There's a big beat
You're sleeping in my memory
Like Satan
Lonely
So I'm with him
Floating, loaded
Enough to be released
-Matthew Good Band, "Born to Kill"
I barely pay attention as the words continue to tumble from Free's mouth. My mind has long since been abandoned by any control that I once exerted over it, and I find myself betrayed by the places it takes me and the images it projects. I know where I am: an office that seems to have leaped to life from the celluloid of an old noir film. I can feel the harsh and unshaven whiskers on my face as my hand covers my mouth and the coarse hair digs into the sensitive ends of my fingertips. I'm here, but not. Free would lecture me again and tell me how much I've lost, but it would be a waste of time; some demons just cannot be exorcised, even with time.
"So Jono," I hear Free emphasize my name, and it momentarily distracts me from the jade hues I see in my mind's eye. "You need to take this job. I know you've exhausted your finances and resources since you've been living off the back of that motorcycle of yours. And I've heard something about drugs?" My eyes flick from the spot on the wall which they had been starting at, directly focusing and catching the unflinching gaze of my longtime associate. My look challenges and ends that line of questioning immediately. He clears his throat and continues, "I didn't think so. Well! Time to get back on your horse, put all that behind you, and take this. It is more than enough to get you back on your feet. Get you back to what you do best, what you were born to do."
I sigh as my body begrudgingly moves; my hand sliding over the top of the maple desk as I grab the piece of paper which undoubtedly lists a name and location. A few months ago I would have been thorough in investigating this target, in hopes that my conscience would be able to be appeased so that I could convince myself I wasn't further staining my soul; now I can barely muster a whisper from it. I find myself briefly wondering what else has turned off inside of me....but like a dream, I can't grasp the missing pieces long enough for them to come into focus and they vanish into the ether.
Standing from the deep seated and soft cushioned chair, my hair falls into my face as it does countless times a day. Again my thoughts go backwards, my eyes close and I can almost feel long fingers sliding through the long strands and sweeping them from my face; I smile and lose a breath into a sigh....instead I let the hair dangle to hide any emotions that might be written in my face. I've become good at hiding emotions, both from others and myself. ...at least, that's what I keep telling myself.
Just as I'm almost out the door, I realize Free is shouting at me. Was I so out of it that I didn't notice he was shouting before, or was this the first' "By the way, this could be nothing so don't get your hopes up, but my sources told me they might have spotted someone fitting that description of the woman you gave, back around that Inn you said she might show up at." I know at that moment Free is studying me for a reaction, it's part of who he is to read people, but he wouldn't be able to see how I react. My heart quickens, my breath catches in my throat, my palms sweat...."But we can't confirm. There hasn't been any activity at the house you asked us to monitor, which is probably most telling that it isn't our mark."
That time I do believe I visibly react. I can feel my shoulders slump as my body deflates, my heart sinking back below the surface where it has just barely peeked over a moment prior. I give the barest of nods and grasp the handle of the door, feeling it slip ever so slightly due to the perspiration in my hand. Then I step outside into the cool afternoon, the cloudy grey skies a perfect marriage to my countenance and a perfect reflection of my mood. Fall is changing to winter, and the fallen leaves of the past will soon be swept away.
I barely pay attention as the words continue to tumble from Free's mouth. My mind has long since been abandoned by any control that I once exerted over it, and I find myself betrayed by the places it takes me and the images it projects. I know where I am: an office that seems to have leaped to life from the celluloid of an old noir film. I can feel the harsh and unshaven whiskers on my face as my hand covers my mouth and the coarse hair digs into the sensitive ends of my fingertips. I'm here, but not. Free would lecture me again and tell me how much I've lost, but it would be a waste of time; some demons just cannot be exorcised, even with time.
"So Jono," I hear Free emphasize my name, and it momentarily distracts me from the jade hues I see in my mind's eye. "You need to take this job. I know you've exhausted your finances and resources since you've been living off the back of that motorcycle of yours. And I've heard something about drugs?" My eyes flick from the spot on the wall which they had been starting at, directly focusing and catching the unflinching gaze of my longtime associate. My look challenges and ends that line of questioning immediately. He clears his throat and continues, "I didn't think so. Well! Time to get back on your horse, put all that behind you, and take this. It is more than enough to get you back on your feet. Get you back to what you do best, what you were born to do."
I sigh as my body begrudgingly moves; my hand sliding over the top of the maple desk as I grab the piece of paper which undoubtedly lists a name and location. A few months ago I would have been thorough in investigating this target, in hopes that my conscience would be able to be appeased so that I could convince myself I wasn't further staining my soul; now I can barely muster a whisper from it. I find myself briefly wondering what else has turned off inside of me....but like a dream, I can't grasp the missing pieces long enough for them to come into focus and they vanish into the ether.
Standing from the deep seated and soft cushioned chair, my hair falls into my face as it does countless times a day. Again my thoughts go backwards, my eyes close and I can almost feel long fingers sliding through the long strands and sweeping them from my face; I smile and lose a breath into a sigh....instead I let the hair dangle to hide any emotions that might be written in my face. I've become good at hiding emotions, both from others and myself. ...at least, that's what I keep telling myself.
Just as I'm almost out the door, I realize Free is shouting at me. Was I so out of it that I didn't notice he was shouting before, or was this the first' "By the way, this could be nothing so don't get your hopes up, but my sources told me they might have spotted someone fitting that description of the woman you gave, back around that Inn you said she might show up at." I know at that moment Free is studying me for a reaction, it's part of who he is to read people, but he wouldn't be able to see how I react. My heart quickens, my breath catches in my throat, my palms sweat...."But we can't confirm. There hasn't been any activity at the house you asked us to monitor, which is probably most telling that it isn't our mark."
That time I do believe I visibly react. I can feel my shoulders slump as my body deflates, my heart sinking back below the surface where it has just barely peeked over a moment prior. I give the barest of nods and grasp the handle of the door, feeling it slip ever so slightly due to the perspiration in my hand. Then I step outside into the cool afternoon, the cloudy grey skies a perfect marriage to my countenance and a perfect reflection of my mood. Fall is changing to winter, and the fallen leaves of the past will soon be swept away.