Embrace

Jered’s Embrace on the Cliffs of Maine


I’ve decided to post a few of the short stories I’ve worked on over the last 6 months for my creative writing class.


Jered’s Embrace on the Cliffs of Maine


Abby stared down at the once beige carpet, now turned a reddish brown. Of course, now the carpet would have to be changed- but then again, why bother replacing the carpet when she wouldn’t be staying in the dinky apartment. Abby looked around the rest of the living room and dining room, trying to envision what had taken place just the day before. She could only remember pieces of it at the moment, but the parts she was certain of were terrifying at best. This would just be one more relocation she would have to bear her way through. One thought brought her some joy- it had taken Them two years to find her. The longest time for Them to locate her in the last five years.
The peace had made her complacent, dull. Instead of keeping her G39 compact pistol on her person, she had started leaving it in her nightstand, figuring that if she needed it, it would be like in the movies, you know, someone sneaking into the house late at night to do one thing- dispatch the sleeping and unsuspecting victim. But again, she had allowed herself to slack off and relax a little. Abby glanced at the window leading from the living room to the alley and wondered once again at the round hole framed by wispy spider like cracks in the upper left hand corner.
Fingering the delicate chain around her bruised yet otherwise flawless neck, she walked to the window. Reaching up tentatively she touched the bullet hole and wondered who could have possibly known about her intruder, who could have been watching. The questions kept coming. How long had they been watching? How did they know about the man who was laying in wait like a snake in the grass, waiting for their prey to walk by unsuspecting before striking? If they had been watching, who were they? And the biggest one, WHY would they watch? Now, aside from the whole obviously terrifying thought that THEY had caught up with her, now she had another thing to worry about. Even though this person had saved her life, she didn’t know who they were and what they could possibly know about her.
Moving away from the window, and walking into the kitchen, she noticed a black satchel laying on the floor, halfway hidden under the couch. Not recognizing it, she cautiously removed it from its shadowed hiding place. Taking it into the kitchen and placing it on her small ‘dining room’ table and stared at it, willing it to open itself and reveal what secrets it may hold. Whether or not she expecting a coiled snake to jump out at her, like those old worm-in-the-can toys, or a bomb to explode as a secondary precaution just to make sure she ended up dead, she didn’t know. Finally, drawing up the courage, Abby slowly loosened the draw strings and peered cautiously inside. Not seeing any blinking lights or numbers flashing 0:03, 0:02, 0:01, she decided it was ok to dump the contents on the table. Papers, a couple of extra magazine clips, some old photos…photos of her and Jered. Photos of her and Jered. Not that it was surprising to see photos of herself, obviously, since she was the target. But how, when and where did they get pictures of her and Jered? And why still bother with pictures of Jered? He had been dead for 5 years. Why bother toting that around, he was no longer a target. They had already seen to that.
Enough. Reminiscing and wishing for things hasn’t worked for the last five years, it certainly isn’t going to work now. Abby continued to surf through the contents and found more pictures of just her and more pictures of just Jered, old addresses, phone numbers, bank account numbers and some large bills in a money clip. Nothing conclusive. Even more confused now than she was before, Abby decided she would leave the questions for the drive to---destination unknown. It was time to pack up. Eventually word would get back to them that she was still alive, that their hit man had failed and they would send another.  And another.  Until she was at the bottom of some unnamed lake.
She kept her apartment neat, tidy and well organized. More importantly, even though she had slacked off on making sure she was armed and well practiced, she had still maintained the easy to move attitude. She strode down the hallway to the linen closet and grabbing the step stool, she hoisted her 5’7 frame up to reach the top shelf where she kept her bags. Walking the four steps to her bedroom, she turned on the light and stared at her bare 9x11 square foot room. The only furniture was her twin bed, nightstand, and lamp. There were no pictures on the walls, no flowers, decorations. All of the clothing she owned was in her closet, hung up. No books, trinkets, or stuffed animals. The normally small room was somehow made larger by the absence of stuff. With only a twin bed, the room seemed to grow and stretch out. The window was covered by blinds, but no curtains.
Abby walked to the night stand, opened it up and removed her diary, miniature photo album, removed the false bottom of the drawer and removed her Glock and the $50,000 in emergency cash, and a manila envelope filled with several fake ID’s. Pushing the mattress and box springs aside, she pushed the bed frame away from the wall. Behind the headboard, there was a patch of wall that was plastered differently from the rest of the walls in the apartment. Going back into the kitchen, under the sink she grabbed a tool kit, given to her by Jered as a gag gift. The kit was pink and every tool inside was clad with a bright pink handle.
She hated pink. She disliked tools. She missed Jered. Focus! She moved quickly back to her bedroom. Once there, she opened up the tool kit and removed the hammer. Smiling slightly at the pink handle, she took aim at the misplastered wall and struck. It only took a couple of hits to break the shoddy fix and reveal the space behind. Inside the wall, Abby felt around until she located what she was looking for. She pulled out the dusty backpack and coughed. Dust and mold were not an appealing mixture. Brushing the bag off, she set it down on the disheveled bed and tugged on the zipper. Once opened, she looked at the dwindling bundles of money. She maybe had another 2 years at best of living by cash. Then she would have to find a job and that would make it easier for them to find her. A life of cash was easy to hide. Fake name, low rent apartments, an easy existence. It left no trail for anyone to trace. She made sure she kept to herself, not going out of her way for social interaction.
Abby grabbed one of the duffel bags and moved to the closet. Yanking clothes off hangers and stuffing them into the bag Abby felt what could only be described as exhaustion. Not the kind of exhaustion you feel from lack of sleep. But the kind that creeps up on you after years of working the same job and getting no payout from it. The constant ebb and flow of life that never gives a moment’s thought to whether you need a break or not. Abby grabbed her spare pair of shoes and shoved them into the bag on top of everything else. Probably should have put those in first.
She moved into the bathroom and grabbed her purple tooth brush and toothpaste. She had a travel kit in her car at all times that held other random toiletries so she left the rest behind. She walked into the kitchen and opening a kitchen drawer, she removed her keys and a few personal items. She cast a glance around her dim apartment and acknowledged that there really wasn’t much to her existence anymore. She had a small green sofa, upholstery worn and faded in spots, especially her spot. The TV was small, coffee table dinged and scratched. Every stick of furniture in the apartment she had obtained from a second hand store. She kept nothing of great value so that if she needed to make an escape, such as the one she was making tonight, she could leave everything behind except what she needed to survive.
This exhaustion was creeping up on her. She was tired of hiding, running, living a secret life with no friends, no lover. She hadn’t spoken to her sister and brother or her parents in 5 yrs. Not since Jered died. They all probably thought she was dead by now. Abby refused to let her mind linger on her once upon a time life and her family. It all seemed fairytaleish anyways. Besides, she had not contacted them for so long for their own good. If They found out that she had contacted her family, they too could possibly wind up 6 feet under. She wondered how long she could possibly keep going like this and felt certain that it wouldn’t be much longer. Maybe it would just be better to let them kill me rather than continue this constant battle.
If they hadn’t given up yet, even after a 2 year dry spell, doesn’t seem like they would be giving up any time soon. Not until she too, was dead. Buried next to her husband, wherever that was. For all she knew, he could be fish food. Isn’t that how people dispose of bodies these days? Throwing bodies into a bay somewhere and letting the crabs and fish nip and tug away at the lifeless corpse until there isn’t anything left for Horatio to find. Either way, she still had to leave. She wasn’t yet resigned to just dying. If anything, she would rather go out with a fight.
She continued to gather the few items that she would need for her unplanned trip. From behind the canned vegetables and other nonperishables in her cupboard, she removed a large envelope with maps of potential destinations. Maybe it was just time to jump the country. This thought had occurred to her once before, but she feared that borders wouldn’t be an issue for Them. Sigh. Gathering everything into 2 large duffel bags, she left her pay as you go cell phone and apartment keys on the table. Casting one more glance around the apartment to make sure she had left no personal affects behind and being satisfied with what she saw, Abby turned and closed the apartment door. One more closed door.
As Abby approached her car in the apartment complex parking lot, she noticed a man standing across the street who seemed to be watching her. It made her uneasy. That familiar knot formed in her stomach and she choked back the bile that threatened to escape. Rushing to her car, she unlocked the door, and threw her stuff into the back. She cast a seasoned and practiced concealed glace at the man and didn’t find him. This made her even more nervous. Putting the car in reverse, she ground the gears trying to get it into first gear. Her car wasn’t new, but it had always gotten her from point A to point- unknown.
Pulling out into traffic, she kept a wary eye on the rearview mirror. No black Escalade or obscure white van was following her. She sighed and chalked the man up to an overactive imagination. She pulled out some of the maps and laid them on the worn leather of the passenger seat. She would decide where to go once she got out of town. As she drove down an old beat up highway that seemed to lead to nowhere, she thought back over the last 5 years. She was fairly good at keeping thoughts about the past locked. For her, opening that chest was like opening Pandora’s box. All the questions would spill out like an overflowing toilet, and finally she would be left with a single feeling. Shit. She drove for what seemed hours before she stopped at a roadside gas station for gas, some munchies, and a bathroom break.
After purchasing her bland gas station food, drink and gas, she climbed back into her car and grabbed a map. As of right now, she was somewhere outside of Springfield, Massachusetts. Fingering the worn map, she decided she would head north-east towards Maine. Being late fall, maybe the cold would slow her pursuers down. Besides, she had always wanted to see the lighthouses that dotted the easy coast. It was something her grandmother had always wanted to do, but was never able to, due to crippling arthritis. Maybe her grandmother’s spirit could live vicariously through her as she perused the worn shores and explored those fabled old beacons of light. Lights that called out to wandering ships in the dark of night and the blinding depths of fog. She smiled at the dumb metaphor and turned the ignition.


Ahh, exhaustion and the smell of the beach. Not a beach like Miami or Venice Beach. Cold, crisp, salty air. Wind that was almost abrasive to your skin, but refreshingly good. The air even had a distinct taste. Like seaweed, salt, with the earthy tang of mud and sand. Abby looked up and down the shores of this remote, nowhere beach off the coast of Maine. The one her and Jered had found seven years ago. The one where he had purposed. The one where they came back to every year.
She was so far north that she imagined, if she wanted to, she could walk up the beach and within just a couple hours be in New Brunswick. That eerie familiar tingle ran up her spine. She thought she had been alone. Perhaps not. A black figure was walking into the tall grass on the opposite side of her car, across the gravel and into some bushes that led away from the beach. Abby decided it was time to move. She clutched the denim bag to her side, which contained all her memoirs of Jered, her birth certificate, and a few other personal effects. Her Glock was strapped against her thigh, a callous long ago rubbed on the inside of her right thigh.
She walked along the beach until the sandy shores seemed to fade away, white beaches no longer in her vision. The terrain became rocky, the shore growing more distant below her. That feeling was back, the feeling of being watched but Abby dismissed it to overactive imagination. She kept climbing. The rocks were getting sharper and tears began to flow.
Abby was finally allowing her mind to take her back to that night. The night she lost her husband. Jered and Abby had been married for three years and they were an amazing three years. Just like a fairytale, everything was great. Of course, like any normal couple, they had spats, but for the most part they were puzzle pieces, fitting together just right, not only in personality and chemistry, but their bodies fit together like surreal magic and their minds were an intellectual powerhouse. She had been truly happy. And in one short hour, her entire life was shattered. Her husband wasn’t who he said he was. He worked for Them. And when things went south, They took it upon themselves to make sure the damage was rectified. He had come to her late one night, giving her a duffel bag and telling her he loved her, he was sorry. So sorry. He never would have brought her into this mess if he had known what They were capable of. He kissed her then, so sweetly, so tenderly. He said “Get out of town Abbs, leave, run as far as you can.” And then he left. A distant, whispered goodbye. He left her sitting in her favorite lounger, a chenille blanket draped around her frame, book on the floor, overturned, pages bent. Confused and scared. She opened the duffel bag to find what seemed to be more than $1 Million and a letter. The letter explained a few brief details about the work Jered had done for Them, and when he failed to meet his deadline, They put a hit out on him. He cashed out what was left of his research funding and gave it to her to hide with.
She had tried to find him, but was sent pictures, gruesome pictures of her husband’s decapitated and dismembered body, unrecognizable. She then knew what running meant. So run she did.
After that night, it hadn’t taken long for them to catch up with her. She had moved from San Francisco to a small town in Montana. She signed up for safely courses in gun handling and her practice had paid off and she became quite good with her side arm. Plenty of target practice in the rugged back country of Montana and lots of spare time to do it in. She had to learn to always be watching her back. She had learned that lesson the hard way. For the most part, she always stayed one step ahead of Them. Only a few times had she noticed a wrongly placed parked car, or a stranger watching her. And only a few times aside from this last time had she come face to face with Them. Knowing it was either her life or Theirs, she never hesitated to fight for her life. The first time she pulled the trigger, she was sick for days. Taking a human life wasn’t as easy as the movies made it. After the third time, she still wasn’t used to it. Last week’s incidents marks hadn’t faded enough for her to forget how close she’d come to the end.
Thinking about that night brought Abby back to who had saved her life. The questions weren’t any closer to being answered. She figured it could have been a reward issue, one hit man up for the reward taking the other hit man out so he could reap the price of her head. But that didn’t make much sense either, since whoever he was, hadn’t come to finish the job. Since answers were nowhere near as abundant as the questions, she decided it wasn’t worth the energy to try to figure it out. It made her tired.
Abby thought about everything over the course of the last several years. The running, the hiding, her lack of existence, love, life. She was breathing, she was living, but she wasn’t alive. She hadn’t felt alive since before he died. Maybe in death she would feel more life than she did. Abby had come to the realization until she was dead by Their hands, she was just a walking corpse anyways. And true to form, she was a walking zombie. Nothing in her life had any semblance to it anyways. She felt like she was going crazy. If she was being honest with herself, crazy had become her soul mate the last few years.
She unstrapped her gun and placed it still in the holster on the ground. Abby bent over and unlaced her boots and pulled them off her feet. Removing her socks, the rocky ground bit into her bare feet, but she didn’t feel it. Her fingers trembled with the anticipation of a lover as she unbuttoned her black blouse. Removing her blouse, Abby dropped it to the ground, covering her boots and socks. She unzipped her jeans and climbed out of them. She tugged at her bra and pulled it free. Finally, her last item of clothing was removed and left on the pile of clothes. And here at the top of this beautiful Maine outlook over the grand ocean before her, waves crashing against the rocks below, spraying salt water up into a fine mist. Her face was bathed in it. She took her hair out of its normal pony tail and let her strawberry blonde hair cascade down her back, letting the wind tangle it like a wild lover twisting it between its fingers. Caressing her body in its own romantic way, her face blushing under its intensity. A smile played on the corners of her mouth. Her imagination brought his aftershave and her senses came alive. She felt his arms warp around her body, offering a strange warmth against the cold of the ocean wind. She could hear his voice now, whispering in her ear, the warmth of his breath brushing her neck in its tender strokes. Jered was wanting her.
“I’ve missed you…”
“I’ve missed you too.”
“You’re not mad at me are you Jered?”
“No, I’m not mad at you.”
With that, Abby broke free from her inhibitions, her cage, the arms of fear no longer holding her back and ran to the edge of the cliff. Without looking back, she jumped. Her smile did not fade, even as she landed in the water, rocks crushing her, waves pounding over her broken body, washing away any evidence of her wingless journey. She was finally free, flying with him.


Up on the cliff next to her pile of clothes was her unholstered Glock laying in the lifeless hand of Jered.