for it, and approached the window ledge. A sly smile caught her lips. This was a sign. She carefully opened the cover and traced her fingertips down what was left of a few ripped pages. What was on them? Did he keep them? Did he burn them? Who tears pages out of a bible?

The thoughts of all of the possibilities nearly made her dizzy, but she welcomed this feeling. Her inspiration had come to her through a stranger’s actions, and the overwhelming urge to write his unknown story caught her off guard. She tucked the book under her arm and sprinted towards her car, deciding that the stranger was her muse. Thoughts swirled in her head as she drove home and skipped up the stairs two at a time. She couldn’t get to her computer fast enough. As she started to write, the words flowed through her fingers like water:

                Today. Today was the day he was going to get rid of her for good.

It had been three years since the stranger with the black car and the black box had crossed paths with her at the carwash. Three blazing fast years since her inspiration came rushing back and swept her along through two books in what was quickly working out to be a multi-part series. She’d written about that stranger, whom she’d named Philip, and gave him fame that he’d probably never even know about.

Who knew that day would change everything? She’d finished the first book, “The Cleaner” in record time, and sent it off to her editor. The book caught fire and soon she was being begged for a sequel.  That, too, poured out of her in record time. This stranger had taken on a very interesting life since leaving the car wash. He’d become Philip ‘The Cleaner’ Garland. He was supernaturally helping the heartbroken by making their hearts whole again, and cleaning up their broken pieces. Philip’s services didn’t come cheap, but he was in high demand. 

So now, two years later, things had changed dramatically. She had been on the verge of losing her house, her car, and her mind, until she watched a stranger discard a bible on a carwash window ledge. The bible was a sign and she was sure of it. She was no longer in danger of losing anything but the massive amounts of credit card debt she’d accumulated while she wasn’t writing.

Tonight she’d be speaking in front of a creative writing class at the University. She was supposed to impart her wisdom about hard work and keeping at it. Truthfully, writing isn’t the hard part. It’s the editing, the waiting, the returned calls that never actually get returned… all of those things are the hard part. She was very lucky for her editor to give her one last shot. To her, that wasn’t hard work. But young impressionable minds need hope, and that’s what she was going to give them.

She tucked the bible into her bag, smoothed her purple dress and slid behind the wheel of her car, going over her presentation in her mind. She slipped out of the sleek black sedan and found her way into the lecture hall where the professor was waiting to welcome her. After the pleasantries were done, and all of the students had taken their seats, a short introduction was made, and she started her speech. She noticed that there were all ages of students in the room, but one thirty-something in the back, with long brownish hair and a pink leopard print jacket stood out. Maybe it was her cold dark eyes, or the look of disdain on her face, but something wasn’t sitting well. She brushed it off and moved forward.

As she carefully wove a new tale about diligence, determination and paying dues, she explained to them that while all of those things are necessary to become the next J.K., Anne, or Stephen, there was something else to be mindful of. She told her story of being at the end of her rope, and how God gave her a sign that day when her mystery muse-man left the bible. She opened her bag and displayed it to the class, taking time to let them pass it around. It wasn’t until the end of her lecture, after the applause died down, that she realized the woman in the pink leopard jacket was gone, and the book was nowhere to be found.

She frantically questioned the students if anyone had seen where the woman went, or if anyone knew what had happened to the book, but there were no answers anywhere. The professor assured her it would turn up, but it was too late, she could already feel the darkness setting into her mind. Had the woman in the pink leopard jacket taken her inspiration? Why were her eyes so cold? She didn’t want to make any more of a scene so she carefully collected her bag and her thoughts and got to her car as fast as possible.

The tears came quickly. She was attached to that book. It had saved her. It had pulled her from the depths of depression and despair. Clutching the cold steering wheel, she let the emotion flow through her until there was none left. Suddenly aware of the pink leopard jacket standing outside her window, she took her time composing herself before rolling it down. The strange woman held the bible up to her face.

The cold hard crack of a gunshot was the last thing she remembered before waking up nearly three weeks later clad in white and surrounded by machines. She searched her brain to put the pieces together but continued to come up blank. Questions, doctors, more questions, more doctors, no one seemed to want to tell her much. Finally, she bribed a night nurse with a character named after him in the next book to tell her. She’d been shot by a woman who had scrawled HE IS MINE on the cover and some pages of the bible before two gunshots rang out that night. He said she was the lucky one though, because only one life was lost that night, and she was lucky to be alive.

The night nurse felt bad for her, she had received only one bouquet of flowers the entire time she was there. He thought maybe they were from a boyfriend or significant other, but no one had visited. The only thing written on the card was a phone number, with a note under it, “I’m your Philip.” If this Philip guy was so great, why hadn’t he visited her? One night while checking in on her, he made the decision to pocket the card. The dude didn’t deserve her if he couldn’t even come visit. 

 She was gone. He woke up that morning, and all that was left was a note. It wasn’t even a long note, either. She’d told him she was done, that he’d betrayed her, and not to contact her again. He’d gotten mad at her insistence to finish her third book, as she’d said her inspiration was gone. He told her not to do it. And then, in a fit of frustration, he finally admitted that whoever ‘her Philip’ was couldn’t be bothered to come visit her and had only sent the small bouquet of flowers. He had retrieved the card from his dresser and slammed it on the table in front of her.  He told her that her inspiration, whoever he was, was a coward.

After she was released from the hospital, he courted her, and eventually she moved in with him. For three years, things were perfect. They were always perfect unless she was trying to work on that stupid book. If she could just let that go, and let go of this guy, then their future was certain. She’d be his wife, and she could write anything else that she wanted, just not this book. 

She didn’t understand why he was so against it, until that night when everything had come out. She hadn’t said much after that. She calmly collected her keys and said she was going for a drive. Somewhere between him drifting off to sleep and waking up in the real world, she’d vanished from his life.

He went to work in a daze. Days passed, and then weeks turned into months, and things just never got better. He was still attached to her, obsessed. His life was crumbling beneath him, and she was the only thing he had to hold onto, even in her absence. Eventually, his work slipped enough that he was told to find another job. He wondered if there was any point in doing as such, because he had nothing to live for with her gone.

What was it about her that he couldn’t let go of? She was just a silly girl with a silly thing about writing books. He noted all of her flaws, everything that she had ever done that made him mad, and started justifying reasons he was better off without her. A knock at the door had interrupted his list making, and he answered it only to be met with a badge.

The man standing before him was in his mid sixties, easily. The woman next to him was at least half his age. They’d come to ask him some questions about a man named David. Of the few David’s he knew, none of them fit who he was looking for. Then they asked about her. Her name made his whole body tense, and the younger one of the two picked up on it immediately. She asked him when the last time they’d been in contact was. He told her about the day he woke up and she was gone. The woman didn’t seem convinced.

The older man told him why they were there. He was presumed to be the last person to have seen her. She was missing. Her car was missing. Her credit cards were unused, and her bank account was untouched. She had completely disappeared. He asked what a stranger named David had anything to do with him, and her, and this whole mess.

The younger woman took over. She explained that the stranger named David had an estranged ex-wife at one time. His ex-wife had been found, three years ago, dead, next to a black sedan in the University parking lot, next to a woman who had nearly bled to death. That woman had survived and had reportedly been in a relationship with a night nurse at the hospital after her release. The younger woman watched his reaction as he put the pieces together. She asked him if he’d known of any recent contact that his former love may have had with David. She listened as she watched his emotional breakdown during the retelling of the last night he’d seen her. Holding the card that had been with the flowers, she weighed his response carefully, gave him her card, and left with the older detective.

Her gut told her he had nothing to do with the disappearance, but the card didn’t seem to fit. She’d read the books, she was well aware of what the card meant. David had tried to reach out to her, but what was the motive? Was it to bait her? Where was she? Where was David? Both people had disappeared, seemingly off the face of the earth, and it was her job to find them, but everything was pointing to dead ends and false hopes.

She talked to her partner on the ride back to the office, and for the next few weeks things just were not adding up. No one they’d talked to knew of any relationship between the two missing people. No one except the man they’d questioned who had been the last to see her. He held the only evidence of a link between the two. Nearly two months to the day she’d returned from the questioning at his apartment, she’d opened the paper to read about a man who had tried to take his life in that same University parking lot. The same man she questioned, the only link in her case.

Her head reeled. What was it about this woman that made people want to hurt themselves? They couldn’t find her, they couldn’t find David, and now her former lover tries to take his life. Was it a cry for help? Was it a plea for her to come back? She searched the paper for more information, reading the news report nearly a dozen times to the point of memorization. The phone on her desk rang, ripping her from her thoughts.

                “Hello Detective. I believe you’re looking for me.”