Shadows

The smoke poured out from his mouth. "What’s in it for me?" said the man to the man shadow figure before him. A long pause with a few drags on the cig. "Well?". Another long pause. A drizzle of smoke fills the toxic air. "Are you going to answer me!? Oh right when I need you most, you can’t help me!" the man throws the butt of his cig to the ground in front of him. "Fine, I don't need you." The man walks away. The shadow remained motionless.

The alley was a dark place to meet. Especially someone you never can identify. They had always met there about once a month. The man would go into the dark alley at the wee hours of night and come back out mad. He was told of assignments and things he had to do. He used to meet once a month, but now he was told to meet 2 a week. It started out as running errands, now it became more. Meeting other people, and doing tasks he couldn't imagine.

"I need a cig" he muttered to himself. He pulled out from his pocket, a beat up, smashed box of Marb Reds. He put the cig in his mouth, and dug around for his light. He gave himself the old pat down search until he found it. It was matches that came free from the gas stations and small stores that sell smokes and a small abundance of groceries. He lit the the cig and took a long awaited drag. " I can't believe he wants me to do this, of all the things he want me to do, it's this" he mutters to himself. Another drag of the cig.

He lets the cig intoxicate him while he searches his pocket for a piece of paper. "Damn big pants pockets." Smoke gushes from his nostrils like rapids on a river. He pulled from his pocket a wrinkled receipt type piece of paper. He carefully examines it, as if to memorize the every words and the style of the what was written. He stuffed the paper back into his pocket and took another puff. He took the cig and smoked its last smoke. A tiny red light flies through the air. His cig lands on the curb before him. "Fuck cancer." he mutters as he pulls out another smoke and places on his chapped lips. He lights it then moves on.

His apartment is right above this run down church turned funeral home. The smell of the burned bodies still lingers like its a thousand scent candles just starting to burn. He plops down into his recline-less reclining chair. A torn up cloth covered Lay-Z-Boy he found years ago on the road side. It’s covered with cig burns and marks of its past owners. Tonight it gets a new mark. The clock says ten but it’s been saying that since he found it. His cig fell from his hand and landed on the arm rest of the chair. He slipped into a light sleep.

His dream was mysterious and nightmarish like. He was wearing a fancy black leather trench coat and his regular clothes. The right pocket contained his smokes. The left held his matches. His right hand was carrying a gun and his left had some sort of round object intensely gripped. He had a cig lit and in his mouth. He walked into this house. The house was the typical suburb house. Generic yet filled with expensive things the family who lived in it couldn't afford. A mans voice came from his right side. "Hello, whos in my house!?" The voice had oddly seemed familiar. The man peered to his right to see a man with his family behind him. They were standing next to a table with a meal partially finished. The clock next to it was blaring 7:00pm. The family man had a tremble in his voice when he spoke, and they were all jumpy. "What ddddo yooou waannt? Money? Here take my money, take what you want just, please dont hurt my us!" The family man trembled. He asked the man a question "Whos house am I in? Who are you?". The family mans wife and two kids already had tears dripping down there face. The kinds of tears were they know they are going to die. The family man spoke in his scared shitless voice "I am DDDDan, this is the Nathens" The man shadow figure appeared from behind him. "Kill" the shadow said. The man looked over his shoulder and yelled "Kill who!?" Dan and the family looked at him in a confused looked. "Who who are you talking to sir sir?" said Dan. The man quickly looked at him and pointed the gun at him. "SHUT UP!" the man yelled. He looked back over his shoulder with his gun pointed at Dan. "KILL WHO?"

The voice muttered "Dan, ask Dan what he’s doing here first?" "Alright" the man says. He looks back over at Dan. "You heard him, what are you doing here Dan?" Dan looked puzzled. "Heard who?" "Just answer the fucking question, DAN!" the man said. "I am am here with my family. Can’t you see that!" The voice whispers into the man’s ear. "Hey you woman! Where is your Mark?" The woman cries out. "He went to the bar, right Dan?" Dan’s face turned colors. "Dan, why did you kill Mark? Why did you lie to the rest Dan? Dan!?" Dan didn’t respond.

"I am here for you Dan! I am here to collect for him(motions behind him)! Why did you do this!?" Dan stepped forward, and tried to reason with the man. The gun lifted to Dans head and the finger inched back the trigger. He threw the round object before him saying "Your time is up Dan."

Wake up to the smell of burning bodies and you know you didnt dream right. The clock was still at ten. The man turned on his TV. "Breaking new: The famous lawyer Daniel McGongal, whose was known by the public to “help murders get out of jai” was found dead today in his friend’s home. There were no witness other then the family, who suffered a tragedy years before with the death of the husband, who owned the house. The family is not speaking at the moment. Further updates as they come". The broadcaster was standing in front of the house from the man’s dreams. "This cant be, I need a smoke." He walked out of his apartment. "Shit I need a light! He ran back into his room to find his matches. First he searched himself. Then as he searched the whole place. He almost gave up, but before he did he say something. On his door was the black trench coat from his dreams. "What the fuck!" He grabbed the coat and headed outside.

It was light out. The man ran until his heat pumped flaming fluids through his body. Before him lay a bank, the time read 7:30 pm. Oh man, the man thought. He searched his pockets looking for the gun hoping he wouldn't find it but secretly wishing in a way that he would. To his luck the gun was gone. The man ran again, this time to the house from his dream, the house where Dan died. He walked to the house. He knocked on the door, but no one answered. He looked around then finally he broke open the door with his foot. A voice came from upstairs. He ran upstairs hoping to find the voice. No one was there. He started backing down the stairs until he heard a voice. "You did your as I asked, now go back home. You have nothing you need here." He noticed the shadow figure was there behind him. He turned around hoping to see the thing that caused the figure. Nothing was there. He searched the house, looking for anything that could help him figure this out. Nothing. He was about to leave when he remembered the family. He ran outside and knocked on the neighbors. An older lady came out from her house. He asked her "Do you know where I can find a Mrs. Nathens?" The woman looked puzzled. "Mrs. Nathens? She moved along time ago. About seventeen years ago, no one has seen here since." "What happened to the two kids?" he asked in a confused voice. "They never had two kids, the only kids that came there was the old family friends kids, Dan McGongals I think. Why do you ask, are you the police?" "So who lives in their house then!?" the man confidently said. "Their house? It was bulldozed seventeen years ago after Dan was murdered in that house! Who are you?"

The man looked at the house he broke into. Nothing was there. It was a blank lot; the foundation though was still there. How could this happen? He went back to the woman. "Can I talk to you, I am Detective Johnson." His lie was thick. The woman opened the door to the fucking liar.

The coffee she started to brew smelled like decaying coffee beans. The house was a fifties styled suburb designed home. The woman was old. She had pictures of her husband and the family that hardly speaks to her, except on christmas. "Ma'am who was Mark?" "Mark was a good man. Handome, smart and wonderful. He came to my house all the time to invite me to dinner. He was a good man. He died nineteen years ago. A mysterious man murdered him. The suspect oddly enough had everything going against him. 'Everything' the TV man said. Then he hired a lawyer, by the name of Daniel McGongal. The odd part was that Dan and Mark were good friends. Dan would always bring his kids to Mark's house to play. Then Dan was murdered seventeen years ago. Marks wife and Dan’s kids claimed it was Mark wearing a trench coat. A dark one, I guess, like the one you are wearing. They believed they saw Mark kill Dan. They claim, according to the TV man. But Mark died two years before. Then Mark's wife and kids, as rumor says, were shipped to the mental house. Is that true?" The man looked baffled. "Ma'am do you know where I...I don’t know what I can say, listen to me. Did you see it happen?" The lady looked at him in confusion. "I never saw a thing, that night. I remember too what happened that evening. I was outside gardening with my husband. God rest his soul. It was the day of the eclipse. We went in the house to get some dinner, when it went dark. Then next thing you know, poor man is found dead. We tried to see when we heard the screaming and we tried to look. But it was too damn dark, ya know."

Wake up to the smell of burning bodies and you know you didn’t dream right. The clock was still at ten. "What the fuck?" the man said as he rubbed his beat up face. He grabbed a smoke that was in his pants pocket. He lit it and took one hell of a long drag. The smoke filled his frontal view. "I must have been dreaming." The man walked into his bathroom. His bathroom had a toilet next to the sink and the shower was across from it. The bathroom was falling apart like this mans life. The toilet flusher was broke, just like his heart after his wife left him. The shower bottom was covered in that yellow film like his smiles when he’s asked if he’s doing well.
The sink had the stains of toothpaste and blood colored spit from drinking too much. The floor had smoke coming up from it. Someone is getting cremated. "Ahh, the benefits of my home" he muttered to himself in his sick twisted way.

He went back to his chair to sleep. He never slept in his room. Not after his wife left him years ago. He left it just like she did. The bed untucked and the drawers slightly opened. Since she left it, he did too. He hoped one day his wife would come back. They could be happy again. That was years ago. He grabbed a picture of him and her from next to the chair. They were happy together, before she left and before this nice apartment became a shit hole. He cried, and he cried. He cried till the world around him was a blur till sleep had engulfed him. He started dreaming again.

He was by the alley where he meets the shadow figure twice a week. He was smoking. The smoke poured out from his mouth. "What’s in it for me?" said the man to the man shadow figure before him. A long pause with a few drags on the cig. "Well?". Another long pause. A drizzle of smoke fills the toxic air. "Are you going to answer me!? Oh right when I need you most, you can’t help me!" the man throws his butt of his cig to the ground in front of him. "Fine, I don't need you." The man walks away. The shadow remained motionless.

Wake up to the smell of burning bodies and you know you didn’t dream right. The clock was still at ten. His wife was before him in a sweater. "Honey, look at you! You fucking drunk! You were smoking on the chair and fell asleep! I can’t take it! This apartment, you drinking and coming home to you burning a hole in the chair! We never talk anymore. I am going to go! I hate this place, I hate you! You fucking drunk!" He was in pure shock. "What are you doing here!? Where am I? Honey, is that you? Darling I missed y-" Before he could finish she was gone out the door. The room had the drawers open and the bed was untucked.

How could this be? He stumbled to the door like drunks thinking they aren’t drunk. He was a mess. Why would someone like him deserve this woman to begin with? He fell to the floor before his apartment. Tears drenching his shirt. Tears gushing out like the wife had just done. He regained his self and rose from the floor. He stumbled back into the room and fell to the couch. He closed his eyes and acceptingly passed out.

He arose from the chair with the picture of his wife lying on his stomach. The picture fell to the floor and broke. He ignored it. He looked in the fridge for some whiskey to kill the time. He found nothing but a bottle of hard liquor. He grabbed some cups and a bottle of what he called "my meds" and plopped himself in his old beat up recline-less reclining chair. He pours himself a drink. "A toast to the good times" he murmured. One cup down, two cups down, three cups, and four. "Isss tttttthhhhhhe bbbbbbbeeeeessstttt ttttiiimmee ooooffffffff mmmmmmmyyyyyyyy lllllliiiiiiiffffffffeeeeeeee" The alcohol had done its damage. He looks down at the picture and cries an angry cry.

Wake up to the smell of burning bodies and you know you didn’t dream right. The clock was still at ten. He was in his chair but there were no bottles or cups of any kind next to him like he thought there would be. He grabbed a smoke from his pocket and did his only ritual. The long drags were the only moments where he was away from the pains of his toilet shit life. He got out of the chair grabbed his smokes and headed outside. He decided that he was going to just take care of it all know. He looked up and said "God, just kill me now!!" He went to the bathroom, with a porno. He turned to the page of the woman who looked similar to his wife. She had the figure of a Barbie. Her hair was as red as a hot fire and her breasts were perfect in his eyes. He unzipped his pants and started to masturbate. The picture reminded him of his wife. He didn’t masturbate over the woman in the porno, but over the woman he married and the good times they had together. He went so hard, that when he shot his load off he almost collapsed to the floor. He was teary eyed and weak in the knees. He opened his medicine cabinet and grabbed as many pills as his hands could hold. He poured the pills down like a little kid drinking a coke. One bottle after the other.

He arose from a strange bed, there he was lying next to a woman he swore he knew. She laid there asleep. Her body motionless except for the small breathes she took. He watched as her chest expanded and collapsed. It was beauty in motion to him. He awoke to a ringing of the phone. He ran down the stairs noticing kid’s art throughout the house and pictures of kids he’s seen before someplace, he just can’t put a finger on it. He picked up the phone and a voice that he’s heard before comes on. "Hey Mark, You wanted to have a drink with me so I am just calling to confirm it. I’ll pick you up at seven alright? Bye." *click* before he could say hello. "Mark? Who the fuck is Mark?" the man muttered to himself. He served himself some breakfast. His vision blurred and his memory slurred. He came to, sitting next to a psycho looking guy with a gun and a knife. The weapon man said to him, "Dan needs something that you’ve refused. He needs the bitch you fuck. He wants her and he can no longer wait. No more says Dan. (points to a man behind him in a brown leather coat and a terrible comb over. A cigar was dangling from his mouth.) He free me, and I do the same for you sorta speak." He chuckled a sick "haha". The man with the gun held it up. *Bang*Bang*Bang* the man grabbed his chest in severe pain. His hands were covering in blood. "Now for my pleasure, while you are still alive." the psycho man said while unzipping his pants and the mans pants. The man behind him turned away.

Wake up to the smell of burning bodies and you know you didn’t dream right. The clock was still at ten. The man covered his chest with his hands trying to stop a wound that was not there. "I CANT TAKE IT ANYMORE!" A knock on the door. He leaves whoever to keep knocking. Suddenly a man bursts in wearing a dark trench coat and carrying a gun in his right hand and some sort of round object intensely gripped. The trench coat man looks over shoulder and yells. "Kill who!?" He turns back to the man and points the gun at his head. The trench coat man asks, "Are you-" "Yes I am who you are looking for" the man abruptly interrupts. "I am the one who you are supposed to kill." The trench coat man inches the trigger back. He threw the round object before him saying "Your time is up."

Wake up to the smell of burning bodies and you know you didn’t dream right. The clock showed it's eleven.