A light wind traveled from the west, bringing a cool air to what was a typical warm coastal spring day. The breeze surrounded and lifted her brown hair from her shoulders in some sort of ethereal display. Her eye lids fluttered to keep her deep brown eyes safe from the breeze, but not long enough to escape the sun. The light seemed to expose her very soul and it was a moment that did not go unnoticed. An instance of magic rarely does.
He witnessed her seemingly glide to the veranda, alone. This wasn't his prey. She wasn't why he was there, but nevertheless, he was struck. Instantly he was faced with a conflict only he could bare witness to. There was something in the air that was pulling at his being as if he was simply flirting with the outer reaches of the vortex. Like a child, he extended his foot into the edge of the whirlpool, to explore its capacity; its strength.
Her voice, he could almost imagine it in his ears. He imagined a soft, calming sound; anything to counter what he was used to hearing in his own head. A siren, not of the emergency vehicle or alarm variety, but of the kind that entranced Greek sailors from their respective courses. In the place of shipwreck amongst the Sirenum scopuli, he would find home; a foreign concept.
For second, he looked in the reflection of the coffee decanter to get a good look at himself. At his white linen suit.
"Shhstop eht!"
"Sir."
"I… I know… the inner fachets of physhics! Twins paradoxeses! Hahaha!"
A drunk should never attempt an intellectual discourse with armed security, he thought. His "person of matter" was quickly out lasting his welcome and security was responding by applying a good amount of pressure to the back of the inebriated man of science's arm.
"Ooush!"
Being drunk at a dignitary's dinner party wasn't enough for the death penalty, but having a history of illegally exporting sensitive data to designated entities was. Dr. Hilion was a drunk party away from ending his own memoirs. Security had already contacted the police after the doctor's third martini, so the stage was set early.
They lifted him by his arms, leaving a three foot gap between the tips of his toes and the ground.
"My parents.. they did this to mee… at
The doctor giggled. He actually laughed with certain execution almost an afterthought. The man in the white linen suit was amused, as he swiftly followed the security escort to the bunk house towards the back of the estate. Her eyes followed him, quietly.
The police waited just outside the ivy sheltered walls of
"Old school," he thought.
The doctor's head was used to open the second set of French doors inside the bunkhouse. Away from peering eyes, security would make it a point to express their angst with the elitist culture they served on ousted party goers. His head made a wonderful crack in the French door's articulated wood panels. The wood panels created a wonderful gash on the doctor's head. Seven vodka martinis make for a wonderful anesthetic also provides the user a wonderful method for forgetting political and social transgressions. Blood, mixed with sweat, took a circuitous route down Dr. Hilion's tired face. He wasn't smiling any more.
The man in the white linen suit took one step into the bunk house and the hard wood floors gave him away. The nearest member of the security team turned around on his heels.
"Sloppy," the man in the white linen suit thought.
"Sir, you're not allowed in here," explained the security guard as the two holding the doctor stopped in their path to present more muscle in the room.
"Oh… I was told the gentleman's room was here. I don't think the pate' is agreeing with me, you know what I mean?"
"Sir, the bathrooms are in the house. First floor. Left of the greeting room."
"Thanks. What happened to his head?" The topic of conversation changed quickly to the drunken doctor's forehead.
"Accident. He's drunk."
The man in the white linen suit's eyes looked at the French doors that had some spattering of blood and an indentation.
"Looks like his head fits perfectly in that hole in the doors here. You guys taking liberties?"
"Alright, you're trespassing… and you're annoying." The 6'2" security ogre elevated his chest in the ancient art of physical intimidation. The man in the linen suit's hand was quick as it wrapped around the back of the large man's skull, grabbing a full head of hair. Momentum carried his hand, head in grasp, southward where the man in the white linen suit introduced the security guard's head to the French door. The meeting was less than cordial, as the guard's forehead driven through all but two wooden slats on the door.
Consciousness, like common sense, escaped him.
The other two guards quickly dropped the hopelessly immobile doctor to the ground. They didn't speak a word, but the extendable night sticks spoke of violent prose.
"Roses are red, and I will be black and blue," he quipped to himself. Initially, he knew no one was interested in humor, but the doctor laughed. His sense of humor returned.
The guards attacked in tandem, flailing away with their night sticks. They needed more training as their attacks eliminated two lamps and a rare Chinese vase filled with a rare person's ashes. Their desecration caused one of them to lose their footing on the ash covered corner of the room. The man in the white linen suit ducked under a flying night stick to deliver kick to the side of the downed man's head.
The third member of the dignitary's security team decided to alert the police instead of engaging in any kind of close quarters combat. He ran, wildly, towards the back entrance, stumbling on his comrade's night stick. The night stick was jammed into the French door, causing it to violently swing away and back into the face of the escaping guard. The guard fell back against a foyer table which was the inspiration for an unscheduled nap.
No comments:
Post a Comment