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The stairwell I raced down terminated in a slightly more expansive platform of raw concrete with an unkind looking metal door. Pushing my way out, I turned blindly onto the sidewalk and moved against traffic, away from the light of the apartment community and into the tangerine glow of the street lamps. My shoes slapped against the rain-glazed street, my only company, and my thoughts could not decipher any reason. I clutched the paper dampening in the cold sweat of my palm. I did not know where to go.
Read more... )
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[19 weeks? Really? It's not that there hasn't been work; just... haven't... posted anything. But I'm starting a sincere effort to get back to this story (I know, I know), starting with the thorough re-write it deserves.]

Amber Poe.

“For the third time, I don't know.”

My words echoed across the telephone line, crackling out of an emergency call center headset into the harried ears of an overworked woman who didn't believe me. Having received all the warnings about how it was illegal to impersonate an actual emergency call, I stood finally at this impasse with this stranger; how could she believe a story that I didn't have to tell, anyway? I felt the stoniness of my own silence bearing down on me. My knuckled whitened on the telephone. This is what 911 is for!

“Ma'am, are you in danger?”

Read more... )
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I have occupied a hundred names, trying to find a life that was taken from me. It is an embattled life beneath the radar of the law and other prying eyes, carrion-eaters who would seek out and destroy me. Because I am the seed that will one day flourish into the plant whose poison sap will lay them all in their graves.
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[yes, I am still working on this story.]

I woke some time after noon, sore but feeling more energized than I had when Trent had woken me earlier that morning. I took a quarter hour to recount my evening and morning, recalling the names of Trent’s friends and what information I’d gathered concerning them, recalling the Trent and Forrest had gone back into the lion’s den to do business and gather belongings. Post this careful meditation, I hauled myself unsteadily to my feet and made my way into the bathroom. It was minimal, but clean and pleasantly spacious. There was a little bit of dust on the counter, indicating to me that the room – and likely, the guest bedroom as well – had not been used in some time. However, there were sufficient toiletries beneath the sink to allow me to clean up.

That shower was maybe the longest I have ever taken. I turned off the incandescent sconce on the wall, letting the light dim to the faint trickle of afternoon sunlight coming through the bedroom window beyond. There in that half-darkness, the hot water pounded over every inch of my body for maybe a half hour before I even addressed the matter of picking the scabs and tangles out of my hair. I’d incurred more minor wounds than I was formerly aware with all the excitement of the last few days. The soap stung into scrapes and abrasions all up and down my body. I could still feel the throbbing, muscle-deep bruise where the hypodermic needle had gone into my back. Read more... )
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I awoke early, and exhausted, as brilliant rays of sunlight cut their way across my room from the window. My head ached like little I’ve felt since, and, barely conscious, I stumbled across to the window to draw the curtains. Stumbling back, I discovered a glass of water by my bedside by almost knocking it over, and drank it. It was about this time – they must have heard me stirring – that Trent angled his head around the door, heralded by a timid knock.
This is a short one... )
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The key fit in the door, popping it open. The interior was clean, and unfortunately empty. Gap! )
The room goes black. Time stops in my hands; a tether I can feel pulling against the skin of my fingers. I can remember a time when I didn’t things like this happened to people.

[Why is it, I'm usually inspired when I have other obligations? Like sleep?]
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I awoke hazily throughout the day, sleeping more than I was conscious and barely conscious when I was. It was bright, which I remember distinctly because whenever my eyes would crack from the world of night that I was in, the pain in my head was almost shattering. At one point, we stopped at a gas station and Trent stepped out of the car for several minutes to make a telephone call. I could hear him through my feverish dreams, his voice coming in inconsistent bursts of clarity.

“No, no I’m not… Alright, I’ll see you guys in an hour.”

The driver’s door closed gently, and we were off again, the motion of the car lulling me back into darkness.Read more... )

[I pledge to fill in the bit that's missing from earlier. It's not much, I swear.]
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The room goes black. Time stops in my hands; a tether I can feel pulling against the skin of my fingers. I can remember a time when I didn’t things like this happened to people.
Read more... )

[Yes, there is some missing. How do you like them apples?]
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After pacing through the second portion of my note-to-self (the fine print) several times, we came to a poorly maintained retaining wall. The uncomfortable tingling sensation in my extremities flared as I touched the deeply lined stone. Trent stood on in slice as I followed my hands, pressing my fingers into the ruts where the mortar had been.
Read more... )
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Trent was silent for a while behind me while I rinsed the remainder of the dishes. I finished, turned, and leaned against the sink. Sliding his eyes away from me, he pursed his lips.

“Hmm.” Further silence. I didn’t give him the benefit of leading him toward the answer I was looking for. “So… ah… where do you need to go?”

At last. The million dollar question. I withdrew my slip of paper from the pocket of my jeans and handed it top him. His lips fluttered slightly as he looked it over, half-forming the words as his mind took them in.
Read more... )
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I drifted away with thoughts of the voices that had surrounded me that day. The waitress, the men in black that had chased me, Trent. After a while, darkness swallowed even those.Read more... )

Amber Poe

Jul. 9th, 2004 01:08 am
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There was blood on the page. This is the most that I remember, of that night, of waking in the strange apartment high in that building that overlooked streets I did not recognize. Even now, the memories of that place come in clots. The world still breaks on me like a wave, at day. My nights are long, endless really, and I feel the tide sucking a little bit more of my forgotten psyche away each morning that spaces me from whatever happened that night. I remember most clearly, though, the blood on the paper.
Read more... )

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