| |
The Bethany jail, hardly state of the art, at least provided some solitude. As Manny had expected, the marshal quickly fingerprinted him, inventoried his few belongings, and placed him in a small cell. A Spartan accommodation, it was clean, and he didn't have to share it with anyone. Reminders of previous residents were etched in the mortar of the outside wall. He learned that for a good time he should call Cindy at 277-4105. He smiled a little and shook his head when he thought that someone could actually write such a thing. What had poor Cindy done to be so ignominiously immortalized? Did she really do something sinister to the writer, or was hers the sin of rejection? Manny suspected the latter. Who would answer if someone really called…the scribe himself? No matter, it was one of those urban legends he'd heard others speak of, so much a part of American folk lore. Manny suddenly felt very tired… and a little forlorn. He sat on the bed and bounced briefly to test the mattress, then laid back, put his forearm over his eyes, recited the Our Father and a couple of Hail Mary's, and drifted off to sleep.
******
Rays of sunlight filtered through the shuttered windows of the other side of the room; not a lot of light, but enough to know that his body clock was still functioning correctly. Manny estimated it was between 5 and 6 a.m. He threw the blanket off, swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. After he stretched a little and yawned, he walked over to the small lavatory sink with one faucet. The water was tepid at best, but the stopper worked, so Manny was able to fill the sink and lower his face into the water. The cool water invigorated him instantly, and as he dabbed his face with the towel, his gaze was drawn into the polished stainless steel plate that served as a mirror. He saw his reflection, and standing right behind him was Harold, with those sad eyes looking into Manny's.
Manny rubbed his eyes again, to make sure that he wasn't seeing things.
"How did you get in here?" he asked quietly, secretly wondering if he really wanted to know. "Why are you tormenting me, have I offended you in some way?"
The man known only as Harold put his fingers to his forehead, as though to bring some secret thought to mind, or to formulate just the right words to say. He extended his arm with his palm up, toward Manny. "It saddens me that you are tormented. I mean only to warn you. You are in great danger. When you deny me, you deny yourself."
"Then you are a hallucination, and I am a raving lunatic! " Manny turned his back, closed his eyes, and his quivering hands grabbing the bars, hoped that he would turn back around and the vision would be gone. Then, he felt the hands on his own, as once again Harold looked at him, this time from the other side of the bars. Now, Manny could see an aura surrounding him. He started to weep uncontrollably, and, as his legs would no longer support him, Manny collapsed in a heap on the gray concrete floor.
|
Help Us Stop Plagiarism -
Nearly all works at PnP are original. However a few people choose to plagiarize.
To check, choose a phrase from the work, then either drag and drop to the search box or copy and paste.
click on search and works at Google will be shown which match. Just to be sure, please do this before
you recommend or rate the work highly...
|
 |
|
|
|
Select a Random Book
|
|
Welcome !
