Pauline

God she hated herself for doing this, for being like this, but she just couldn’t help herself. He was only a man, just an ordinary man, and she had only spoken to him the once.

Yet he had sent her whole world into a spin. She just had to know where he was, and what the hell was going on.

It was pouring with rain, and even here under the shelter of the trees, Pauline was pretty much soaked through.

She asked herself again, why was she here outside Alex’s house watching and waiting all this time.

She liked Alex, liked her a lot, and knew it was probably because they were very alike in many ways; they were both bullish and hard, both wanted their own way, and from what Pauline had heard of Alex, she almost always got it too.

But Alex had lied to her, told her that David had gone, gone for good she’d said.

And yet Alex couldn’t tell her any more, could not explain, would not explain, no matter how hard Pauline had pushed.

And Pauline had believed Alex then, had believed her right up until yesterday when she saw him crossing the square, heading in this direction, heading towards Alex’s house.

It was dark and she didn’t see his face clearly, he even had a hood up, as if he was trying to hide. A man of his age with a bloody hoodie. How ridiculous, it made him stand out all the more, she thought. It was him alright, the stance, the walk, the direction he was going. It all fit.

She had tried to follow, but by the time she had crossed the square herself, there was no sign of him.

She’d walked all the way to Alex’s house and still no sign.

Then she had even knocked on Alex’s door, expecting Alex not to answer, or if she did, to make some excuse as to why she couldn’t come in.

But Alex had just let her in no problem at all, and had sat and talked with her for almost an hour before she’d made an excuse to leave.

And even after that, Pauline was still absolutely convinced that it was David she had seen.

But now having stood here in the rain for most of the day, soaked through, tired and hungry, Pauline was beginning to doubt herself, beginning to wonder if she had only seen what she so much wanted to see.

She shook her head and ground her teeth in temper.

“No, you know what you saw!” She said loud enough that anyone passing would think her disturbed.

She was angry at the whole bloody situation. Angry with Alex for outright refusing to tell her what was going on. Angry at David for just up and disappearing.

And so very bloody angry with herself for being such a fool over the whole situation.

Why wouldn’t Alex tell her what was going on? What was the big secret? What could it possibly be that made Alex so very tight lipped?

It occurred to her then, that Alex herself might really believe that David was gone. Alex certainly looked upset, really upset, and she was drinking like a fish.

Was he hiding from her too? Should she tell her what she thought she had seen? No! she corrected herself, what she had seen.

After all they were slowly becoming friends, and friends confided in each other, didn’t they.

Yes, that was what she’d do – she would tell Alex what she had seen. That was the open and honest thing to do; what a friend would do.

Who knows, she thought, perhaps Alex will open up then, and tell me what the hell is going on.

Yes. That’s what I’ll do, I’ll tell her what I saw, and explain how I feel. Show her that I really am her friend.

###

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Alex

Half a bottle gone all ready and it's only six thirty. I needed to slow down.

No, I needed to cut down dramatically, or even stop drinking all together. It was getting too much of an habit, for habit it was.

I do not really enjoy alcohol, certainly don't like the morning after, and I can't say that I even enjoy the feeling of being drunk, or the stupid things it makes me capable of either.

I'm already too outspoken as it is, and drink made me worse, brings out the anger in me, and then whatever I say usually stings, and really hurts whoever it was aimed at.

That was why I usually drank alone, and why I had started drinking so much lately – I was so bloody angry at David, and drink let me really get my feelings out in the open.

It was a month, a whole month, since the day he just up and disappeared in front of my eyes.

I knew his story was true, I had truly believed him for months.

And yet to see someone just fade away from you as if they had never existed, feel the warmth of their touch lingering on your fingers when the pressure of their hand was just not there anymore.

That was just too much for me to take, for a while I had just freaked out, stood there, my mind numb with what had just happened; only seconds earlier, I had been as high as a kite with what was going to happen, what was supposed to happen.

“Hold my hand and it will take us both,” he had said. “But we must be alert. Stay close no matter what happens, no matter what you see. You must stay close so that I can protect you."

He had smiled at me as he pressed that infernal button.

Everything after that had been a blur, had an unreal dreamlike quality to it.

I remember seeing the rod slip and fall away from his hand, fall through his hand as it seemed to fade and lose substance.

It had hit the floor, the noise a dull clatter, and then rolled a few feet away from us, from me I suppose really; David was already gone by then.

It all had happened so slowly, almost as if I could have reached out and caught the rod as it slipped from his hand, assuming that is, that I’d had any conscious thoughts present in my mind at that moment.

But I hadn’t, I was an observer in what took place, I could no more act than a stone could speak.

A man had come, said he had heard me scream. I did not remember screaming, but I suppose I must have done.

He sat me down gently on the floor, comforted me, said to stay there while he went for help. He did not come back, and when I had regained my senses enough to look, the Rod was gone too.

I filled my glass again. “Bloody David, bloody flaming, impatient, impetuous man." I was crying yet again, I realised.

I had done that a lot too lately; it had become so commonplace that sometimes I did not even notice until I needed to dry my eyes.

Oh, how I missed him so. He had changed my life so very much; given it meaning again. And, he was my friend, my one true friend.

So much had happened in that last month after David had returned from the states. His depression at first had been almost all consuming. “Damn Jalholm, dam him to hell."

Then the message came, and after that another and then another. All so cryptic, so little substance, but still enough to make him angry, angry enough to resume his search.

Despite what David had said, I had finally thrown in my job. I had planned to sell my house and live off the proceeds, but he would not hear of it.

I had already given up enough by resigning, he said, and that if I was really determine to follow him wherever the messages led, then he had more than enough money for the both of us.

We followed the clues, searched and investigated, found trails and searched further, and in the end those bloody messages had brought us to the cafe.

Day after day of waiting, until finally the package came; the package that took David from me.

The package that turned my life upside down and made me the drunken, self pitying wretch that I now was.

And only then did it hit me. I had been so selfish, all my thoughts over this month had been for myself and the hurt I had taken.

But what of David? Was he safe and well, was he alive even? I had not given a thought for him.

I had assumed that he had finally gotten what he wanted, and had returned to Ellas to take up his battle against Dar'cen.

But we knew nothing of who sent the messages, what their purpose was, whether they tried to help or to harm – the Rod could have taken him to his death.

Tears filled my eyes as I cursed my blind and thoughtless self pity. I knew I had to stop this, had to pull myself together. But I missed him so very much.

Sometime later, a glass or perhaps three later, the door bell rang.

My tears had stopped a glass or two back, and I was now calmer, more rational. Pauline, I thought. She often came round lately; we had become friends.

Not real friends, not close, but we did talk a great deal now.

She fished a lot, still trying to prize out what I knew of David, and I had even told her some, the little I thought she might actually be able to believe.

I yanked open the door, “Your getting to be a regular,” poised on the tip of my tongue.

The man who stood there was soaked to the skin, his blond hair plastered to his head. Yet the broad grin that split his face almost reached all the way up to his piercing blue eyes.

“Jalholm!” I gasped.