DOUBLE EDGED A Harper's Book. (Book 10)

Squander

Sitting here at this abandoned bar night after night had become my routine. It's nearing two in the morning and the only other soul present is the bar keep who occasionally sends me sympathetic glances as he runs a dish towel over wet glasses he just washed. Sometimes he speaks but most night's he doesn't unless I ask him for another round. It's as if he knows that I seek my comfort in the silence and booze.

As soon as I leave my office my feet rush to get to the lobby bar. It's crowded with the normal nine to five worker's who meet up with friend's for a drink after a long day or the out of towner who is here in hopes of hitting the jackpot but no matter the crowd my lone bar stool is always reserved and empty. I always sit at the end next to the wall away from the cheerful people, lost in my own thoughts and sorrow. Occasionally I'll be approached by a woman but after I show my lack of interest and remain occupied by my own company they eventually move along leaving me be, the way I want it. I have no desire for any woman's attention or one night stand. There's only one woman I want but can't have and I'm the reason that I can't have her.... Because I killed her.

Not only did I kill her but I killed my unborn child as well. No, I didn't pull any trigger or slide a blade over her throat. I didn't even take my hand to her.... No,my lies killed her. My betrayals killed her. My family killed her. I'm to blame. I should've tried harder to make her understand instead I allowed her to flee me thinking giving her the space she required would solve our problems. Never had I been so wrong. In her anger and newfound hate for me she wanted to lash out, she wanted revenge. Never did I think her seeking her own revenge would get her killed. The sight of her burned corpse follows me everywhere. It's the first thing I see when I wake and the last thing I see before the booze renders me unconscious. That charred body is with me during my meetings, when I take a shower and when I'm on a flight. In fact she sits beside me every night at this bar and constantly smiles at me. Sometimes  she's holding a tiny baby made from ash and even though her skin is black and crusty her eye's remain the same and her hair of fire is so shiny and beautiful. If I try to ignore her and relinquish her from my thoughts she leans over and hisses into my ear. "You did this to me, to us. You and your family" . At this point I only drink harder as she laughs knowing that not even the bottle can erase her.

It's been month's since Frankies demise but it still feels as if it was yesterday. The sting is a powerful one, it's still raw and swollen. When I found her tattered body my knees hit the hard concrete and I broke apart not caring who witnessed my meltdown. As my men tried to pull me away so they could dispose of the evidence before the authorities arrived I latched on to her blackened armed. I couldn't leave her, not like this but in my attempt to pull her along with me her brittle arm broke off right into my hand. I truly believe that this was the moment of my total undoing. My men kept tugging me away as I clawed and fought to remain with her body. "Frankie, ginger snap". I screamed over and over until my throat stung.

Vaguely do I remember my parent's on the scene. I recall my mother placing her hands on either side of my cheek whispering. "My poor baby. All will be well". And then Pape inserted a needle into my neck and I was carried away.

Hour's later I awoke to my mother watching over me. The rest of the family was now here and standing around looking down at the ground as if they didn't know what to say. Well, I had plenty to say. "You did this, each of you. You should hold your heads down in shame. You took her from me".

Of course I know that isn't entirely true. Frankie's death was caused by her own hate and need for revenge but at this moment it felt good to lash out and blame someone. Even though I was lightheaded from the meds, I approached my Pape and shoved him in the chest. "You did this. It's your fault. You killed her family".

I continued to shove him and scream in his face but he just stood there like stone and took my abuse. Eventually my shoves became weaker and my screams turned to sobs until my arms rested limp by my sides and I hung my head before this man as I wept. Without a word my Pape pulled me into his arm's and crushed me to his chest. His chin rested atop my head as he held me and let me cry. Soon the family surrounded around us wrapping me in the cocoon of their love.

That was month's ago and since then everyone has returned back to their normal routines including me. I wake up, work then spend the remainder of my night at this bar. I know soon that my men will show up and escort my drunk self up to my apartment where I will pass out wherever I fall just to get up and do it all over again. Many time's my mother or the other's will try to talk to me about my drinking but they don't understand. While under the influence I can sometimes forget if only for a moment and I can remember Frankie as she was and not that grotesque burned body or her spot of burial.

A month after her death I took her ashes back to her home on the coast of North Carolina. She loved it there so I felt that it was the right thing to do. I scattered her ashes in some of her favorite spots. I continue to pay the mortgage on her cottage and maybe one day I'll heal enough to return but not today.

As I was looking down into my nearly empty glass, I swirled the ice cubes around still thinking of Frankie. A sudden shrill sound rang out above my head and I quickly glanced over to detect the noise. It came from an ancient payphone that was mounted on the wall beside me. I knew it was there but never knew it really worked. Mainly it was there in case a drunk needed to call for a taxi but never had I seen anyone use it. The bar keep stared at it strangely as if he was surprised that it worked as well. Setting his dish towel down, he walked over to answer it. I watched as he greeted the caller then watched as he hung it up. Shrugging his shoulders at me he spoke. "No reply on the other end. Either a prank or it's malfunctioning" .

The bartender returned to his work of drying the glasses and the phone was forgotten but only for a moment. It wasn't long before the shrill ring pierced the empty bar. Saving my hand at the bartender, I indicated for him to continue his work, that I would answer it. Reaching for the receiver, I held the phone to my ear. "Yea". I spoke gruffly.

A crackling sound came over the line followed by static, almost like white noise. "Is this King?"

A robotic, computerized sounding voice responded. Glancing around the bar to see if anyone was nearby or if danger lurked, I replied. "Might be".

" Frankie is alive and well. So is your son. "

"Who is this?" I demanded angrily assuming someone was playing a cruel joke.

" doesn't matter. Sober yourself up and go find them".

"Tell me who this is now before I find you". I roared grabbing the bartenders attention.

I got to reply back. Only the click of the line going dead. Slowly I hung the phone up and offered a reasonable explanation to the bartender. "Some jackass playing a prank".

Or was it? That was my thought. I will admit, the phone call had me shaken as I questioned if this could be true and wondered who was behind the disguised voice of the caller. Laying a few bill's on the counter by my glass, I bid the bartender goodnight and made my way to the apartment. The first time in forever that my men didn't have to carry me home.