Dead or Alive

1. All characters are 18+

2. No characters resemble real people

3. Enjoy the fiction

DEAD OR ALIVE

Everyday, I visited the small coffee shop. It was called Pete's, but Pete had passed away a few years ago. His daughter Becca ran it now. She was always there. Same hat, same ponytail of blonde hair. Same world-weary smile beneath knowing blue-green eyes. She had a couple of young people on as staff, but she was there every morning when I came in.

Everyday, I got the same order. Mocha and a muffin. The flavor of muffin might occasionally change. Blueberry was my favorite. Lemon was also good.

Everyday, Becca smiled warmly and said, "That'll be $3.50." An excellent price for coffee and a muffin.

Everyday, I gave her four dollars in cash and told her to keep the change.

Everyday, for the last two years.

---

I remember arriving in Sanford two years ago. It was three states away from my old home. It wasn't a tiny town, where everyone knew each other. It wasn't a large town where everyone was connected to the activity of the larger cities. It was in between, which was perfect.

I found work as a contractor, and insisted on being paid in cash only. A few people found that odd, but not many. I found an old lady with an apartment above her garage, who was willing to take my cash. Mrs. Monroe never asked questions as long as I had the rent every month, and kept quiet so as to not disturb her watching television.

I did have a bank account, but I didn't use it. I lived on cash. It was a shame. There was half a million dollars there. The money sat idle. I was occasionally tempted to take some money out, but I always dismissed it as a bad idea.

The money in that account belonged to the old me. Jackson Sloane. I hadn't been Jackson since I arrived in Sanford. I was Jack Smith now.

When I was Jackson, things were different. I had a different house, a different job, a different life. I even had a girlfriend.

Allison was extremely pretty. Long black hair, very tan skin, striking eyes. She attributed her features to her partial Italian heritage. She and I had been together for three years after meeting in college. She had been a communications major, and became a party coordinator. I majored in IT, and wrote a program that I was able to sell to MacroShark for a few million dollars.

I realized in hindsight, that's probably why Allison stayed with me as long as she did. I invested a chunk of my money in her business. Why not? We were going to be together forever, right? I was even starting to shop for rings.

When I found out she was cheating on me, it broke me. And not just one guy, I found out. Many men. Clients. Friends of clients. Apparently that's what party coordinators do, I guess. I'm surprised I didn't catch the clap.

---

Mostly, I kept to myself in Sanford. Many people knew of me. But nobody knew me, nobody was close. I would work a job, get paid, and wish them well as I left.

The person I saw most often was Becca. I didn't know much about her, other than she was the owner, and was about my age. She was also divorced. People mentioned, and I overheard, she had been physically abused by her now ex-husband. She moved back to town to take over the coffee shop after her divorce, and before her father passed.

Besides Becca, I think I talked to Roscoe the most. He was a good listener. Roscoe was a stray cat who hung around my apartment. Mrs. Monroe hated cats and shooed him away, but I'd toss him a little scrap of food if he was around, and he'd let me scratch his ears a little. He'd meow at me, and I'd tell him a little bit about my day.

---

Roscoe is what started this whole damn problem. One Saturday morning in early March, it was still snowing and extremely cold. I came outside in the morning, ready to head to Pete's, when I spotted Roscoe's brown and black spotted coat half buried in the snow, right outside my door.

I went over to him. "Good morning, Roscoe."

He didn't move. He was breathing, I could tell, but he didn't want to get up. I knelt down and brushed the snow from him, but I could tell he wasn't well.

I sighed. I couldn't leave the little guy to die in the cold. I scooped him up and put him in my truck, and drove towards town. It was only then I realized I didn't know of any vets in town. I stopped at Pete's, leaving Roscoe in the truck.

Becca looked up when I came in. "I wasn't sure if you'd be in today," she said, showing her usual tired smile. "The weather's bad."

"Yeah, I know. Hey, do you know where the closest vet is? I've got a stray cat who hangs out near my place, and he's not doing well."

Becca frowned. "There's only one vet, Doc Keller, and he's closed on weekends." Something in her voice told me she had feelings about Doc Keller, but I didn't have the time to ask.

"Can I bring him in here?" I asked. "Maybe he could use the warmth."

"You can't bring him inside your place?"

I shook my head. "My landlady won't allow it."

Becca huffed, but relented. "Fine. But keep him in the corner over there. Want your usual?"

"Yes please. And thanks," I told her. I went back to my truck and brought Roscoe inside. I didn't usually sit in the shop; I usually took my order to go. I sat at the table in the corner and sat Roscoe on my lap.

Becca brought me my mocha and two muffins. "Two?" I asked.

"One's mine," she said, sitting down next to me. "I don't think I'll have many customers today. So, I didn't take you for a cat guy."

I shrugged. "I've never owned one. Roscoe kinda found me."

"Roscoe?"

"As good a name as any." Roscoe seemed to wake up a bit, wriggled his body, then settled back down to sleep. "He hasn't complained yet."

We sat for probably thirty minutes, discussing small town things, until Roscoe woke up and meowed at me. "I'm sorry, I don't have any food for you," I answered.

"Can I see him?" Becca asked. I picked him up and placed him on her lap. She seemed to look him over briefly, almost professionally, then handed him back. "Roscoe will be fine. But you should know, he's a she," she said with a smile. I couldn't help but notice it was a different smile. Not her normal weary smile, this was a happier smile, one that was perhaps reserved for friends.

"A she?" I asked dumbly. "I didn't know. I guess I'm not very observant. Sorry, Roscoe."

"Maybe a different name?" Becca suggested.

I looked at Roscoe and she meowed more insistently. "No, I think Roscoe is fine. But she's hungry. Do you have any turkey or chicken?"

Becca rolled her eyes, but she went to the kitchen and found a few chunks of chicken, which Roscoe gobbled up. "When Keller opens up this week," she told me, "you may want to get a more thorough exam. And I can't tell if Roscoe is fixed or not."

"Roscoe's not really my cat. She's a stray," I pointed out.

Becca gave me a sympathetic look. "There's a saying, Jack. If you feed a cat, that's your cat."

I nodded. "Sure. I'll look into it."

When Roscoe and I were ready to leave, I left two five dollar bills on the counter, before Becca could tell me the price. "It's only $3.50," she said, confused at the amount of cash.

"Extra for the chicken. And the help. Thanks, Becca," I insisted. She smiled her nice smile again, and I returned it.

---

After that, Becca and I had more to talk about when I saw her every morning. I'd talk about Roscoe, and jobs I was doing around town. She'd talk about the town in general, and interesting stories from working in her shop. She acknowledged that she generally knew some town gossip, having overheard it from customers, but she didn't ever share it. "That would be bad for business," she told me.

"What do people say about me?" I asked out of curiosity.

"Not much," she said. "Which is significant. You don't share much with others, do you?"

I shook my head. "Not really, no."

She handed me my coffee and muffin, and said, "Well if you have time later today, I have a job for you. The back door to this place sticks, and it got worse over the winter. Think you can look at it?"

"Sure, no problem. I'll be back around 4:00."

---

That day started a more involved relationship with Becca and her shop. When I first stepped into the back of the shop, I saw all the little things that needed fixing. Becca didn't know how to fix these things, and had never asked anyone else to do it either. I wasn't entirely sure if that was due to a lack of funds to pay a handyman, or some kind of pride, or a combination of both.

The back door was only the first thing. She argued that her old sink was fine, but I disagreed and fixed her disposal and her hot water. When she offered me money, I shook her off and just said, "Cover my coffee tomorrow morning, and we'll be square."

While doing these random little jobs, I realized Becca and I had a lot in common. Her parents were also gone, leaving her alone. I knew she'd been misused by her ex, though she didn't talk about him and I was wise enough to avoid the topic. Beyond that, she and I liked the same music, and had surprisingly similar senses of humor, which we found out while trading jokes.

After the sink, I replaced a few lights, followed by the vent fan in the bathroom. Becca paid for the parts, but I refused to take any money from her for labor. I was still working normal jobs, of course, but I stopped by a few afternoons a week on my way home. This was in addition to the usual morning coffee stop.

About a month into this arrangement, I got the flu. I woke up in the morning, my head throbbing, and after throwing up extensively, I went back to bed. I didn't wake up again until late in the afternoon, when I felt someone stroking my forehead with a wet washcloth. It felt good. I opened my eyes and found Becca sitting above me.

"Hi?" I asked, kind of confused at her presence.

"Hi, Jack," she said. "You didn't come by today. For the first time in years, I didn't see you in the morning, and I got worried."

"How... how'd you get in?"

"Mrs. Monroe let me in with her spare key. I... I think she thinks I'm your girlfriend," she said with a small smile.

I smiled back. "Sorry if I worried you. I guess maybe I should have your phone number."

Becca held up a notepad I kept near my bed. "Already thought of that. Next time, text me so I know you're not dead."

I frowned and looked away. "I wouldn't do that to you," I told her.

I doubted I could do that again anyway.

---

When I found out about Allison's, um, extracurricular activities, I was broken. I knew I couldn't confront her; I wasn't mentally prepared for that. So I did the opposite: I left.

No, I didn't just leave. I completely disappeared. I moved all my money, blocking her access to any of it. But as I said, I haven't touched any of it in two years. I knew it would be easy to find me based on using a debit or credit card.

I took some cash and bought my old, reliable truck at a used car lot. That's the first time I used the name Jack Smith. The next was on a cheap cell phone. I left everything else behind: my iPhone, computers, furniture, my Lexus.

I did monitor the news after I left. Jackson Sloane was mysteriously gone, no trace and no leads for the police to follow. His girlfriend Allison was on the news, crying. I knew she was really crying that the money had also mysteriously vanished as well. I'd find out later that Allison's business collapsed not long after that.

When I arrived in Sanford, I had an old truck, different clothes, longer hair, and a bit of a beard. Jack Smith didn't look anything like Jackson Sloane. Not that anyone here would be looking anyway.

---

When I'd recovered, things went back to normal, except now I had Becca as my... well... I don't know what she was. Friend, yes. Mrs. Monroe occasionally asked about my girlfriend. At first, I tried to correct her, but she kept asking about my girlfriend, so I let her keep thinking whatever she thought.

Becca and I spent more time together, and not just with me fixing things for her. We had lunch on a Sunday. I went to her house for dinner. She came over to my apartment and played with Roscoe. Somewhere along the line I realized these events were dates. Becca and I were dating, and I was too slow to realize it until about four dates in. Maybe Becca was my girlfriend after all.

It was during one such date when Becca asked, "Hey, did you ever take Roscoe to the vet?" We sat together on my small step that led to my apartment, having just had dinner. Roscoe walked around and between us, happy to receive attention from two humans at once.

"No, she was better after that one morning, so I guess I forgot. Why?"

Becca smirked. "I think this little girl is pregnant."

"What?" I picked up Roscoe and examined her belly. "Huh. She does look rounder."

"You should make an appointment with Doc Keller," she told me.

"Okay. Would you go with me?"

She shook her head. "No, I... I'm busy that day."

"I didn't say a day." I looked at Becca, but she wasn't making eye contact. "What's wrong with Doc Keller?" I guessed.

Becca hesitated, then told me, "He's my ex father in law. He and I... aren't on good terms."

That explained her reluctance to see him, or even talk about it. "Ah. You, uh, don't talk about your ex. I didn't know."

"Yeah, that's okay. I guess I should be more open about it. Dan and I were only married a year before he started acting violent. He hit me once, and I should've left then, but he begged me to stay, so I did. I wanted to forgive him, I wanted to believe he wasn't really like that. But then it happened a second time, and a third."

"How'd you leave him?"

"He broke my arm. That was the last straw. Every time before, it was just a bruise, but that last time I had to go to the hospital. That's what helped me realize this was only going to continue, and get worse. The nurses helped me get away from him, and back to my dad's. Dad helped me get a lawyer, and that was that."

I listened to her whole story. I knew it was tough for her to think about that rough part in her life. "Huh. And his father? Doc?"

"Doc is still pissed that I drug his family name in the mud. A lot of people in town know what Dan did, and I guess that reflected on Doc." Becca sighed. "Dad and Doc were best friends growing up. But Doc said a lot of unkind things to me after Dan was arrested, and Dad said a lot of unkind things to Doc in return. You know, once upon a time, I wanted to train with him? Become a vet myself? Now I just run the coffee shop."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, me too. But," she said, bolstering herself up. "That's history now. And Doc is still the best, and only, vet in Sanford."

I wrapped my arm around Becca and hugged her. And to my surprise, she leaned in and kissed me. Not a long kiss, just a short one, and yet it meant so much for both of us. For her, I knew it meant she was signalling her readiness to move on from the past, from Dan. For me, it was the first kiss I'd had in over two years. It was the first kiss Jack Smith had ever had.

In the split second after the kiss, it looked like Becca wanted to apologize, or explain, but I didn't let her. I kissed her back, longer than the first. She closed her eyes and gave a little moan, which in my opinion, is the best reaction a woman can have when you kiss her.

That second kiss turned into a third, and a fourth. Or maybe they were all one long kiss. But all of it was wanted, and needed, by both of us. When we'd stopped, both of us were smiling. It was the third kind of smile I'd seen from her. The first had been for customers, the second for friends, but this third smile was one of trust and affection, one of an unspoken love.

---

Doc Keller nodded in acknowledgement when I walked in with Roscoe and introduced myself. "I've seen you around town, young man. Who's this?" he asked, motioning at the cat.

"Roscoe. I think she might be pregnant," I said.

"Roscoe?" the older man asked. He had black hair on top of his head, but the sides had transitioned to grey. He wore a white coat over his polo shirt and khaki pants.

"Yeah, I thought she was a boy at first."

He huffed. "I take it Rebecca has seen her, then."

I answered plainly and without emotion, "yes, sir." I didn't want him to bait me into some argument. "She advised me to bring Roscoe to you for an exam."

He frowned, but nodded. "Yes. Okay then. Let's take Roscoe back." He examined Roscoe and found her to be in fair health. "Probably two or three kittens, I'd guess," he said. "She's got about three weeks to go. I'd have to do a sonogram to be sure. But I'd have to shave her belly for that, and as an outdoor cat, she's not going to like that."

I shrugged. "It's okay. We don't have to."

"You might want to spay her after her kittens are born," Doc advised. "When she does give birth, you can call me, or... you can call Rebecca. She's more than qualified to help with birthing kittens." He didn't meet my eyes as he said it, but I could still see a cloud of emotion in the older man.

That admission was more than I expected. It was a begrudging acknowledgement that Becca was not only good with animals but, at a more basic level, that she was a good person. And maybe, just maybe, he regretted the terrible things he'd said.

---

Two and a half weeks later, Becca and I had built a small outdoor bed for Roscoe, right outside my door. Mrs. Monroe didn't like it, but she grumbled her okay when I said the pregnant cat needed somewhere comfortable to give birth in.

Roscoe now lay in the bed most of the time, and was looking very round. Fortunately, the winter weather had yielded to spring, so it was more comfortable for her to be outside. When she did have her kittens, I called Becca right away. She directed me to get clean towels and warm water, and together we watched the miracle. Three tiny kittens. Becca examined each one and deemed them healthy. "One boy and two girls," she said with a grin.

Becca helped me put collars on them. Roscoe didn't have one, but these kittens would be taken in by Becca when they were ready to leave their mother, before she found homes for them. "Any name ideas?" she asked.

The boy was RJ, or Roscoe Junior. He shared Roscoe's colors almost exactly. One of the girls shared the same colors, but more black than brown, and I named her Raven.

The smallest girl was all grey, which probably meant that's what the kittens' father looked like. She was adorable. I wanted to keep her for myself, when I got my own home, and I told Becca that. "What about Allison?" she suggested.

The name made me freeze. "What?"

"Allison? After Mrs. Monroe?" she asked.

I hadn't known Mrs. Monroe's first name. I could feel my heart rate speed up. My head felt dizzy. "No," I said. "No." I couldn't breathe. "No."

"Are you okay?" Becca asked, looking concerned.

All of my past, as Jackson Sloane, was rushing back to my mind. I thought about Allison, the woman I had loved, and how she had been using and betraying me. I couldn't deal with it.

Becca asked again, holding my arm, "Are you okay? You look really pale."

I would realize later that I was having a panic attack. But at the moment, I couldn't think of anything else, just Allison. Spending my money. Lying to my face. Fucking other men. "I..." I sputtered, "I can't..." I started up my stairs, towards my apartment. I wanted to just get away, to isolate myself from everything and everyone. But in my panic, I tripped on my own two feet, and fell on my face.

---

I woke up in a hospital bed. My immediate fear was confirmed. Becca was sitting at my side, happy I was awake, but she also looked upset. "Welcome back, Jackson," she said.

I groaned. "So you know."

"After the paramedics came and took you to the hospital, I went into your apartment to find your ID and anything else the hospital would need," she told me. "Jackson Sloane. Not Jack Smith. I Googled you. You're not a handyman or a contractor or whatever. You're a software developer?"