He smiled and nodded. “I suppose so. And what about you? Your work’s done for now. Off to some charity event this evening? Or perhaps lend a hand at the soup kitchen?”
“No rest for tha feckin’ wicked, mate,” Dublin said as he glanced at his watch and suddenly shot up from the couch. “I’m off to the airport. Wheels up in an hour.”
He listened as the Irishman shuffled into the suite’s master bedroom and quickly collected his things. On the coffee table, one of his cellphones suddenly vibrated to life.
“You’re being hailed.”
Dublin grunted from the other room as his phone buzzed in a stop-and-go dance across the table. “Feckin’ wife,” Dublin muttered as he paced out of the bedroom with two small bags of luggage. He dropped them next to the coffee table and snatched up the phone in his thick hand. “She’s always harrassin’ me whenever I’m gone for more’na few feckin’ days.”
“Aren’t you almost always gone?” he asked.
“Fook yeah – and thank god for that. Otherwise I woulda feckin’ killed her years ago.” The sarcastic smile on Dublin’s face turned serious as he read the message on the screen. He looked up with surprise. “You’re in luck, mate. Package’ll be delivered by eight o’clock tonight. You’ll be able to get an early start on making a bloody feckin’ mess.”
“Perfect. I guess that means you can now officially get the hell out of here.”
Dublin shoved the phone into a holster on his belt and pocketed the other two. He glanced quickly around the suite before collecting his bags and walking to the door. “Have fun stormin’ the feckin’ castle my friend,” he said as he stood in the doorway.
“Go home, Dublin,” he replied without turning around. “And try spending some time with your wife.”
“Ha! You try spending time with my wife,” the Irishman replied. “Then you’ll know what I’m talking about!”
The door shut with a gentle click behind him. He grabbed his backpack and set it on the coffee table, then emptied the contents onto the glass surface. The small steel tools reflected the light like intricate mirrors as he quickly examined each of them. Satisfied that everything was there and in order, he returned the tools to the backpack and placed it under the table, making sure it was out of immediate view. He then pushed the armchair over to the window and sank into it.
There was nothing left to do until the package arrived. Nothing to do but rest. He closed his eyes and inhaled the rich, earthy scent of the chair leather. The sounds of the market rose up from the street below in a cacophony of white noise, and in seconds he was asleep.
10.
It would suck to die alone.
The means wouldn’t matter. Freeze to death. Burn to death. Fall from a ladder. Jump from a bridge. Whatever. This wasn’t about the ‘how’. This was about the ‘who cares?’ This was about the simple fact that the only thing more depressing than the verb “die” was an accompanying adjective of “alone”. This was about passing into the black void of eternal nothingness without a warm hand to hold or a loved face to look upon. This was about watching the nothingness creep into the corners of your vision while the pulsing rhythm of your chest stutters and fades. This was about the going, going, gone–
and having no one there to grieve about it.
Jeri tried to push the words from her mind as she poured another beer from the tap. It was a cold October evening and the saloon’s dark, body-warm interior was busy, but not busy enough to quiet the morbid monologue playing in her head. Unfortunately she already knew the words by heart. They’d been echoing repeatedly since her disastrous dinner with Rob the night before.
She lined the drinks up along the bar and quickly glanced around the room. The usual mix of young co-eds filled the bar, all giddy with the excitement of newly achieved legal-age adulthood. A twinge of jealousy coursed through her as she watched them laugh and mingle. Every face seemed to glow with the unblemished beauty of youth and optimism. The cheerful atmosphere of the room only made Jeri feel worse, her dark mood lurking like a black hole surrounded by bright, sparkling young stars.
“Are you okay, Jeri?” Chip asked from his usual spot at the bar.
Jeri glanced over at the only older person in the saloon and nodded. She realized she’d barely said three words to Chip all afternoon, and a sudden pang of guilt briefly shook her from her funk. Noticing his glass was nearly empty, she sighed and walked over to him.
“You seem a little distracted,” Chip said, his blue eyes smiling at her as she approached.