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| Author: |
Gwyn Fassnacht |
| Dated: |
Friday, April 15 2005 @ 04:25 AM EDT |
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1434 times |
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The invitation read “Mr. Darling, you are cordially invited to participate in the Moonlight Cruise casino’s annual ‘Endless Night’ celebration. After your RSVP is received you will be informed via e-mail as to your itinerary and travel arrangements. We look forward to seeing you.” There was no return address on the beautifully engraved envelope nor any other form of identification to be found on the actual invitation itself.
Seth Darling scratched his balding head as he read the card a second time. Interesting, he thought, even as the lines blurred in front of his eyes. It was now noon and he had been steadily drinking since eight that morning. The alcohol did nothing to dull the pain, but it did tend to cast a somewhat rosy glow on the world that Seth was currently unfortunately still in. If he had been a stronger man he would have ended his own life but found that even in self demise he was a catastrophic failure at that as well.
Just six months ago he had been a success, head of a thriving law firm, devoted husband, and dedicated father. Seth had not realized that one small bet would change life as he knew it.
It was July of 2003 when Bob, an assistant at the office, had popped his head in Seth’s office and said:
“ Hey big guy we’re having a pool on the outcome of the Santiago case, want to get in on it?”
Seth had laughed and told him no, with a shrug. When Bob had turned to go, he was prompted by some inner imp and called out:
“Hey Bob you know what? Go ahead and put me down for $100.00, that bastard's guilty.”
Bob had laughed appreciatively at his boss’s wit and said that he would place his bet. Later in the day, Seth found that the Santiago case had been thrown out on a technicality and he was out a hundred bucks.
“No big loss” he thought. “I can afford it.” But something inside of him bristled at the loss and from then on whenever there was an in house bet Seth was in on it. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost. When the losses began to outweigh the wins he turned his attention elsewhere.
The track was disappointing, ball games unfulfilling. Small bets soon escalated to gambling ships where he was seen throwing big bills on the tables only to lose each time. One final grim trip to Las Vegas sealed his doom. After emptying the family savings Seth proceeded to lose a half a million dollars although he did win a raging case of the clap and divorce papers from his wife.
A lawyer, he should have been prepared to battle the case in court except for the unexpected testimony of the hooker from Vegas who dressed for the occasion in a purple halter top, black leather pants, and matching black and purple bruises courtesy of Seth’s fists. He had no recollection of the incident, yet he was prosecuted and spent one month in lockup until a settlement was reached for both his ex wife and the working girl from the strip.
With no job, no income and a family that now shunned him as if he were contagious, Seth began drinking heavily. He noticed that the not so fine lines surrounding his eyes and bracketing his mouth were becoming more pronounced, and at the distinguished age of thirty five his once lustrous hair began falling out in clumps and his enviable physique was no longer quite the babe magnet it had been. Alcohol replaced food and gambling replaced working.
Out of work, he made money now performing acts of service behind the Fast mart. This continued until one man recognized him and Seth was horrified to realize that he'd had once been this man’s boss.
Scared somewhat straight, he tried to clean up his act a bit. He succeeded in concealing his drinking problem enough to get a job at the same Fast mart, only this time he was working behind the counter instead of behind the dumpster. A few weeks of steady work and a couple lucky scratch off ticket wins helped secure a small shabby low rent apartment in a slightly shabbier building. Inhabited by drug dealers, prostitutes, and other convenience store employees, Seth found that he fit in perfectly. Aside from the drinking and once weekly lottery ticket he felt that he was on the right track once again. He was studying to retake the bar and had an offer with the public defender’s office waiting for him when he passed.
With a bright spot on the horizon he had come home today and, as usual, fended off the advances of the resident of 2A, avoided the merchandise wafting out of 4F and gave a maybe to 7E on purchasing a “real cheap” DVD player. He grabbed his mail off the mat outside his door and, after engaging all seven locks, sat down with a cold beer and began to sort his mail.
But now he had an interesting problem. At first he thought there must be some mistake because this sounded like a high roller event and he was as far from high rolling as a lawyer turned drunk could get. Yet his name was right there in bold black script and it had been left on the doorstep with no address and no return address. It was a riddle wrapped in a conundrum covered with a marzipan shell of enigma. He turned to toss it in the garbage, but as he did he felt for a moment that his fingers would not let go. It was lying at the top of the other junk mail glaring balefully, even pleadingly, at him.
Wiping suddenly sweaty palms on his polyester work pants, Seth shuddered and became aware of an intense need to shower. After the water began to run cold, he stepped out of the cracked tub and began to walk to the living room. Toweling his hair dry as he walked his vision was obstructed and with a final brisk rub he tossed the damp towel in the direction of the kitchen sink. The strength went out of his arm and his breath came out in a little “hhhuh...”. Propped up against the sugar bowl sat the invitation and that wasn't the only fun surprise waiting, the RSVP card sat in front of it and next to it was Seth’s Cross pen. A pen that for six months had resided in the pocket of his one remaining good suit coat in the closet.
Seth stumbled back against the counter and began to edge his way back to the bathroom.
“I’ve snapped,” he said to himself. “The booze finally got to me.” Dropping his head into his hands he sank to sit on on the floor with his back against the door. An incredibly vivid vision of the invitation sliding across the floor to slip like a wily thief under the bathroom door had him crawling hands and knees to the tub. He didn’t stop until he was completely prone. In a fetal position now he found that he had two of his fingers in his mouth and was gently but persistently biting them.
It was a childhood habit he thought he had given up when his father had finally drunk himself into a stupor and run his car off the I-95 over pass.
He sat in the tub, smelling mildew and that wet green smell that only fifty year old pipes can produce. When he felt calmer he began to discuss his options. He immediately ruled out drugs because he had never used them before his descent into earthly hell had begun and after... well after he had been too damn broke to afford them. Alcohol, well there was a prime suspect. He was drunk, but that drunk? Seth didn’t think so.
Just maybe it was nothing. Maybe he had never thrown the invitation out. Maybe he had gotten the pen out with every intention of sending in the RSVP. Sure that sounded plausible.
He strode purposely towards the table, but once there confidence fled, purpose vamoosed. While he had been rationalizing the situation the invitation had been busy it seemed.
An envelope now lay next to the pen and a stamp was affixed to the front. As Seth looked on, the pen slowly rose in the air and began to write.
Marcus Winsmore
12345 Main Street
Moonlight Bay, Nw. 000--
“NW?” What state is that?!” He thought wildly “Nevada, New Mexico? No...” Stumbling over the forgotten towel he landed with both palms on the table causing the pen to jump, obscuring the last numbers of the zip code. And to Seth’s horrified eyes the pen rotated to face him and, with an angry buzzing, launched itself at his vulnerable eye. Before he could react, the invitation fell over with a slap and the pen with one final angry buzz fell with a clatter to the table.
Reaching out one trembling finger, Seth nudged the pen but its previous animation was gone. It was, once again, simply a slim gold cylinder. With visions of it skewered in his eye, he picked it up and threw it with all his strength against the wall where it shattered with a satisfactory crunching sound.
Legs suddenly weak he fell into the chair and gently set the invitation face up and asked:
“What do you want me to do?” After listening to a voice only he could hear, he put the RSVP card in the envelope and walked it down to the mailbox. After which Seth lay down on the couch and fell into a troubled sleep. When he awoke it was with a clear head, a pounding heart, and fragments of a dream best forgotten.
Two weeks later, Seth returned home from work to find his computer blinking and a sacchrin sweet voice informing him that he had mail. He stood for a long moment staring at the sleek monitor sitting on his scarred kitchen table. The slow flash of colors cast a hypnotic quality across his face as he stared. With a slight shake of his head Seth walked forward until he stood directly in front of the computer. He pulled out a chair and sat.
His fingers hovered just above the keys, hesitant to touch it. He stayed that way for a few moments until finally, with a cough syrup shudder, he tapped the space bar. Instantly the welcome screen appeared and with sure strokes he began to access his email. One message waited to be read. Again, he hesitated. A myriad of thoughts fought for priority in his mind as he gazed at the bright screen.
Dropping his hands in his lap Seth leaned back to stare at the ceiling. As he contemplated the brown water stain directly above him he allowed his thoughts free reign. Methodical as always, he numbered his thoughts; one, what was the message? Well he knew the answer to that, didn’t he? It was his itinerary for the cruise. Okay so two, did he really want to know what the itinerary consisted of? An excrutiating trip to hell by way of extreme distress and weirdness with a short stop over to the world of insanity perhaps? No, he did not want to know. But Seth supposed he had no choice in that matter. He had RSVP’d after all. Well then there was three, where the hell had the computer itself actually come from?
With a sigh he sat back up and glanced over at the sugar bowl where the invitation had taken up residency. There was the answer to that question. As he watched one corner of the invite folded down giving him the paper equivalent of a wink, Seth let loose another shivering shoulder shake.
“Back at you chump,” he said, his voice a husky echo of its usual self. He clicked on the get mail button and with a soft murmur he bet the farm. “All in.”
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