He could still feel her jerking as she struggled to take deep breaths. Her hands trying to claw out his grip on her mouth and nose. Her desperation to scream echoed through his mind as he woke up heaving deep breaths. Brad wasn't one to succumb to dreams; neither did they terrify him, but this in particular haunted him. Squabbling over the breakfast he had made in a hurry, he ran his same old shirt over his ripped, toned body, his washed-out jeans and grey cap completing the casual look as he bounced off to work. Never had he been this eager to leave for work, but he really needed some semblance of normality, as his last meeting with Mr. K had shaken his world.
Brad's pulse raised as he closed the door behind him, the nightmares and current experiences doing little to no good in aiding his peace. As he walked down the street, the crisp morning air filled his lungs, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in his mind. Each step felt like a small victory, a reminder that he was still in control, even if just for today. Shaking his head, he let the morning air hit his face as he walked towards his car, trying to ground himself in the present. The city blurred past as Brad drove, the familiar streets giving him an ease of comfort, the quiet hum of his car doing little to drown out the storm in his head. What's going to happen now? Should he just sit around and wait until he's contacted??
"Good morning Brad." The voice came form behind him, calm, steady and all too familiar by this time of the day. "Morning officer Husley. You're early." Husley scoffed. "Could say the same about you. Didn't expect anyone else to be out here this damn early, but here we are." Brad nodded, forcing a thin smile and couldn't help but notice the tightening tension on Husley's jaw. Shrugging it off , he sauntered through the office door, the soft whoosh of the automatic mechanism startling in the quiet lobby. A few early risers glanced up, offering polite nods, but most were buried in their routines—typing, shuffling papers, answering phones. Ordinary. Normal. Dumping his bag on his desk he slumped into the chair , lack of rest clearly evident on his facial features. He gazed at his phone still pondering, "How does the Oasis diamond fit into all this?" "Hey Mr. B!" The words barely left his mouth before a sharp crack echoed in the room. Charles found himself groveling to the floor. "What the hell man!!"
He cursed under his breath as he rubbed a bruise which was forming along his shoulder. His reception, seemingly, had been fully insufficient to the character--or the circumstance--which he had just aroused.
The others stood a few feet away, Brad standing there, his heart still shaking his chest. Something in the manner in which Charles shuddered, the light playing upon the perspiration of his forehead, told him that this was not a usual morning. The atmosphere was thick, and Charles did not need to be the first to feel its pressure.
Sorry
Brad attempted to concentrate on his screen, fingers roaming over the keyboard as though he were attempting to bring himself back to normal. Schedules, reports, everything should have been ordinary using emails. And yet, with every mouse-stroke the sound seemed to be more pronounced than it needed to be, with every laugh or cough of a colleague in the distance there was something at an advantage he could not help noticing.
He sat back in his chair and almost lost sight of the window. The city stretched away behind, dead and unthinking. The sunlight was crashing through the glass of the buildings surrounding and displaying designs that danced nearly playfully on the office floor.
He was interrupted by a slight buzzing of his phone. He glanced down. Unknown number. No message. His thumb was hinged above the display and his heart was telling him to leave it alone, but he was curious, or some other discomfort was trying to prompt him to brush.
Nothing. Only the dinging of a telephone.
He put it down, attempting to cast aside the impression that something had changed when he had picked it up. A faint, near imperceptible feeling that he was not entirely in the correct world, and that the office was somewhat different than it was when he last saw it.
There was a sudden buzz of the intercom, which startled him. Briefing in the morning was known. Brad made a nod, convinced himself to act as he would do in the routine, attend the meeting, and act the role of the cooler, more composed worker.
But as he was going to the door he saw the glass partition once more. Something in the reflection gave his stomach the turn. It is not a reflection of himself, but there is something behind it, a flicker, a shadow in motion against the movement of the room, and is too conscious to be accidental.
Brad's pulse quickened. He blinked. Nothing. Just the office. The same office he had passed hundreds of times. But the discomfort could not be chased away, and sank down in his chest like a foreign burden.
He told himself, It's nothing. I'm imagining things. Just another long morning.
Yet, even when he was sitting in the conference room, amidst the familiar faces and the and ordinary charts, he could not discard the tingling feeling: that something was wrong. Something little, hardly noticeable. But this was enough to make him feel, exposed.
And Brad had a feeling somewhere inside him that the day would come, which was not going to be experienced in a manner he was ready to go through.
The air in Paris was another, and it was perhaps more dense, and was centuries thick in it. The splendor of the city, the beautiful architecture, and the vibrancy of the street added to the press on the one hand imposed on her, as she stepped out of her limo, as she felt it pressing on her. Her hotel, the Hôtel Plaza Athé, was a bubble of luxury, but she could not get rid of the feeling of being watched even in the luxurious walls of her hotel.
She entered her suite, a retreat of soft materials and antique pieces, without the prospect of the Seine, which generally gives one inspiration, doing much to calm her anxieties. Getting the burden of the pressure that had been troubling her these last few weeks off her hands, she deeply inhaled and sunk into the plush embrace of the velvet armchair before the window. When she looked out at the gleaming river, the shadows of the past had started to creep in and were whispering and talking against her that her heart was racing once more.
She made up her mind to lose herself in the city, to have its vitality flow over her. She rose with a resolution and shook off the nagging concerns and stepped out into the busy streets. The cheery notes of laughter and song enclosed her, and carried her nearer to the vivid spirit of the city, a heart-beat which was sure to subdue the shadows that haunted her thoughts. She was strolling along the bustling streets and the scent of street food was so inviting that she attempted to sample new things. The colorful markets and street performers were seen on every turn of the corner and contributed to the thrill of the city ambiance. She experienced some form of liberation, like the festival was making her feel inspired and optimistic. With each minute, she felt increasingly anticipating what she would experience as she was ready to embrace that which was before her. Drawing out her Journal, she had halted at a cup of coffee shop occupying the seat beside the window which gave to her the view of the entire city in a nutshell. The waiter taking her order ahead of her, she soon opened her sketch book spurring out her after thoughts of the swift tour round the city and bring those memories to life in the form of designs and rude artistic sketches which she would later decide would be made a masterpiece.
Satisfied with her work, she gazed outside feeling the wave of loneliness wash over her. They don't call Paris the city of love for nothing, there was this ambience of pure unadulterated love that just spoke in volumes to one who keenly admires the city and its serene beauty. Looking around she could see acts of love displayed by couples, families, friends and even co-workers and being by herself , she could feel a pang in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't deny the fact she had a loving family, few but amazing friends, but never had she felt what true love by a man could be like. Not that she hadn't had romantic experiences in the past but they had all been selfish, greedy, Would I ever be loved like this??? she sighed as she took in her scenery in a rather lonesome manner.
Larry paced around his home packing up the only few things he had. He could not wait to leave this life behind; the occasional gigs, the sloppy breakfast lunch and dinner, the shabby clothes and most of all this shabby looking apartment he had spent most of his life in. He gleamed as he began having lucid dreams about what laid ahead of him if he could succeed. Looking at himself in the mirror he could barely recognize the figure that stared right back at him, the reflection still wore exhaustion in his eyes but beneath it was something deeper- hunger. Hunger for the new life that laid ahead.
Larry zipped up his luggage as he gazed round his small but seemingly cozy space he once called home. A single bedroom, a tiny kitchen that could barely fit in two people, peeling paint and the sound of dripping water that the kitchen faucet always made which had become the soundtrack to most of his nights. Yet somehow, it had always felt safe.
Today, it felt like prison. He let out a slow breath before grabbing his suitcase. "No more..." he whispered as his fingers brushed against an old framed photo sitting on the shelf. A younger version of himself stood between two smiling women.
His mother.
His little sister.
The only family he had ever known.
Larry smiled before turning the frame down.
" Time to leave this life behind." he muttered as his phone vibrated .
Unknown number.
He frowned. "Hello?"
There was no greeting, no introduction, only a calm voice.
"Locker twenty-seven."
Larry's expression hardened.
" Inside you'll find your passport, flight ticket and expenses." The voice paused. " Paris"
The line disconnected.
Larry stared at the screen for several seconds before laughing to himself.
"So we're really doing this..."