Everyone Elses' Vignettes

[Katryna]

I wasn't sure what to do with this because the other Vignette thread is under Ashatan's fic. I haven't written anything for a couple years - since we all became Serial Killers...you guys remember those days, don't you? Anyway...Is it okay for everyone else who doesn't write regularly, but wants to try their hand at a Vignette to post here? Please let me know, Maggie the Housekeeper, if I am not in line with the board rules!!!

Here's my attempt. If I can do this, anyone can.

Lavendar, Roses, Violets and Musk

The sky was bright blue, but the air was cool. At the 77 the morning sun came streaming through the window with its partially opened blinds. Two detectives were seated at adjoining desks, finishing the Fives on their latest case. They looked up as their grim-faced Lieutenant emerged from his office. “Guys, there has been a shooting over on Rivington. It’s Terry Jansen. They are taking him to Bellevue . You had better get over there.”

**
The tall, slender, gray haired detective in the driver's seat glanced at his younger, blond partner who was gazing out of the window as they drove, seemingly lost in thought. Those thoughts were in the past, two years previously when there had been a shooting during a situation at a bank which had gone terribly wrong. Five cops had been shot, one had survived. The then beat cop had joined others from the NYPD at the hospital vigil; standing slightly apart from the others and seeing what was happening as though it were a movie taking place in slow motion. People were speaking, but the words did not make sense. The atmosphere was heavy. The halls and waiting areas outside of the Emergency Department were filled with beat cops, detectives, and the brass. The surviving officer’s dark haired wife was wringing her hands, pale, her eyes vacantly revealing the shock that was in her heart.

“Hey, we’re here”, the gray-haired detective said – bringing his partner back to the present. “Let’s go in.”

**

The pair found their way through the gray-blue hallways to the area outside of the room in which Terry was being treated. A small group of NYPD had gathered there, and the two joined them. Again, the mood was serious as they all wrapped their thoughts around the knowledge that each of them could one day be on the other side of the door at which they now kept vigil. Terry was lucky, though. His wound was in the shoulder and not life-threatening. He would be back on The Job in no time at all.

**

The blond detective, who had been quietly taking part in the conversation in the hallway suddenly heard Glen Semple exclaim “Hey Jimmy…” She turned her head and saw the back of a blond haired man wearing a Burberry. Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected to see him here. The sight of him as he turned to go into Terry’s room, and commanded the dog to wait for him transported her back to the time that their relationship began. His attention, his words, his touch…all had made her feel beautiful and loved. He made her feel more attractive than the average looking woman she saw in the mirror each morning. Then she remembered the crushing pain she felt when he told her he was married.

**

Jim left Terry’s room. He turned left and counted the steps to the spot where he knew Hank was waiting. Barely pausing, he picked up the harness and ordered Hank forward. Deep in his own thoughts of what he knew had to have happened on the roof that morning, he was barely aware of the hushed voices as he passed those gathered along the wall. The antiseptic smell of the hospital was suddenly interrupted by the warm, familiar fragrance of lavender, roses, violets and musk. Unaware that he was even doing so, he slowed his pace as a smile crossed his face. It was Anne. She was there.

[Chris]

The three detectives sat at the bar where they sometimes met for a drink after finishing their tour.

“I gotta go home.” Jim checked his watch.

“Maybe you should call a cab,” Marty said as he emptied his beer.

“No, no, I got it.”

Tom Selway looked doubtfully at Jim Dunbar. “Come on, man, you’re drunk”

Jim stood and grabbed Hank’s harness; “I’m fine. I go out the front door, swing left, walk five blocks to Canal Street, and then get on the F-train. I got the Doggie here with me.” He grinned, turned, and lost his balance, but managed to walk out of the bar keeping his dignity, albeit a bit unsteady.

He made his way to Canal Street without incident, but had a firm grip on the railing when walking down the stairs to the subway. “Slow down, Doggie, you’re running down those stairs,” he mumbled and almost tripped at the last step.

Once on the train, Jim fell asleep and awoke when the train stopped. “Where are we?” he asked, and a guy next to him told him and added, “Are you OK?”

“Sure, thanks, the Doggie here knows his way home”

~

He fumbled with his keys but finally managed to get in his apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. “Shhhhh, Doggie, we don’t wanna wake up the wife”

As he was taking Hank’s harness off, Christie came from the bedroom; “Jimmy?”

“Heyy! Lookie, I found a Doggie” he exclaimed proudly.

“Are you drunk?”

“Yup,” He smiled happily and, in a confidential whisper, added, “And I can’t see anything.”

“Is that so?” Christie put her arm around his waist and led him toward the bedroom. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Jim sat on the edge of the bed while Christie was unbuttoning his shirt. He tried to kiss her and grab her breasts but missed. “Jim, stop that!”

“But I love you so much, you’re the best wife in the whole wide world,” he mumbled, laid back on the bed and passed out.

[rducasey]

OK, the next serial killer is taking the plunge. Hope you like it.



Counting the stops, and trying to decipher the static voice announcing stations, was a part of every subway ride for Jim, except on the homebound route. That ride, in contrast was usually a pleasure, especially on an uncrowded train. It seemed to be the only time he could truly relax while commuting. Jim's stop was the first one after crossing the Manhattan Bridge and the difference in the rhythm of the train as it passed beneath the bridge's roadway was the only reminder he needed that his stop was next. For this reason he would often take advantage of the ride home to think about his latest case,

However, his earlier appointment this day with Dr. Galloway had given him something else to think about. Since his very first counseling session, when Jim's frustrations caused him to spill a litany of fears, Galloway used part of each weekly visit to address one of these issues."..Being pitied,,,,not being able to connect with people,,,,,failing..". Many a time Jim had wished he had never verbalized this. And as if that wasn't bad enough, once the doctor had finished addressing these fears, he found a way of coming up with still more by listening and questioning.

In one particularly tense session, Jim had revealed how Christie was upset that he would not even let her help him, "button his shirt or ask how his day went....." Jim did not want her helping him. It was more important to him that he show his independence. Galloway saw it as another one of the obstacles in their relationship. He even ventured to guess that some of the strain in their marriage was maybe a result of this inability to let Christie help, and perhaps some small concessions on Jim's part could make a huge difference in their relationship. After all, accepting help from co-workers, Hank, adaptive technology were all a part of his daily routine. Why then could he not accept help from his own wife? Once before as a result of Galloway's advice, he had stopped for flowers on the way home, and that gesture had done wonders in breaking down some walls.

When Jim arrived home he did not even remove his Burberry. He just quickly filled Hank's dish, and water bowl, gave him a gentle pat on the head and said, "Take a break Hank, you've earned it". On his way out of the kitchen, he reached inside his coat and opened his cane at the same moment he slipped back through the door. A confused whine from Hank could be heard as the door clicked shut behind him.

Knowing Christie's predictability, he waited on the bench just across from their doorway at the entrance to the riverwalk. The day was crisp, but unusually mild for a late Fall afternoon. He sat enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. Soon, the quiet was broken by the click of her heels on the sidewalk, "Hey!" Jim could hear the surprise in her voice at seeing him there. He responded quickly. "Thought we'd take a walk". As he stood, he imagined her looking around him to see if Hank was on the other side of the bench. He reached across to where he knew her hand would be. Then a gentle squeeze from his hand to hers translated to: "I do need you." And as they turned toward the park, he whispered "Thanks".

[Colorado girl]

Okay, here's my attempt...Please be kind. Thank you !

"What color are your eyes?"

The question threw her for a loop.

"Don't try and make your moves on me," was her reply.

"That's not what I'm doing," he defended himself."I just wanted to know what you looked

like,that's all."





As he walked away, Karen immediately realized that she had totally read him wrong. Although

she knew first hand that his reputation for being a womanizer preceded him, her opinion of him

began to change. The previous two days that she had spent with Jim confirmed to her that there

was much more to this man that she had thought. He was much more complex than she had

imagined. Sure she was pissed off that Fisk had made her partner up with him. It was not a total

surprise considering she knew where Tom and Marty stood on the issue.She was sure that he

would slow her down..."I'm your chauffeur, well, you and your dog..."Being the youngest and only

female she knew that she would be in charge of babysitting the token Blind guy. Instead, she

found herself impressed by him. His off the cuff techniques of getting a serial killer to confess

starting with the hairs in a ziploc to his complete control over Randy at his house and in the

interview room. He seemed to have a sixth sense about the people that they were dealing with.

"They're brown." she finally replied before it was too late.

"Okay. Now I know," Jim said as he continued on his way. Karen thought about what had just

taken place as well as the last two days as she headed in the direction of the burger joint. She

adjusted her attitude and realized that her job was going to be a lot more interesting from now on.

[inuvik]

Ok, here's a REAL quickie! From my fave, Doggone, of course. I realize all the dialogue punctuation is not perfect, but bear with me!

After his phone died in the middle of talking to Karen, Jim stood there, dumbfounded. How could they just drive away and leave him? And poor Hank! What was he to do now? He felt sick. His stomach lurched and he retched into the bushes. His hands were clammy, and he could feel himself beginning to panic.

"Stop it!" his mind commanded him. "If you panic, you'll never get out of here." Jim forced himself to pause. He took several deep breaths, long and slow. He slowly calmed himself and took stock of his situation. "Surely they'll find me," he thought. "All of New York's finest will be looking for me".

Calmed by this thought, Jim tried to decide what to do. Should he just stay here? "I'll wait", he thought. But the more he stood there, the more anxious he got. "I have to do something!"

Slowly, he took a few steps, arms outstretched. The ground was rough and uneven. He was worried he would fall, but at least walking took his mind off his predicament. At last, he touched wire. He explored with his fingers and found first one diamond shape, then another. A fence! Jim's heart leapt with excitement. He knew he must be in some kind of contained area. It was also something he could use to guide himself.

Jim decided to follow the fence for at least a few minutes. Maybe he would come to a corner, or a gate! He slowly walked along the fence, trailing his hand through it. Although it helped a bit, he could feel his panic rising again after a few minutes. Maybe he should just stay still. How far had he walked? What if they couldn't find him because he'd strayed too far? He didn't even know if they could find him through a phone with a dead battery--or could he just not get reception? He decided he would just take 10 more steps.

"One, two, three, four," Jim stopped. His hand brushed wood! He faced the fence and used both hands. It was a sign! "Yeah, the sign is a sign," he could hear Marty snicker. The thought of the squad comforted him, even if it was only Marty.

The sign was rough. "Boy, I hope I don't get a splinter--that would be the last straw!" Jim thought. He realized he was feeling better, more in control, if he was able to joke to himself. But what's this--the sign had raised letters. Hooray! Bursting with hope, he traced the name of the sign. "H-U-D-S...Hudson Cargo Corp! Oh, this would be useful for the squad to know! I can't believe my phone is dead," Jim fretted.

Filled with newfound optimism over his discovery, he decided to try his phone one last time. After all, he had walked a fair distance--maybe he would get reception now. Thankfully, it worked, and he heard Karen's worried voice. His ordeal would soon be over.

[Katryna]

The door to the building slammed behind Christie as she stepped out onto the wet pavement, tears still in her eyes. She hadn't expected Jim to try to stop her from leaving. When she broke free of his grasp, she ran out of the apartment stopping to grab her rain jacket. However, she forgot the bag she had packed and of all things, her purse. Now she was standing in the rain wondering what she should do, where she could go. She could buzz for Cara to let her back in. Cara would let her stay in her apartment; but she didn't want to take the risk of running into Jim. Instead she started walking while her mind was racing.

Christie's thoughts turned to the previous night at Clay's. Jim had humiliated her with his behaviour. Dumping the beer in her lap was bad enough, but he compounded it with his crude language and threat to rip Clay's arm off. How could he embarass her like that in front of her boss and co-workers? And then at home he had the audacity to project his inability to remain faithful on her when he accused her of having an affair with Clay.

Christie had known that they were from very different backgrounds when she met him. She fell deeply in love with him anyway. Jim was rough around the edges and there was an excitement about dating a cop. The physical attraction she felt for him was overwhelming. Even then she had suspicions that he was not faithful to her, as she was to him, but there was never any solid proof. Things seemed perfect after they were married, perfect until she found out about Anne. How betrayed she felt then. She was angry, but needed to think about what direction she wanted to take. She went through all the motions at home, not wanting Jim to realize what she knew. It seemed that the affair had ended before she found out about it; but could she trust him not to stray again?

Then Jim was shot. During those few weeks of agony before the shooting, she had wished him dead a few times. However when death was a real possibility, she realized that she still loved him and wanted him to live. So she stayed. Now he was back on The Job making a new life for himself, but she still was suffering.

Her thoughts turned back to the present. What was she going to do? Here she was, walking the streets in the rainy darkness. She had nothing with her except the clothes on her back. She pushed her hands into the pockets of the light blue jacket. Maybe she would find some forgotten money she had deposited there. With that she could at least get a Metro Card and take the subway to her sister's on the Upper West Side. All she found was a tube of lipstick, a slightly used tissue, and a ticket stub from The House of Sand and Fog. That was the last movie they had been to see prior to her discovery of Jim's affair. She had not been able to bring herself to throw this souvenir of a happier time away. A little smile crossed her face as she remembered how she teased Jim after they left the theatre about him looking so much like the grim-faced, but handsome actor who played the role of Lester. He just didn't see the resemblance.

Christie was so absorbed in her thoughts that she really hadn't paid much attention to where she was walking. In fact, it seemed like she had been walking aimlessly for hours. She was looking for some sign, some guidance, something to show her the path she should take both tonight, and for her future. She found herself drawn towards the lights shimmering on the bridge. She used to come to this park during those days both before and after the shooting when she wanted to think. She had always come alone. She even had a favorite spot and that is where she headed now. She needed to sit down!

She walked along the empty paths of the park towards the bench that she had sat on so many times in the past. Christie needed to think and to slow her thoughts, which were careening out of control. As she drew closer to the bench, she realized that someone was there. The shape of a man and a dog became apparent to her. She inhaled sharply. How could Jim have found her bench? She had never mentioned it to anyone, not even him! Maybe this was the sign she was looking for. Perhaps there was some hope left after all. She sat next to him and their hands intertwined.

[Colorado girl]

Thanks to all that encouraged me about my vignette. This is fun because you don't have to reinvent the wheel. here is one more.....Hope you like it.......

He just wanted to go home....... This day had started like any other

day but soon turned bad in just a matter of

minutes……Home…..Where he could be himself…..no one staring, no

one judging. Home, where he relax and unwind after a grueling day at the eighth.


That was not to say that he didn’t like the job… He lived for the

job…The job was where he was on top of his game, working with his

partner, solving crimes.. Most of the time, he was appreciated by the

squad. In fact, not to be cocky, without him it would be impossible to

do the job.


But now, in the present, he was lost. He had no idea where he was

or how to get back to the squad. He had no way to communicate or

let his co-workers know where he was.



hungry and thirsty he had become. Though his mouth was dry and

his tongue parched by the bright sun, he knew that the most basic of

needs would have to wait. He had one goal in mind. To get back

where he started this morning. Back to the squad, to catch the


perpetrators that put him in this situation in the first place.


Although it was unpleasant because it made him vulnerable, he

would have to swallow his pride and reach out to strangers for help.

That is what made him finally decide to allow Artie to tie the rope to

his collar. Though his primal instinct was to run away, he knew that

now he would rest and wait…..wait for his master to come…..


...Then it happened....the couple approached... Though Hank was

soaked to the bone and scared out of his mind, he shouted out in his

own way, ”It’s me! I knew you would come back for me!”


He wagged his tail and shook his entire body. Jim let out one of the

best laughs that Hank had ever heard . Then he heard the best

sound that he had ever known….”Hankie!”


The two continued in their symbiotic relationship, until once again

they were all safe at home.The night mare was over and once again

Hankie dreamed sweet dreams of good adventures with his best

friend.



sorry about the way this keeps posting with all the space at the end. I tried three times to fix it......

[krissie]

When Jim had thought about the choice he had to make -- put up with Christie's contacts and colleagues for an evening or, if he refused to go, put up with her wrath for the next two weeks -- the decision had been easy. Inevitable, really.

Maybe a month or two earlier he'd have struggled to make his mind up, but since he and Christie had started to put genuine effort into saving their marriage he'd found himself increasingly willing to make the occasional sacrifice for her. He accepted that she needed to go to these junkets, and he accepted that sometimes she needed him to go with her.

With acceptance did not come enjoyment, however.

Which was why, at eleven o'clock one Thursday evening, Jim was standing in the middle of an overheated and overcrowded suite, juggling his cane and pulling restlessly at his collar.

People walked past him. Eddies of conversations ebbed and flowed around him. Occasionally waiters offered him drinks or canapes. Even more occasionally, he accepted.

Christie, when she'd drifted away to work the room, had left him in its middle, hoping that people would notice and come to him. Her hopes had come to naught, however, and he might as well have been a portrait on the wall for amount of interaction he was having with the rest of the guests.

Surely they wouldn't stay much longer. Christie knew that he had an early start the next morning, and she was usually considerate enough to make sure that he got at least a few hours sleep.

Jim sighed. He was hot and tired. Most of all, though, he was bored. But, if he were honest with himself, he knew that he'd have been just as frustrated if he had been drawn into the conversations.

He rarely said as much to Christie, but he thought most of her contacts and colleagues were vacuous phoneys. He hated the air kisses, the way everyone seemed to be the host's 'dahling', and how he was expected to snag the dainty, messy devils-on-horseback from platters passing by.

On those rare occasions when someone did try to talk to him, he never quite knew what to say in reply. Their world wasn't his; he had nothing in common with them. And what did he know about fashion, anyway?

These receptions were all the same to Jim: all noise and no substance. He didn't need to see the porcelain white smiles to know that they never reached their owners' eyes. He didn't need to hear the conversations to know that a third of them were about making new business contacts, another third was about undermining the contacts made by other people, and the final third were scurrilous gossip about all the people who were busily making or undermining contacts.

At least at the squad he got to deal with a... a more genuine kind of fake. At least Jim understood the point of all the lies criminals told.

Something brushed against his cheek, making him startle before he realised that what he'd felt was a whisper of cool air.

A breeze.

The noise in the room had changed subtly, too. Now, in addition to the incessant chatter and the occasional clink of glass on glass, he could hear drifting up from the street far below the sounds of sirens wailing and cars swishing along rain-drenched tarmac.

He felt himself relax slightly. These were the sounds of a city he could relate to. More than that, they were the sounds of a city he belonged in, felt at home in, was a part of.

Jim tapped his cane against the floor then carefully followed the lure of the fresh air.

Luck seemed to be with him. He managed to navigate his way around the few obstacles that blocked his path to the source of the breeze with surprising ease.

When he reached his destination, he found himself not at a window as he'd expected, or stepping out onto a balcony as he'd hoped, but walking out onto a roof garden.

Why hadn't Christie mentioned that they were visiting a penthouse? Had she thought he knew? Had she thought he wouldn’t be interested? Or, had she not thought at all?

The air was damp, the aftermath of that afternoon's torrential downpour, and was blessedly cool against his face. He felt as though he were standing in a cold steam room, and he savoured the way the tiny beads of water bathed his overheated skin.

Although most people complained about this kind of light mist, Jim liked it. He liked the feel of it, the way it caressed his cheeks. So many things hovered just out of his reach, but this... He savoured the sensation.

Jim explored, tap tapping his way around the garden, exploring planters, seats and walls with his finger tips, mapping out his environment as he went. Then, when he was done, he leaned against a railing, tilted his head up towards the sky and smiled as an idea began to form in his head.

*****

"Hey, Jimmy. There you are! You ready to go?" asked Christie some time later.

Jim jumped. How long had he been leaning against his railing, anyway? From the impatient relief in Christie's voice, he gathered she'd been looking for him for a while, and he doubted that she would have begun her search until after midnight.

He pulled himself upright and asked, "What time is it?"

"Half past twelve."

"Huh. I didn’t realise it had got so late."

"You've been out here quite a while, if your hair and clothes are anything to go by," she said. He felt Christie's finger tips brush against his cheek. "You're cold!" she gasped. "C'mon. Let's get you back in the warm, and then we can go home and get you dry! What were you thinking, standing out here in the rain?"

Jim shrugged fractionally. "I liked it out here."

He didn't need to see her to know that she'd withdrawn. He could feel the nuance of her movement and of her emotions. "Because you hated it so much in there?" she asked tightly.

"No!" Then, with more honesty, he said, "At least... No. I wasn't having a great time, I admit that. But I didn't come out here to escape, if that's what you're thinking. I was hot. And I felt a breeze. So I came outside, and I liked it here. So I stayed."

"But it's cold and damp and dark and miserable!"

"I don't care about the dark, and I can feel the cold and the damp and the misery. And that's why I like it. In there... It's all noise to me. Noise and no feeling. Out here... I feel as though I can touch everything. And..."

"And?" she asked.

"And I was thinking... I want to move."

"What do you mean, you want to move?"

"You know. Out of the apartment."

The silence that followed unnerved Jim, and when Christie next spoke he realised that she'd misunderstood his meaning.

"You want to leave me?" Christie's voice was flat and chilly and ached with hurt. "I thought we were doing better these days. That we were getting back on track."

How had Jim managed express himself so badly that Christie had so completely misunderstood the wonderful idea he'd been mulling over in his head for the last hour?

"No! Oh, God, Christie! No! I want us to move. Together. I want us to find somewhere with a balcony, so that I can stand outside in the wind and the rain and feel the city any time I want to. Because that would be..." Words failed him. He couldn't complete the sentence. Couldn't bring himself to say the word, to explain that having a tiny space outside that he could get to know as intimately as he knew the squad or their loft would be, for him, a kind of freedom.

But apparently he didn't need to, because Christie slipped her arm through his and snuggled against his side and, when she spoke, she spoke softly and calmly and warmly, and Jim knew that, even if she didn't yet understand quite what he was saying, she wanted to. "C'mon. We'll talk about it on the ride home."

END

(I wish I could have come up with a title for this, but... Oh, well. Maybe something will come to me later.)

[Chris]

Go have fun..

”Hey, it’s me. How about pottery class?”
Stupid idea. I hung up.



When Jim called me, I was busy and didn’t give his call much thought. At lunchtime I needed a break and told my secretary I would go for a walk.

We had had our appointment with Dr. Galloway this morning and while I understood why Jim trusted him so much, I didn’t feel he would be the right therapist for us as a couple. I did however wish Jim would take more sessions with Dr. Galloway.
He had told us to “Remember the fun we used to have and do it again.” The problem was that we had never really been doing that much together, not even when we just met. We did play a lot of board games back then. I guess there must be board games designed for the blind, but we are very competitive both of us so playing against each other might not be a good idea.
We also had that period when we decided that we liked jazz music. We would go to a jazz club, have a few drinks and listen to the music. I hated it after the first time but Jim seemed to enjoy himself so I went along for him. It turned out Jim felt the same way, he hated it too but went for me. Jazz loving period over, although that one night with the saxophone player playing “Moon River” was very romantic.

How did Jim come up with the idea of pottery class? Some other cop telling him it was hot? I guess it could be, watching each other working with the clay while shamelessly flirting. That wouldn’t work for Jim though. We would sit there separately, working with the clay, no physical contact, no eye-contact, not the best way for us to reconnect. Besides, I remember taking a pottery class in 6th grade, getting my fingers all dirty. Yuck, I don’t want to do that again.

I needed to come up with something where we could have physical contact and that required for us to work together, but what?

I had been walking for almost an hour lost in thoughts, not really paying any attention to where I was. I found myself in what appeared to be an area where a lot of artists lived. There were galleries and music studios and a dance studio.

Dancing? Jim would never agree to that but to me it seemed perfect.
I went into the dance studio and talked to the instructor. She had had several blind students before, and like she said, “They had a blast”. I’m not so sure Jim would, but I already imagined us dancing like they did in “Dirty Dancing”. Ohh, that was hot… She had an offer for six lessons and I signed us up on the spot.

Now, all I needed to do was to come up with a way to convince Jim to go ballroom dancing with me.
Hmm, maybe I could order Chinese take-out and have us sit on the floor by the coffee table. That way he’ll be more relaxed and comfortable and easier to trick into going.
I know this sounds bad but I will have to lure him into going, using all my charm, otherwise he’ll never agree to go ballroom dancing. I really don’t understand why not; probably something about male pride or whatever. I honestly think it would be good for us and I really want to go. If that means using dirty tricks, well then so be it...

[krissie]

We haven't had anything new in this thread for a few days while, so... Sorry, but this one isn't really about Jim, or anyone else we actually met on the show...


Two Times The Fool

"Is this seat taken?"

Anne looked up, found herself gazing into a pair of startling blue eyes, and felt as though she'd been sucker-punched.

She dropped her fork and felt embarrassment heat her cheeks as it clattered against her plate. Could she be any more clumsy? Could she make any worse a first impression?

She cursed herself for being such a klutz, screwed her eyes closed, took a deep breath to steady herself, then forced herself to relax.

Then she opened her eyes again and, when she spoke, she was relieved that her voice came out both steady and normal, with none of the high-pitched squeak she'd been fearing. "No... Please. Sit down."

"Thanks."

The stranger smiled at her as he slid into the seat opposite. There were laughter lines around his eyes, and the twist of his lips made Anne suspect that a guffaw was hovering perilously close to the surface.

She felt a flash of annoyance. How dared he want to laugh at her? How dared he find her clumsiness amusing?

But he wasn't actually laughing, was he? And there was a warmth to his gaze that made her feel tingly in a way that she hadn't felt in a long, long time.

His eyes... His fair skin and blond hair... and the ready smile that spread wide across his face....

Anne felt herself catapulted backwards in time, back to another diner, another face... Another man.

Jim.

The diner on fifth street had been their place, hers and Jim's -- the place they went to when they wanted to steal time together, away from the prying eyes of their colleagues. They would hold hands across the red formica tables and let their coffees grow cold as they stared into each other's eyes, talked of their grand plans and made arrangements for their next night together.

To begin with, she had thought his idea to keep their affair a secret had been sweet. She could understand -- and she had even agreed with -- his argument that they should avoid being the topic of water-cooler gossip until they were both certain that they had a future together.

But time had gone on, and what might have been a fling had seemed to be growing into something more long term, and he still hadn't wanted anyone to know about them.

Plus, she'd began to notice things: they never went to his place, only to hers.

His time never quite seemed to be his own, as though he had commitments elsewhere that he couldn't avoid. She wouldn't have minded, except that he'd never shared with her what those commitments were.

Did he have an ex-wife somewhere? A kid? Did he live at home with his little old grey-haired mama?

She could see why he wouldn't have wanted that last possibility bandied around their squad. Being a mommy's boy certainly wouldn't have done his image as a man's man any good.

But in all her wonderings, she'd never wondered about a wife. She'd never let herself wonder about there being a wife, never let herself even suspect.

Because Jim would never have done that to her.

Except that he did.

Jim had fooled her and she still hadn't forgiven him for that, even after more than a year. But she had thought she'd begun to move on, to accept that he was never going to come back to her. Sometimes, these days, she could even go entire hours at a time without missing him.

She'd even begun to believe that she wouldn't want him back. Her head (and Karen) told her that, but her heart beat out a different story.

Today, her thoughts had been a mile away from Jim -- stuck somewhere between her grocery shopping, her dry-cleaning and the appalling state of her new apartment -- when the stranger had walked up to her table and brought all the memories rushing back.

She picked up her fork again, skewered a piece of pie, then glanced across at him under hooded lashes. Then, seeing he was engrossed in the menu, she abandoned all subterfuge, tilted her head to one side, and looked at him carefully.

Superficially he was the same as Jim. He had a similar build, was of similar colouring, and his face was similarly proportioned. But, she told herself, the similarities ended there.

The stranger's hair was mussed and paint spattered. There were tiny spots of bright vermilion, yellow and blue on his face, with larger smudges on his hands. His clothes looked worn and workmanlike, and now she looked, she could see a rainbow of colours on his shirt.

So, he was a painter. Artist or decorator? Amateur or professional?

Single or in a relationship?

There were no rings on his hands, just callouses and paint smudges and vermilion and yellow trapped under his finger nails.

"You ready to order?"

The waitress's arrival snapped Anne out of her silent examination and the stranger's attention away from the menu.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll have the all day breakfast and coffee. Thanks."

His voice was deep, his accent pure Brooklyn, and Anne felt her earlier tingles come back.

The waitress walked away. Anne watched the stranger and the way his eyes lingered on the waitress's derriere for a moment.

Then he shifted in his seat and looked straight at her.

"You come here a lot?" he asked. "I haven't seen you around here before."

"First time," Anne said. "I just moved into the neighbourhood."

"You'll like it around here. Real friendly place." He lingered over the word 'friendly', and she thought she heard a hint of smoke in his voice.

Was her flirting with her? Or was her wishful thinking imbuing his words with a meaning they did not have?

There was only one way to find out: keep him talking, flutter her eyelashes, and try to make him put his cards on the table.

"You've lived here long?" she asked.

"All my life. I went to elementary school just up the street. School closed a few years ago, though. They're building some upscale hotel complex there now. Or something." He pointed, and Anne twisted round so that she could follow the line set by his finger. "Whole blocks are gonna change."

"That's a shame," she said.

"No it ain't," he said. "It'll bring jobs and money into the area. Prices are gonna to rocket, uptown folks'll move in, and I'll be swamped with work. This is gonna be boomtown, baby."

Was he a born optimist, a reckless speculator, or had the painter seen the future? Anne didn't know, but she liked the way he exuded confidence. And, how in heck did he manage to make "boomtown, baby" sound so utterly and delectably filthy?

He half-stood, leaned over the table, rested one hand on her back and pointed with the other. "And, there. That little boarded up shop? That used to sell comics, back when I was a kid. We'd stop there on our way home from school and stock up on Superman and Spiderman and candies. And then we'd head over to the park."

Was he flirting? Maybe not with words, but in all other ways most definitely.

"Park?" asked Anne, her mind barely able to concentrate on his words as his touch and his breath brushing against her ear robbed her of rational thought.

"On the next block," he said.

"Oh. I guess I haven't found that one yet."

His hand stroked over her shoulder and lingered down her arm as he sank back into his seat. Belatedly, Anne wondered whether she should have been offended by the presumptuousness of his touch, the way he seemed to be marking out his territory.

But she wasn't.

She felt hot and she wanted more.

They stared into each other's eyes across the blue formica table. Had her coffee gone cold yet?

"I'm..." The word caught, half formed, and she had to clear her throat and try again. "I'm Anne. Anne Donnelly."

"Nice to meet you, Anne, Anne Donnelly. I'm Dave Doherty." He offered his hand for her to shake.

She took it, noticing how large his palm felt against hers. She held on longer than necessary, savouring that connection of skin against skin.

"I couldn't help noticing the paint," she said, as she turned his hand over in hers so she could see it better. "What are you working on?"

"Loft over by the river. Big job. Not my taste in colours but you know what they say: the customer is always right."

"I'm gonna have to give my new place a lick or two of paint," she said.

That was an understatement. The whole place needed stripping of its ancient floral wall-paper, replastering, and decorating from top to bottom.

Her realtor had told her that the apartment had great potential. She thought the place was a dump, but since she could afford nothing better on her salary, and everything else she'd seen was even worse, she'd gritted her teeth and made the down payment.

Suddenly, though, the thought of all that decorating no longer seemed quite so terrible. She leaned in, licked her upper lip, and said, "Maybe you could recommend some colours that would work."

"Nope. No recommendations. Like I say, the customer is always right. That way, I never get blamed when they don't like the results. But... I could always come round and give you advice on prepping and application, if that would help."

"Maybe you could at that," she said. Somehow her voice had sunk to a husky whisper. She barely recognised it as her own.

And then his cell rang.

He drew away from her, pulled the handset out of his pocket, read the screen and said, "I'm sorry. I gotta take this." Then he lifted the cell to his ear and brightly said, "Hey!"

Anne could just about make out a buzz of conversation coming from the other end of the connection before Dave said, "Okay. I'll be right there." There was another buzz, then he said, "Yeah." More buzzing. Then, "You too. Bye."

Dave shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry. I gotta run. That was the boss. Apparently, if I'm not back on the job in ten minutes, I'm fired."

"Well... I guess you'd better go. I've enjoyed meeting you."

"Yeah. Me too. And, hey... Call me if you decide you want any work ... or anything else... done." And he reached into a pocket, pulled out and slid a business card across the table.

Their finger tips brushed and their eyes caught as she reached for the scrap of white card, and she knew exactly what he meant by "anything".

Dave exchanged scant words with the waitress as he paid for the food he hadn't had time to eat, then he headed out of the door. He waved and blew a kiss at Anne as he passed by the window, and she blew a kiss back.

The dinner seemed empty without him, and there was something sad the coffee they hadn't drunk.

Anne decided she had no reason to stay any longer so she, too, went up to the counter, settled her bill, and headed onto the street.

She lingered beside the hoardings that masked the construction site of the new hotel Dave had mentioned. Then she turned right, deciding on a whim to forget about her dry cleaning for another half hour and instead to go looking for the park she already thought of as theirs.

The lights were against her at the next intersection. As she waited for them to change, she looked up and down the street.

And saw him.

She saw them.

He was climbing into a bright yellow convertible that was being driven by a stunning redhead, presumably Dave's boss.

But nobody leaned over and kissed their employer that long and hard on the mouth, tangling hands in hair, not unless their employer was something much, much more besides.

The lights turned, and Anne didn't move. Instead her feet stuck to the sidewalk as her eyes stayed glued to the couple in the car.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dave and the redhead pulled apart, and Anne cursed her luck out loud.

Dave was married, or at the very least spoken for, and strictly off limits.

But...

She remembered his voice, the frisson of sensation she'd felt when their fingers touched, and his invitation: "Call me..."

She craved the "anything" he'd offered her, the memories he'd invoked, and she knew that she would make that call.

This time things would turn out differently to the way they had with Jim. This time she knew exactly what she was getting into, right from the start.


END


(I do have an idea for extending this into a longer story. However, I have no immediate plans to sit down and write -- too many other things to do! -- so you'll just have to take this as it is. At least for now.)

[Chris]

I'm having too much fun writing these... I hope you're having fun reading them

Lost

It was a beautiful September day. The sun was shining and the sky was clear and bright blue. Jim Dunbar had been working on his computer all morning but now he stretched, cracked his neck and pulled out his earpiece.

“Karen?”

“Yeah,” he heard her sigh and lean back in her chair, “I think I need a break.”

“Me too, I’m going to take Hank for a walk.”

“OK,” she answered, “I’ll call you if anything happens.”

Jim took Hank to a nearby park where he was allowed to run around freely. He found a bench, sat down and took Hank’s harness off. “Off you go, Hank, have fun.”

Hank would run off and every now and again come back to Jim before he took off again. Jim had been there for a while, enjoying the warmth of the sun in his face when he suddenly realized that someone else was sitting on the bench. And that someone else was crying.

“Are you crying? Is there anything I can do?”

At first there was no answer, then a little girl’s voice said, “ I don’t know…..” Her voice trailed off.

“You’re not supposed to talk to me, right? But something happened, didn’t it?” Jim could tell that the girl next to him just wanted for someone to help her out but at the same time was taught to be cautious when talking to strangers. “Maybe I can help you out. My name is Jim Dunbar and I’m a detective.”

“A private detective?” she said hesitantly.

“No, I’m a policeman. I work at the police station not far from here.”

“Then what are you doing in the park?”

“I was walking my dog, he’s the German Shepherd over there,” Jim pointed in the direction where he could hear Hank sniffing something.

“I love dogs,” the girl said, “Maybe I’ll get one when I grow up.”

“Dogs are nice,” he agreed, “So, do you want to tell me what happened?”

She sighed and he could hear the tears coming back in her voice. “I went to the park with my friends and we went to a place I haven’t been at before, but then we got in a fight and they left me there. Now I don’t know how to get back home”

“They shouldn't have. Now, tell me you name and how old you are.”

“My name is Lucy Chong and I’m eleven years old.”

Eleven, this shouldn’t be too hard, he thought. “Maybe we could call your parents?”

“No, the battery on my cell phone is dead.”

Jim pulled out his own phone. “If you have the number written somewhere, you can read me the numbers and I’ll call them.”

She just sighed and he was pretty sure she rolled her eyes at him.

Apparently that was a bad idea. He was a little puzzled by this girl. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought but he tried again. “What’s the name of the street where you live?”

“I can’t remember!”

“Ok, Ok. Sometimes when you can’t remember something, it helps if you close your eyes and try to visualize what it looks like. So if you use your imagination, maybe you can remember what the street sign looks like.”

“Well, I never look at the street signs, do I?” This time he could hear the you’re an idiot-tone in her voice, the one he was used to hearing from Marty. What’s up with this kid, he thought, maybe she was dyslexic and couldn’t read.

“What do you walk past on your way home, a restaurant maybe or a store or something like that?”

“There is a Chinese restaurant down the block from our building. I’m always hungry when I walk past it because the food smells really good. We went there for my birthday last year. And then there is the grocer, Mr. Han. He is nice. He says the other kids steals his apples, but I never do, so he sometimes gives me one.”

A Chinese restaurant and a Chinese grocer. Not much help. Jim’s phone rang. He turned away and answered in a low voice. “Dunbar.”

“Hey, it’s Karen, what are you doing? You’ve been gone forever!”

“Hi, Karen, sorry, I’m here with a girl who’s lost but she can’t tell me her address or anything”

“You think there is something wrong with her?”

“I don’t know, she got quite an attitude though, I think, she thinks I’m an idiot”

“Smart kid! But we just got a DOA, how about I pick you up at the park?”

”Fine. See you out there, maybe you can find a way to get her home.”


He hung up, called Hank in and harnessed him. “Lucy, that was my partner. I have to go, but maybe she can help you find your way home.”

“I heard you talking to her. You know, I don’t have an attitude, but some of your questions are really stupid!”

“All right, if you say so, let’s go.” He was fed up with that girl, she was quite a handful. She’s the one who’s gotten lost in the park and yet she makes me feel stupid, he thought grumpily. She's even worse than Marty! As they were walking side by side, he suddenly became aware of a very familiar scraping. Jeez, that’s why she said my questions were stupid!

“Lucy, is that a white cane, are you blind?

Duh, she thought, that guy really is dumb. “Yeah! What else do you think a white cane is for?”

“I know what a white cane is.” He started laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me.” The tears were back in her voice.

He stopped laughing. “I’m sorry, Lucy, I’m not laughing at you.”


Karen had been waiting for about five minutes by the car before she saw Jim and the girl approaching. Jim seemed as relaxed as she had ever seen him as he walked next to the girl. Something was off though. It looked like Jim was giggling... Jim giggling? And... Why did he use his cane, where was Hank? Oh, there he was, the girl was walking him.

Dunbar was good with kids, Karen had always wondered why he and Christie never had kids. Then again, Christie didn’t seem to be the maternal type…

As the two of them came closer, she could see that Hank was in fact guiding the girl. She was blind too and had a white cane of her own.

“Hey, Jim. Did Hank finally give up on you?”

“Yes. Lucy, this is Karen Bettancourt, my partner. Karen, meet Lucy. She thinks I’m really dumb, even for a grown-up.”

Karen smiled and shook Lucy’s hand. “You know, Lucy, you’re absolutely right, he is dumb.”

“Karen, if you two are done bonding,” he said with a smile, “maybe you can help us out? Lucy says there is a label on her cane with her name and address on.”

Lucy handed her cane to Karen who quickly found the label. “That’s not too far from here. Get in the car and we’ll take you home.”