I had always had the ability to sense a persons intentions, to feel sadness or dislike even if they weren’t there. When just a boy I learned how someone could act one way yet actually feel another even if there were no reason at all to want to. I knew every white lie told by my parents, no matter how small. I kept it all to myself though. I just started working at a new job in Phoenix and was starting a new life, away from everyone I have ever known. This was exactly what I needed.

I began feeling settled in at my new job and things were great. They let us off early one Thursday afternoon so I ran home to change so I could enjoy some daylight for a change. As I approached my apartment door I heard a woman crying in great pain upstairs. I heard a child say, “Please mommy, where’s daddy? Where did daddy go?”
I took it upon my self to make sure everything was alright. Their door was open, and if anything I could ask them to close it if no problems were too serious.
“Hello! Are you alright?” I said as I knocked on the door.
“Yes. I suppose. Please come in.” said the teary eyed woman sitting at the kitchen table with her son. They pulled a chair out for me and asked me to sit.
I said, “Actually, I don’t have a lot of time. I heard the crying and thought . . .”
Then I was uncomfortably stuck listening to a story I didn’t really want to hear. All I know is that her husband left earlier that day. I didn’t want to seem insensitive but I did the best I could. Soon I was back at home and relaxed watching a little TV and fell asleep soon after.

After work the following day I arrived home as usual and noticed my heartbroken neighbor’s door was closed; no psychiatric treatment today – I’m not really wanting to be involved in it anyway. I notice that the little red light is blinking rapidly on my answering machine. I relaxed and pounded down a cold one – now it’s time for my messages.
*beep* “Hello? Mr. Holden? It’s me Roxanne – the girl upstairs. I hope you don’t mind me calling you but I was just kinda wondering what you were gonna do today. Anyway. . .talk to you later.”

How did she get my phone number, I thought. Then another message.
*beep* “Hey Jack, hope you don’t mind me calling you by your first name. Anyway, I was cooking lunch and hoped you would come by. Call me!”
I pressed pause on my messages noticing the count was thirty-seven. Thirty-seven messages from her? Today had been bad enough already. Earlier at work I was scolded by a co-worker because I didn’t want to go on a second date with her friend Sharon, whom she had set me up with the previous week. Sharon and I had nothing in common and I just wasn’t attracted to her. Now I have this to deal with and I only wanted to relax. I was intrigued though, at what could possibly have been said on all those messages. So I press play.

*beep* “Hey Jack, guess you couldn’t make it. I’ll save some dinner for you so you can eat without having fast food. My son Timmy really likes you and he wants you to come play Monopoly with him. You wouldn’t want to let a needy child go without attention would you? We will be waiting for you, bye now!”

*beep* “Jack, I just went and bought a new bathing suit and you need to come rub suntan lotion on me. I’m down by the pool, I know you want me and I may just eat you up Mr. so get down here!”

*beep* “Jack. I don’t know if I said something – or done something to make you mad. I would REALLY APPRECIATE it if you come to the pool. We really need to talk about us!”
I stop the machine again. It was 5:30 pm and I kept wondering when this psycho-bitch was going to knock on my door. Right at that exact moment came a loud knock at the door.
She screamed, “Jack! Are you in there? Your truck is outside but I didn’t here you come up. Timmy really needs to see you. Jack?”

I am stunned at this point, wondering how in the hell does craziness like this happen to me? I couldn’t decide if I should call the police or what I should do. I decided just to be very quiet. I couldn’t resist the temptation-
*beep* “Look Jack, I don’t know what your problem is but you have some SERIOUS EXPLAINING to do. My husband leaves and now you – Mr. I’m so concerned about you – better not pull one over on me. I thought we had something special!”

*beep* “I’m sorry. I don’t want to bitch, I know you had a long day at work. It’s just that me and Timmy can’t hold up under another disappointment.” BAM! A thunderous knock at my door.
I press pause and she starts yelling – the phone starts ringing – the answering machine just starts playing her messages as I am on the verge of a psychotic meltdown. I answer the phone and it’s Sharon, the other woman I didn’t want to talk to.
“Hello?” I miraculously retain a polite tone.
“Jack? It’s Sharon. I think we need to talk. Me and my momma talked and I need a man like you. I’m coming over right now!” I hear nothing but the symphonies of Leviathan playing a tritone based death march rippling with diminished chromaticism – guiding me to my hellish crypt of never ending agony. Then it all settled to one fiendish chord sheathed in perverse wickedness. Suddenly I couldn’t see – blinding whiteness, scorching my retinas. Aqueous and vitreous humour fluids began bubbling, frothing searing madness vomited from my occipital pits as all I hear is the knocking and the screaming. Little Timmy is heart broken and I am the vile, wretched human leech that doth suckle the goodness from their hearts.

I wondered if I had died just realizing there’s pure silence. Things remained quiet, still my anxiety just waited for the climactic finish to this night. After pacing nervously for a while I peeked out through the blinds into the parking lot. I was shocked to see the woman I was set up with but didn’t like sitting on the hood of my car next to Roxanne; they sat drinking liquor straight from the bottle while laughing and comparing stories of why they both were snubbed by that uncaring guy in apartment B-6. Suddenly I heard a light tap on my door and I knew right away who it was. I opened it and let little Timmy in.
He revealed a look of disgust on his face, rolled his eye’s back saying, “I guess you can guess why my Daddy left huh Mr.Jack?”
I fought to keep from laughing aloud when Timmy unstressed all of my tension, exploding in hysterical chuckles – I joined in and we both had a great time.

The following Morning I went to check my mail and noticed Roxanne’s car was gone. The gas grill outside her apartment door also went missing. A neighbor told me they moved just before sunrise because I didn’t want her and her son. Of course my neighbor, a silver haired eighty-six year old retired sex therapist looked at me and said, “Men, you’re all just alike.”

Bobby Revell

~Derrik Walker was twenty-nine years old and drifted through this world a very unfulfilled man who seemed to never have the simple things in life he wanted. He didn’t want money or nice things. He wanted to be in love with a woman that returned the same love. He wanted to know what it was like yet never took the actions necessary to find it~
Every day I saw her across the street in the window, both of us on the second floor – her window always open. I never really meant to look – and she did discreetly notice. She looked into my eyes when we passed taking clothes to the laundry until her owner arrived home each night. It was a beautiful spring and people were out jogging, walking dogs and living normal lives. The pristine greenery and sweet air seemed a cloak placed by Satan himself to hide the sickening abuse from view; not from me though. I witnessed the explosive rage of that man and the hammering fists pound her frail being. I know I might induce the resemblance of a coward but in no way am such.

She and her assaulter walked by one afternoon as her face revealed blackened eyes, covered well beneath a varnish of makeup – still I noticed. He was a vicious lawman always discharging a foul grimace, incessantly showcasing his hatred. As they passed she turned saying silently, “please help me. It is you that I love. . .” In my imagination of course – though I know she said it in her heart.

Perhaps I was foolish for dreaming of such a love. Certainly I could be killed by this monster of a man. I was witness to his killing a puppy before the eyes of a little girl last week. He also backhanded the innocent child across the face while asking the woman I secretly desired – if she loved him. She was aware I had seen the whole situation yet ran into back into his arms, though fearing for her life. Why was I such a craven? I fantasized of pulverizing his skull with a lead pipe or stabbing him repetitively until my arm cramped from exhaustion. None the less, it was I who felt like dying. My friends thought I was insane for many reasons, one being my break up with my fiance Rachel. She told me that she did not love me and if I needed love, I needed to go move back in with my mother. In my way of thinking, what better reason could I have for a breakup?

Ray, my best friend from high-school came by the following afternoon, despite my disturbing thirst – it was a needed break. I began, “So, how’s your mother?”
“My mother? Derrik, you know damn well were talking about you. You are out of work, you live in some freaky fantasy world with . . .well, damn – I don’t know how to help you. These delusions you have about your neighbors – I mean, you need some professional help.”
I dig words from from the meat of my soul, “Have you ever loved someone that you just know, you know in your heart is the one – but you can’t change it?”
“Who are you talking about? That girl across the street? She’s MARRIED Derrik – to a U.S. Marshall. Not to mention that he could make you disappear. I told you before – nobody gets to have their dream girl. You just settle for whichever one will stay with you. Love is dead.”
“What?” I grunt. “I want to to something daring, taking a huge chance. I will get this woman;
I love her.”
“You don’t even know her damn name you freaking moron!”
I began feeling intensely vexed and said, “Just because you think love is dead, and God is dead, and you and your wife in that theater of misery you call marriage – don’t know anything about love! I know you base your life on Nietzsche’s “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” and you don’t even know what it’s about.”
Blood rushes to his head as a sickened scowl engraved his emotions in crimson anger. Ten deep breaths later he mutters, “I teach existentialism to our university’s finest! Don’t ever think you understand anything that I haven’t already learned as child – my boy. I’m leaving, I can’t stand listening to all this corny love nonsense – goodnight Derrik.”

Weeks passed as I pace the floors having learned that she and her nefarious husband are moving away. I believed that indeed I was falling apart – I just can’t seem to actually do anything to change it. Then – a light knock on the door. I make my way from the couch to see who it could be. I don’t believe my eyes; I cannot breathe – my vision is going. . .
“Hello Derrik. I know your name is Derrik.” She smiles, “I finally have a chance to see you! I’m Veronica, Veronica Hanson.”
“I’m so sorry. . .so sorry I didn’t help you.” I said, beginning to cry.
She wraps her arms around me and yes, this is love. “Derrik, We’ve been passing one another for three years without ever once talking. As sad as that is, it’s all that kept me going.”
I could hear her heart beating as we gently kissed. Her sugared scent released a part of me
I have never before known – I felt for the first time – like a man. A blistering inferno of passion ignited and we made love for hours, never did I remember falling asleep – that magical night.

A thundering percussion of explosive impact snatched us from our dreams. I was jolted to find Veronica gone. A scream from the den, “You filthy slut!” her husband was in my apartment.
He’s pinned her to the floor punching her repetitively. Blood spurted from every laceration, a whimper followed every blow. She was gurgling vomit and blood, unable to breathe – there’s a knock at the door while I run to end this piece of human garbage. I kick him in the face punting his skull as a football. I throat an echoic cry of pain, “Veronica!”
As I now stare into the barrel of a .44 Magnum he says, “I’d like to introduce my self – I’m
Stan. I’m Veronica’s husband.”

The front door is ripped from it’s frame as Ray has arrived. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Back off” instructs Stan. He turns to me. . . raises his weapon – I see a mangled slab of bloody meat blast from my chest leaving a scorched gouge where my lungs used to be. The smell of gun powder and cooked flesh permeates my senses. I hear a struggle and more gun fire. I convulse in tears. Ray and Veronica lean over me. She lies on me shivering in fear. “I love you, Derrik! Please don’t die!” I see a look of insane disbelief inscribed in Ray’s face.
I feel cold. . . I ask Ray, “Is God dead? He’s in tears holding my hand.
“No, Derrik.” He is shaken, “God is here buddy. God is here.”

I barely can breathe, “Go love your wife Ray. I think now – now you know what love is.”
I look in Veronica’s soothing green eyes. They just stared at me so sadly – so I smiled.
“I love you Veronica. I really love you. . .”
I am no longer breathing, but still know that I felt love. I knew at least for a moment, I had truly lived, and truly been loved.