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The next day forced to face an uncomfortable reality. They will never let this lie. Everyone walked away, no bodies left behind, no harm, still if only I could walk this all back. Never my intention to involve others, I see they are all gathered around our table engaged in a robust conversation until I approach, awkward. Squashed the mood. Why did they follow me and how did they know? Best guess Addison. Is she an insider, a spy, does she work for the Committee? I know not. But with that, take my regular seat with my customary greeting, “mornin all.” Force a smile. Server arrives with breakfast, sets the food in place and reminds me, “remember to tip the server,” turns walking quickly away.
Next, I mumble and add, without eye contact, “thanks for saving my butt.” Silence, while they return to their meals. Frank ask, “quiet night, wondering did you all hear some shouting… gunfire down the road, kept me awake for hours?”
Obviously, I didn't expect to run into trouble. Relative of a past victim seeking retribution, to be sure. Reputations are hard to shake. They just grow, bent out of shape, reconfigured. More chatter.
Uncomfortable pause, as if sound no longer exists.
“Fine, I’m sorry! Just didn’t want others involved in my…business, whatever.”
“What was on the card?” Addison asked.
“Personal,” anger bubbling up.
“So we just put our necks on the line and deposited chaos in the middle of the street, started a fire, left a lot of pissed off folks behind…. And added to a growing reputation, which, in various ways, we are all running from? I might add likely to have bounty hunters knocking on the front gate cause you were hungry? Dinner, a quest, a card, a Personal note? Was it an ex, girlfriend on the side, seriously?” Cord asked.
“We all had a life, a reputation, reasons to stay unidentified, invisible. We all have a past. Most likely, we all have someone we left behind, friends, foes, and bodies. And FYI, I’m tired of running, looking over my shoulder,” Brett interjected.
Joshua pulled a worn folded piece of paper out of an inner pocket, unfolds it and places it in the center of the table. A wanted poster, with a hefty reward, displayed. “Dead or Alive.”
“And you, you bumbled into a reputation, not by any skill, rather your cleverness? Or dumb luck?” Addison added. We stumbled across a place where we thought we could keep out of sight, fade into the mist.
“We’re in a tough spot, thanks to you, vulnerable,” Addison said. “Even among this community I guarantee there are those willing to inform, to snitch, turn us in for a price.”
Uncomfortable pause follows.
“Personal does not cut it,” Brett declares.
Probably three years now my wife murdered, and two daughters of age, missing. I try to avoid anything that was the least bit menacing. The world distorted, chaos reigned. Every day a struggle to survive, evading all precarious situations, fearful, and weak. The world is in a state of disintegration. The rule of law that once held humanity afloat now undone. I hide from my past, my failures. I hunted, sought the doers with no success.
I promised I would keep them safe, I would find food, we would stay together, because I was so damn clever. Shrewd. Educated. Quick-witted. What a joke. I’ll be right back. I promised! Just like I had recently promised Diana’s father.
And I was right back, my wife dead laying across the bed and my two daughters, gone. I have worked hard to compartmentalize the pain, then I saw Emily being mistreated by a yahoo and the feelings rushed back, that gut punch I lived with occasionally reappearing, the vision of a… looking, hiding, avoiding reality.
Why did I decide to visit that awful place, close by, thinking maybe, just maybe, they were there, dangerous?
I lived the recent years hiding, squeezing out memories. Personal.
“You all have stories, consequential encounters. Some day we can sit around and reminisce. For now, I’ll just say it’s about family,” my anger evident.
Addison stands to leave, angry. “family, look around. Today, this is family.” She walks away. They all walked away.
Alone, piqued, appetite gone, filled with conflicting solicitude. I sat.
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