Author's Note: I'll level with you guys, I had completed this next part of the story before I even started on the Interlude. But as I looked back on the completed story I realized that there was a lot of places where I couldn't explain details without making long transitions away from the story and ultimately doing that would take away from the pacing. As I completed the Interlude, I again looked at the completed story and felt that I could do better not just for you guys but for myself. So I deleted every chapter that I had written and here I am.
Hope you guys enjoy this chapter and continue following D's adventures. In order to follow the guidelines established within the website, I must tell you that the events depicted in the story are a work of fiction. I am sure that readers here do not navigate into the Interwebs in order to check if some details I have spoken about in these past stories may have happened. However, as fellow authors know, this website is very explicit when it comes to stories that contain criminal effects: the work must be clearly labeled as fiction.
So, dear editors, once again, the events in the story are works of... fiction.
Comment, like, and thank you for your continued support.
Much love,
aka_Mike
...
Angie sat across from me, silently sipping her morning coffee. After three wonderfully passionate years, this morning's routine had become much of the norm for the past few weeks. Our romance seemed to have completely burned out over the past weeks, the distance had been an incredible challenge that eventually turned us into yet another statistic. I am sure that the thick wall of cynicism that I have built around me over the years is another big factor to the decay of this relationship, but to Angie's credit, she was still determined to help me through my issues. She was more than willing to listen to my morbid story, without judgement or reservations, even now in the eve of our relationship.
"You do seem to get reeled back all the time, just as you make peace with your surroundings, don't you?" Angie looked over her coffee mug, a sorrowful expression covered her face like a well-worn mask.
"It's almost as if I am writing a book, and just when I am about to write the final chapters of the happily ever after, well..." I tried not to place any blame on her, she was completely innocent of any wrong doing. I knew she had tried to hang on to that love for as long as she could, she knew that I had done the same. But the distance was far too much a burden.
"...I come along and add more shit to your plate." She immediately absorbed the blame for our drifting apart, I moved to hold her hand and comfort her as best as I could, but she recoiled as if my hand had become a snake waiting to strike. "No, D, please, no. Not everything can be your fault, baby," she looked at me, unspent tears filling her eyes. "Let me be the one at fault here, please."
"There is no one at fault, Angie," I replied, "we just drifted apart. You have given me no reason to hate you, or even to dishonor your name." Slowly, I reached for the coffee mug, the black elixir was welcoming as always. "We both knew this was a huge possibility, you have your career to worry about, and I am still living the life of a nomad. I absolutely loved every second we spent together,
mio amore
, but our own lives have been tugging us apart since the day we met."
"Do you think we should spend this last weekend together?" Her voice was dangerously close to breaking into a wail, she hung her head as if she was standing before a judge that would pass sentence on her.
"I would like that very much," I replied.
...
I was still unsure if I was doing the right thing, things like instinct and gut have become so twisted in my mind that I was no longer sure as to what moral compass I was following. I hadn't slept well the previous nights, but the realization that I was returning to a life of blood and bullets kept me more than awake. Not only had any exhaustion left my body the closer I got to my dear home, but I began to shake with anticipation; this was the way the world accepted me. This was the environment where I felt more at home. I had tried to live a good life, I honestly gave it my best effort to walk away from all the bloodshed and violence of my youth. Lady death plays a tune that is hard for my blood to resist for very long; amidst the chaos that was my life, I surveyed the damage that had swallowed what remained of my family.
My brother Angel was in prison for gun charges, he would be facing federal time for sure and his absence would create a huge vacuum of power not just within the family, but in the city itself. My dear mother, who at one point in my life had convinced me to forgive the cheating whore that would become my wife, showed her own whoring ways by revealing that my eldest brother, the most honest of us all, was only my half-brother; that set of news nearly devastated my father. I had left an empty home and a discarded job in Arizona, only to be headed into the valley of death with a smile and an invitation from an old acquaintance: Officer Sandoval. The most troubling of all was her: Cece.
"Who is it?!" The loud voice answered the triple doorbell ring that I had created. It was a habit from my childhood days, press the bell three times for no particular reason. "God damn it, hold on," the voice continued.
"Officer Sandoval," I greeted the man as he opened the door, he was still partially dressed in his work uniform, save for the blouse that he had long discarded. The uniform pants and stained undershirt revealed the long hours that this man had been subjected to in his job, long hiring delays and stringent hiring practices made his line of work one of the most difficult to enter. Holding up the case of beer, I continued, "just seeing if you're up for a few drinks."
"D!" He eagerly shook my hand, "I was expecting you a few days ago, but I can imagine that you have been busy dealing with your family affairs." He gestured for me to enter the home and guided me into his kitchen, "you can put the beer in the fridge. You still a heavy smoker?" I nodded as I placed the beers in the fridge and removed two bottles, "alright, let's go out back and chat there."
"You have a beautiful home, Officer Sandoval," I said, speaking the complete truth. His home was located just outside the suburbs of the city, just far enough to avoid the smells of the city: the smog and body odor that permeated every centimeter. Even the crude smell of oil and burning garbage seemed to avoid the area, the sounds of traffic just hanging in the background and drowned by the chirping of birds and the laughter of children.
