A Shot In The Dark 1

I walked into the old building and immediately found myself immersed in a reverberating din of activity. In addition to the incessant hum of the light fixtures and the squeaking chug of an insufficient air conditioner, phones were ringing, people were talking and there were even a few typewriters clacking. Stepping up to the desk, I leaned forward and said, "I need to talk to," I paused, reaching my hand in my pocket and looking at the crumpled up business card before continuing, "Joe Hammond about a matter."

"You'll need to speak up, I can't hear what you're saying."

"I need to speak to Joe Hammond," I said slightly louder.

"Well, we're pretty busy around here, can I tell him what it's about?" he asked, running a handkerchief across his forehead wiping away the sweat. I noticed two dark rings under his arms.

"He asked me to get in touch with him if I remembered anything else."

"Anything else about what?"

Shrugging my shoulders I said, "I'm not sure, he was the one who came to me."

"Okay, find a seat somewhere and I'll get your message to him. What is your name?"

"Jackson, Jason Jackson."

"Please have a seat Mr. Jackson."

I felt myself beginning to tremble as I moved over to an old wooden bench and sat down at the very end. My memory has been bad of late, well it went completely away for a number of years, but recently some bits of it have returned. I had angered Mr. Hammond because of this, but after he talked to my doctors he seemed to forgive me about it all.

Since I talked to him several months ago, the flashes of recollection have become stronger, kind of merging into a cohesive, flowing memory. It started with a shot in the dark if you can call it that. I walked into a late night diner and just before I slipped into a booth for a quick bit to eat, I noticed her sipping coffee alone in a booth at the back of the room. Grabbing a flower from a vase at an empty table, not just any flower, a white carnation, with beautiful rays of red running through the petals, I walked to her table and handed her the flower saying, "You seemed sad, someone as beautiful as you shouldn't be sad."

Cringing a bit at the melodramatic line I couldn't believe I just used, I watched her as she said, "Thanks," and then returned her attention to her coffee cup. Smiling, I headed back toward the empty booth when she said, "Do you really think so?"

"Think so what?" I turned and asked.

"You said I was beautiful, do you really think I am beautiful?"

"Of course," I said, sliding into the seat across from her. "As soon as I stepped into the diner I saw you."

"I am the only single woman here, could that..."

"I didn't notice that you were the only woman by herself, I noticed you because you were so beautiful. I brought you the flower because you looked sad."

"I don't feel very beautiful," she said, as a tear ran down her cheek. I could tell it wasn't the first tear she shed her tonight. "My husband doesn't think I am."

"How could he not..."

"That's what I'm doing here, I just watched him walk into that motel," she pointed at a cheap hotel across the street, "with a woman."

"Perhaps it was a dinner meeting..."

"There is no restaurant in that motel, no bar, no gift shop, just rooms."

My memory was like that now, after years of absolutely nothing, and then just bits in pieces, they now seemed to come flooding back to me in intricate detail. The lady, Erin was her name, Erin kept coming back to the diner as her husband paraded an assortment of women into the hotel. Since I was eating there regularly, I saw her there each time. It reached the point where I stopped by a flower shop so I could give her a fresh flower each time we met.

It took some time but I finally convinced her to go to a different place, one away from the hotel. We found a small café a number of blocks away and our meetings became a friendly dinner instead of sipping coffee and fighting off tears. The conversations turned to be more about the two of us, instead of the two of them (her husband and whatever woman he walked into the motel with).

Or relationship developed from strangers in a diner, to good friends getting together, to close friends discussing everything with each other, to ultimately two people falling in love with each other. Each time we met, I'd bring a flower, trying hard to find a slightly different flower. She'd take the blossom and tuck it into her light red hair, making me think of Hawaii for some reason.

She loved flowers, so the first time I brought her back to my apartment to make love, I had covered the bed in rose petals. It was absolutely beautiful to see her naked among all those red and white petals. I crawled up between her legs and as she blossomed for me, I ran my tongue between her lips and tasted her. Continuing moving my tongue I circled her delicate nub while my fingers slipped inside her, exploring her moist softness. When she came it was mild and sedate, like a sigh whispered in the wind, something so gentle and true that it seemed we flowed together.

Later, she guided me into her, wrapping her arms and legs around me as she came again, as if she wanted us to merge into one body, one being, and one soul. I came inside her, feeling her warmth draw me in so when my erection subsided and I slipped from her we shared an aching longing to join again, somehow come together but this time remain that way. These memories, now that they've returned to me are the things I cherish most in life now.

"Jackson, Jason Jackson," the voice ripped me from my memories. I stood up from the bench and stepped up to the desk.

"I'm Jason Jackson."

"Yeah, Hammond will see you now, just walk through that door and then it's the second desk on the right."

"Thank you," I said softly, walking through the door and over to the second desk on the right. Looking at the dark haired man I said, "Mr. Hammond?"

"Detective," he said and when I squinted my eyes at him he said, "It's Detective Hammond. Now have a seat please."

"Well Mr... I mean Detective Hammond, you said I should come talk to you if I remembered anything more."

"Oh, yes, wait... this is about the Erin Masterson case, yes you were the close friend with amnesia or something."

"Well the doctor's called it..."

"Yes, I have the file, what did you come here to tell me," he asked, grabbing a pen and a pad.

"Some of my memories have returned since we last talked and I hoped I could help some more."

"Okay, well.." I paused looking at the small pad and the pen he held.

"You know, when my memories come back, well while at first it came in bits and pieces," I paused while he nodded, "but this time it just flooded into me. I think..."

"You're saying I need a bigger pad?" he asked.

"I think so."

"Look, why don't we move into that room over there, it's quieter and I can get a tape machine set up. That way I won't disturb you by writing everything down," he said, looking over at another man and circling a finger in the air.

I followed him into the room and sat down. In a few minutes someone wheeled an old cassette tape recorder into the room and placed it on the table in front of me. Detective Hammond made sure the tape was ready and pressed record.

"Okay Mr. Jackson, you can tell me what you came here to tell me."

I took a deep breath and staring into Detective Hammond's dark brown eyes I began, "I walked into a late night diner and just before I slipped into a booth for a quick bit to eat, I noticed her sipping coffee alone in a booth..." Continuing, I related my memories in detail, down to the stunning intimacy of when Erin and I first made love.

While I continued, I also talked about how frightened we became when she learned she had vaginal warts, a little gift her husband presented her with on one of the rare occasions she stayed home to have sex with her. Though relieved it wasn't something more serious, I did have to begin using a condom hoping I had not already developed a problem. Strange thing, although we had been relieved she had only contracted the warts from him, the doctors couldn't seem to get them under control, resorting to heavier doses of medicine and more exotic treatment.

I soon noticed an overall decline in her, first it was the headaches, then she began dropping things and her short term memory came and went. It was a strange thing, she could still remember the carnation I gave her that first day, she could remember every touch, every sensation of the first time we made love, but she couldn't remember if she had put on her shoes without looking.

Detective Hammond listened intently as I went on, pausing me when the tape ran out and he had to open the machine and flip the cassette. When he nodded to me I continued my recollection of her declining state of mind. Her husband had all but abandoned her, returning home only on Fridays to get his check out of the mail and then leave. Since she couldn't remember her way to my apartment, I pretty much moved in, just making sure I was gone on Fridays.

It was about midnight on a Tuesday evening after a really bad day when she begged me to love her. Thinking perhaps she wanted to make love, I crawled into bed beside her, but she pleaded with me to love her. I embraced her and whispered in her ear, but she shook her head no, again pleading, "Please love me, please love me, please love me enough," finally pointing to the nightstand beside the bed.

I opened the drawer and saw a bible. Thinking she wanted me to read from it, I pulled it out of the drawer. It was then I saw what she wanted. Without any further questions, I closed the bedroom door, turned out the lights and tucked some pillows gently around her head. I then went back to the drawer and then returned to her, resting my hand against a pillow, I kissed her and whispered, "I love you." Before she could respond, I pulled the trigger. A single shot rang out in the darkness.