Tales of Maora

     Hannah was shivering by the time she got home. Six years and she still hadn’t gotten used to the New York cold. Not even the down jacket her father gave her was warm enough. Maybe her blood was too thin. Maybe she still pined for the West Coast and unconsciously refused to adapt. Either case, her fingers were blue and her teeth were chattering as she reached the corner where her apartment stood.

     A door beside an old pharmacy led to her rooms on the second floor. Hannah felt claustrophobic every time she climbed the stairs to get there. Everything about her apartment was small. The doorway was narrow, the ceilings were low, and the bathroom was little more than a closet.

     Looking over her kingdom, Hannah felt a pang of jealousy over Emily Lisbon’s apartment. How did a waitress afford something that size? Hannah lived in two rooms, one inside the other. The alcove that held a stove, mini-fridge, and sink didn’t count. The rest was a bedroom and tiny bath. At least she was still living in it; that’s more she could say for Emily.

     There was noise coming from the apartment above her. The neighbors were of the soccer persuasion. There seemed to be games going on all day, every day. Instinctively, Hannah grabbed a broom by the door and pounded the ceiling. It was used only for this purpose. Never worked. Moaning, she closed her front door and shuffled into her bedroom.

     Dropping her bag onto the bed, she rummaged for her notepad and phone. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Nine forty-five. Riding the train home ate up most of her night. Climbing over her bed, she sat down at the desk crammed into a corner. She flipped through her notes as a laptop booted up.

     Hannah wasn’t a good reporter. She was still new and had yet to develop those instincts that could make her a force to be reckoned with. As a newcomer, she also lacked connections with the people who actually would buy her articles. Also, she bit her nails. But she was convinced that with this story, she would make her mark.

[Read more…] about Black Days, Chapter 3: “Uninvited Guests”

It was night. Silas was in one of the outer boroughs of New York City. Squad cars were parked outside an apartment complex, their red and blue lights splashing against the facade. Police were everywhere, talking into radios or ignoring the noise that came out of them. Bystanders were, of course, watching from a safe distance. Walking over to the nearest uniform, Silas prepared to introduce himself. The cop nodded, motioning for him to enter the building.

     “I didn’t know the police knew me on sight,” Silas said.

     “We don’t. Detective McClelland gave me your description,” the cop said.

     “Oh.”

     The officer directed Silas to the fourth floor. He assumed the apartment with the smashed-in door was his destination. Silas inspected the door, which had been propped up against the wall. It was almost bent in half. He examined the point of impact. Something had pummeled it like a piston. What could have done that to a metal-reinforced apartment door?

     A sharp whistle brought him to the apartment doorway. Standing on the other side of police tape was a heavy-set man in a cliché of a trench coat. He had a nose like a turnip, adorned with a thick mustache. His eyes had dark bags beneath them, but they were bright and alert, nonetheless. The detective lifted the tape to let Silas through.

     “Took you long enough,” McClelland said.

     “I was in Long Island,” Silas said. “And you said six o’clock.”

     “It’s seven.”

     “I see.”

     The man jerked his head back and Silas followed him inside.

     “Detective Rick McClelland. What are you doing in the Bronx?”

     “They send me all over, these days,” McClelland said. “Why, you don’t like the Bronx?”

     “Prefer my borough,” Silas said.

     McClelland snorted. “The greatest city in the world and you’ve resigned yourself to Brooklyn.”

     “We’ve all got our boundaries,” Silas said. “So, what do you have for me?”

     “Missing Person,” he said. “Emily Lisbon. Twenty-seven years old. Single. Lived alone. New York native. 911 got a call from her at around eleven thirty last night. All they got was her screaming before the line cut out. That’s it. By the time our people arrived, she was gone.”

     “And I’m sure none of her neighbors saw anything?” Silas said.

     “Naturally.”

     The detective handed Silas a plastic bag. Inside was a pink wallet and a few pictures. A New York State driver’s license showed a young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair. Silas noted blue eyes, aquiline features, and a sad look on her face.

     “Obviously, she was abducted,” Silas said. “Aside from the battering ram the kidnapper used to open the door, doesn’t seem too odd. Why’d you call me?”

     “I think you’ll figure it out quickly enough.”

[Read more…] about Black Days, Chapter 2: “McClelland’s Law”

     Silas Black was late. He was always late. Time, to a man like him, was a relative thing. A problem for someone else to worry about. Usually, the person waiting for him. He wore a watch but never used it. An observer would have noticed the watch didn’t show the correct time, so checking it would have been an exercise in futility. It also explained why, at that very moment, Silas was trying to determine the time by looking at the sun. Although it was obscured by clouds, he decided it was 9 o’clock. He was wrong.

     Somewhere, not that far away, a storm was clearing its throat. Silas looked over his shoulder at the houses across the street. A thick blanket of clouds was reaching out over the rooftops. He judged the rain was about a mile and a half away. But he wasn’t good at guessing distances, either. He considered the speed of the storm, its distance from his current location, and the amount of time between now and when rain was falling on him. The last thing to come to his mind, though, was where he had left his umbrella.

     He looked up at the old maple beside him. For a moment, he considered moving away from the tree, given the high likelihood of lightning. Yet, the entire street was shaded by similar, proud maples. These trees were so old that the sidewalk was punctured by their emergent roots. Silas looked at the neighborhood around him. Children probably rode bikes over the broken sidewalk. Men ambled down the road at a relaxed pace. Neighbors would smile and wave at passersby.

     What a horrible way to live.

     But Long Island still had a few surprises, as the detective was about to find out. An old woman was making her way across the street. She was pushing a rumpled, empty shopping cart. A plastic bag was tied around her head. As she reached Silas’s side of the street she paused. The old woman gazed at the stranger in his navy greatcoat. Silas stared back. She flipped him off. He felt more at home.

[Read more…] about Black Days, Chapter 1: “Toy Story”