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Luke was never used to live in a nation where prostitution and crime were exercised in the daily basis, but what it really irritated him the most was that his beloved girl Genevieve was next on the line. The absence of justice pushed Luke to his limit of desperateness that he decided to do what he was good at...


Submitted:Jan 23, 2013    Reads: 14    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


The Wedding Singer
Prologue:
It occurred involuntary, so sudden it may not have been seen; even the blink of an eye would not be fast enough to catch the scene displayed. But the camera did. Tragically, that memory will last forever in this film until the frame itself decays. I swore; "I'll never lay a finger on that camera ever again." All around the school filled with lunatics and mammon I became aware, that I was a part of it.
"Bastard…"
Luke violently chucks the scrap of poster ad into the bin, cussing while waiting for the bus to arrive while rhythmically chewing his gum. Then he spat it on the ground since it ran out of flavor. Under the limpid roof of clear plastic and crooked wooden benches near the dim lamp post, he sat down by his lonesome late at night, waiting for the last ride at midnight.
"Damn it, a foreigner ain't legit enough to flip a patty or mop the floor in this country? What a load of shit…"
Before he speaks any further of his routine as a worker, the tell tale skin color will do much by way of the explanation of his personality: a tall, furious looking Italian, Luke pulled out his wallet as the bus made a squeaking noise much like rusty bicycle brakes make. The door swung open. He hopped in as he picked up the coins in his wallet and dropped then into the teller. He walked towards the seat farthest from the front. He felt the vibration of the engine, with the ear phone bouncing with the bass. He sat down. With hardly any passengers the lights were dim and the vehicle was in silence. The sleepiness tried to take advantage of him and, without hesitating, he politely obeyed, although, distractions came as the bus stopped, rocking sideways. A Japanese female school student came in; Luke could tell by the uniform. Her long hair covered her eye lines like a perfect figure from a horror movie. Then the moment she brushed the hair out of her sight, there appeared a soft tender face filled with sweetness and humility. When I stared at her, she stared back, and then coyly shied away.
"Too pretty for a whore. What the hell is she doing here late at night?"
Luke unplugged his ear phone and waved to her.
"Hey, I don't mean to take advantage of you or anything, but do you mind if I just come and sit next to you?"
Luke's conscience was clear, "I bet she didn't understand a word I said." Instead she walked slowly toward him with a surprised expression on her face. Just like a feather she politely sat down.
"Why are you out here late at night?" Luke asked
"About the school…" She responded
"You are pretty good at English aren't you? What's your name?"
"Kotonoha…" again she coyly answered.
"Sweet, I like that name my name is Luke."
"Nice to meet you, Luke." She joyfully chortled as Luke spoke. He knew that she had no idea what the hell he had said, but she still enjoyed the attention. It is almost a miracle that Luke kept his composure while conversing with such a lovely girl. He had heard beforehand that in this country there were little cuddly kittens like her, but never thought of coming across a real one. Luke usually had only sexual motivation for talking to a girl like her, but not this time. She was adorable.
"Oh, this is my stop good night Luke," she said.
"Wait up…," replied Luke.
The timing was perfect. Luke knew this moment would come. He reached out his arm to the girl, handing her a piece of paper with cell phone number on it.
"Call me when you need it," he said.
The bus door shut. Luke followed her with his eye as the bus moved forward, and she kindly waved back at him. The vehicle got quiet once again. Luke plugged the ear phone back into his ear. In a rapid pace, his heart pounded in excitement synchronizing with the beat. Meanwhile his positive state of mind was seduced with rapture, but the other side of the coin was cooled. Showing an attitude of serenity proclaiming; "that bitch ain't calling you back." He set back deep into the seat, thinking, "It was all a good business she will call you back." Luke maintained his optimism.
*****
"Luke, what do you want for breakfast?" Genevieve asked
"Bacon and eggs sweetie." He answered.
Genevieve fluttered the apron she wore, tying the knot around her waist. In a delicate manner, she picked up a couple of eggs and cracked them on the side of the sink breaking them. Splitting the shell, the egg gently fell into the heating pan. Then, she reached into the fridge, took out the bacon and set it next to the eggs after slicing it. She left the kitchen, sat next to Luke and kissed him on his cheek, while she placed the glass of milk on the nearby table. Genevieve wrapped her arms around Luke's arm, softly claiming,
"You know how sad I was last night all alone?"
"Oh please, are we yet married Genevieve?" Luke responded in coax.
She chuckled.
Luke continued, "by the way, the pan is still on fire; don't you need to keep an eye on that?"
Luke flicked his thumb towards the kitchen. Genevieve quickly went to turn off the gas. When she came back, she had two plates, one in each of her hand, setting them on the table as Luke sat down. He grabbed the knife and broke the egg, spilled the yolk all over the plate.
"So, how did the job offer go?" Genevieve asked.
Luke shook his head sideways. "Not so good…"
Luke disappointingly scooped up the overflowed yolk using the spoon to put it in his mouth. Genevieve also looked down. "Well, money is not the concern, right? Wealth is not the thing which maintains our relationship. Am I correct?"
"Don't give me that, you chose me because you saw me with Ray Ban sunglasses on, wearing a shirt made of pure Italian silk," Luke stated with some intensity.
"No, I choose a man for his attitude, not his influence," Genevieve retorted.
"Attitude? Like what? Some rich man from Monte Negro? Well I've got news for you; I'm not over-educated trash."
Luke snickered in sarcasm as he grabbed the glass of milk. "Anyhow, the thing which got me thinking for over two days is; how on earth did you know that my Dad is away off to the Philippines for work?"
"Your mother told my mom, and she told me."
"Oh…okay, does your father know that you are here?"
"My Dad..."
She paused for a moment in disguise.
"Let me put it in this way…he's reluctant of my existing."
"Yeah I get it; your daddy has too much focus on those future planes and junk."
"I did everything I could to make him comfortable with me, but he still rebuked me."
"That's pretty sad…,"
Luke concluded. Then Genevieve melancholically interrogated.
"Is it exasperating to you for me to be here?"
In cuddly manner she leaned her upper body on the table.
"Your bountiful generosity never disheartens my aspiration Genevieve…"
Luke squeezed her hand and stroked her hair back lightly. She spoke in French,
"J'aime la façon dont vous mettez les mots ensemble."
"Ma, io non sono diventando peotico."
"A unification of individual contentment is what prefunded the relationship," thought Luke. So did Genevieve. Both of their lips calmly advanced to one another. Unforeseeably, the phone which was in Luke's pocket rang. He gradually put his head back into the normal position, as did as Genevieve. He left the dining room and went into his room. After a while, he came back, Genevieve curiously asked;
"Who was it?"
Luke didn't say a word, susceptibly walked up to her and kissed her deeply.
"Genevieve, I've got a job…as a camera man."
Luke wondered; are harsh choices always the correct choices? His body rested in peace after a forceful gratification. But the mind was in bedlam, provoking the truth behind the fact that Luke had intent of soliciting the innocent gal from last night. Sure, she is tolerable. Luke remembers her first influence over him. Temptation is manageable in under a certain circumstance, but honesty is out of the discussion. How can anyone be lackadaisical over an attractive single female? Then Luke found out; in fact the answer excised quite close to him. An angel of atonement lies next to him covering her exposed body in blanket gingerly in dormant with her eyes shut. Luke gently kissed Genevieve on her mellifluous cheek chilled by the cold breeze of air in the room. On a high noon, the moist humidity filled the sky with heavy clouds; dump temperature produced warm rain, but a serene zephyr. Luke opened the window and set next to Genevieve pressing buttons on the phone. Then he opened the message file and then an astonishing bulletin popped out; the return of a man long gone.
"What the hell…?"
He's back, one of those foreboding memories which were kept classified for a long time. Luke's fellow man; once to be the pernicious associate before Genevieve came into his life. The unenlightened age made a turn back in Luke's life to condemn him, once again.
"Who called you now?"
Luke's back froze, but rapidly warmed with the brush of her skin; he felt tranquility. A sentimental frisk poured in to Luke when Genevieve's skin; moisturized in humidity touched him cordially. She rubbed her eyes handling the thin blanket coating her chest.
"It's just my old friend."
Would be a fundamental answer contradictory to Luke's aghast emotion. It obviously won't work, but had no choice.
"That guy from Cameroon, remember? Used to be the bassist of my ex-band member?"
Genevieve didn't recognize him at first and then she slowly caught up. She reminisced;
"Do you mean Harold? I remember him, is he in Japan?"
"Yeah"
"We should go meet him."
Genevieve got up from the bed and wore her underwear on then set right back into the same spot.
"I guess so…"
Luke answered grudgingly. He reckoned the past several years since the last time he met Harold. It was approximately three years ago Luke resulted. In his memory Harold left Luke and the band with no ordinary reason. He knew there was a crime behind the scene, but not an assassination. Scrutinizing the past the recollection of sequences has proven deficient. It was too inconsequential and debilitated to recall completely. At that time, Luke predicted that Harold himself had his major personal issues which caused him to dissipate abruptly.
"I heard that he knocked up a Japanese girl."
"Thanks for the back fence talk Genevieve, where do you get all this shits from?"
"He told me, obviously, journalism is not my talent Luke."
"Well, there you go your future career."
At the first time today, Luke was stunned. Not the discovery of Harold being a father of a child whose mother is yet anonymous but, the fact that Harold kept it secret from him for a long time. Luke scrolls the office chair next to the bed and set down firmly. Gazing at the clock on the shelf he makes a proposition;
"Hey, do you want to hang out and grab a drink or two?"
"Sounds like a fine idea. Hey, can you hand me over my bra on the amplifier? "
Genevieve set up and yawned as she finished the sentence. Luke gave her the bra and left the room. He twisted the handle on the sink; water came out hitting Luke's hand harshly. Luke scooped up the flowing water and splashed drastically against his face three times. Then he paused in front of the mirror staring profoundly into his own eyes. He could tell that the pupil was dilating as he concentrated onto his dark eye. So he remembered the first seen when he met Genevieve. Wearing shirt made of pure Italian silk riding on a Yamaha bike with the Ray Ban sunglass on. A magnificent individual caught his eye, walking out from a French catholic church after the sermon ended. Her outstanding virtuosity enthralled Luke. He had it all clearly preserved in his memory. Miraculously, without any consistence acknowledgement of each other's language both Luke and Genevieve's intendment of amour implied. Luke even took an oath; to cede himself if necessary for her. But now, when Luke stepped down from the cloud, he certifies the hardship of responsibility.
"Did you really not understand when I said; I love you the first day we met?"
"No, I did not. Why? Something wrong?"
The clock was ticking on the wall roughly just about to hit midnight. Odors of tobacco and wood dust infested the bar nether the train track. On a retrospective shelves, probably carved from the redwood. Dozens of series of liquor glasses lined up in a row. At the center, a Polish bar tender intermediated the counter and the liquor shelves, polishing the glass in his hand using a piece of white cloth.
"Nothing's wrong for not knowing Genevieve. I thought the term I love you is a public domain do you get what I mean? It's more of an international reference. You see on a cheap T-shirt or maybe on a cheap mug."
"Ah ha… so are you saying that I'm this sort of a stupid bitch who doesn't know what the term means in this whole world?"
An unpleasant tone presented from Genevieve mouth, but didn't express any aggressiveness.
"Not that I'm judging you, I think it's unique of you…"
Luke recognizes an ultimate strike out. He uncomfortably looks through the empty glass in despair speculating for an advantageous sentence for breaking the ice that's between Genevieve although; the deduction was far too easy to interpret.
"Genevieve, are you drunk already?"
She lye her arm on the counter top then rubbed her forehead against it like a cat. After moaning a several time she spoke in a wobbly voice multiple time claiming to Luke that she "never studied English before she came to Japan."
"OK, OK, you said it enough; do you want me to call the cab?"
Luke shoved his hand inside the pocket on the right side of his jeans. At the split second he realizes that he left his phone at home. Luke cussed under his voice and turned to the Polish bar tender for the phone. He puts down the beer glass and the white cloth then disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later he came back with a cell phone.
"Thanks a lot."
While Luke was dialing the number Genevieve toppled on to his shoulder feebly.
"Will you generously accompany me back to the castle my prince?"
Genevieve snuggles in Luke's chest.
"With contentment my princess…"
Luke ironically composed in a medieval styled phrase.
"Ye all right sir?"
The Polish bar tender leans his body towards the counter asking if Luke needs any help.
"I'm all cool."
But as soon as the taxi arrives ultimately the Polish man gave a hand to support Genevieve's unstableness and carried her into the car. The Japanese cap driver asks Luke to name the destination. He simply answered home.
Luke set on the couch the next early morning. His head still dumbfounded under the influence from the liquor he consumed last night. He turned on the TV and sipped his mug of coffee. Luke makes a bitter face and walks to the kitchen. He reaches to the upper drawer and grabs a jar of sugar. Then he drew opens the bottom drawer and pulled out a tea spoon. Luke plunged the tea spoon inside the jar and dumps a lump sum of sugar into the mug, two times. Luke takes another sip, relishing forward to an exceptional taste. This time was perfectly over the hump. He set right back on the couch, and presses the button on the controller. The temperature outside was bleak, fog creped in from the surface rising up haltingly, blinding afar objects. Except one; a lurid silhouette lurking around the other side of the fence. Luke cautiously stares at the ceased gloomy figure for a while. Then, in an agile smooth move the figure disappeared into the mist. Room by room, Luke began his scrutiny by locking all the windows in the house. And then suddenly from behind, a bone chilling notion raided Luke. It was coming from the other side of the entrance door. Luke anxiously approached the door, with the kitchen knife in his hand. When he got in front of the door, he looks into the scope. Then another door slams shut from his back, Luke alarmed, then expeditiously he turns around pointing the blade at Genevieve who happened to be there heading to the restroom for brushing her teeth. She froze for a moment in dismay. Luke dropped the knife on the pavement, placing his palm on his chest, soothed, retaking his breath.
"You totally spooked me out babe…"
"Why…? What happened?"
****
"So…any idea how the guy may had look like?"
"I told you, fog creped in this morning, I couldn't see a thing."
Mean while Genevieve stayed in the house, a Japanese police officer discussed with Luke for examine any leads.
"All I know is that, it was a tall, possibly a male snooped around the fence for a while and vanished."
"If that's all the information you got, I can't guaranty you for finding the suspect."
"That's pretty helpful; actually, can you remind me the Japanese law once again? What's your limitation on self defense?"
The police man grimed at Luke, got into the police van and drove away. Genevieve came out from the house and hugged Luke from behind.
"What did they say? Any effective clues?"
"Nothing; useless bastards."
Luke lovingly strokes her hair and went back into the house.
The fogs thicken in midday swarming the entire house under the mist. Gray fluorescent peered from the window glass causing all the walls in the room to gleam in white. In an unconventionally casted down ambient, Luke sets facing the TV reposing his chin on the hand formed intoa socket. A typical Saturday anime channel he accidently dials. A bizarre looking mutant popped out. In a sour note, the anthropomorphic frog-looking character commands the other nightmarish troops to adjust the aim for the enemy. While tuning their bazooka-like weapon, a flying saucer launches a cannon ball over the cliff, where the division of frog mutants stud. The cannon ball detonated right in what it seems like frog general's face. Luke presumed that his head got blown off and smiles. But as soon as the smoke clears out, that damn frog feebly gets up. Even the creatures around him got up, unharmed.
"Holy hell…"
Luke got bowl over by this stupidity. His frustration increased when a Japanese girl dressed like a whore walked into the scene. Her short skirt reached the maximum length where her underwear peeped out when she shuck her hips; all the events in this epic freak show were satiated with pandemonium.
"Cute, huh?"
Genevieve's intonation did not seem to assert maliciousness, though the expression on her face demonstrated anguish.
"I'm very confident to myself that I won't have a crash with a 2D character in a TV. Especially when I have you right in front me."
Luke drowsily presses the button and shuts down the TV. Luke didn't grin this time, not even concealing his true cynic feeling he used to have towards this ineptitude topic. He directly kisses Genevieve and held her cold hands. Then he coursed his body, wrapping her body with his arms. Genevieve's intensity dropped out her shoulder muscle. Following the suite of Luke, she fondly wraps her arms around him also. Them calmly Luke spoke;
"Hey, I know how you feel in this moment. Things happened today, it was a life threatening experience. But on the bright side no one is blemished."
A drop of tear leeks out from Genevieve's eye Luke wiped off with his finger. Genevieve smiles, her gloomy attitude withered.
"As long as you are with me you are safe."
Luke's old blunt oath came into his mind. A draconian passion saturated Luke, rash of adrenalin irrelevantly induced in his veins. Luke felt his heart; full of elevating strain, attained the pinnacle of dignity. The beast, which lay immure has woken up, to regain the fury bound in time attempting for a rampage. The lock has been dismissed; release the beast.
"When does your work start, Luke?"
Genevieve asked with uneasiness.
"Next week hun'."
Luke grazed his hip clothed in blue indigo jeans. Stripes of designed cuts on the pants stretched when Genevieve crouch her legs. Luke sprawls back on the couch, arched his arms almost groping the wide Eric Clapton wall poster live at the Winterland.
"You said, they offered you a job of a camera man; what kinds of photo are you taking?"
"I don't know, I guess it would be something about their academic bout; party, field day, student picture, album, and such."
Luke's indeterminate response bothered Genevieve.
"Are you sure they hired you with a conservative purpose?"
"I didn't sign any contract yet Genevieve, if this job is impractical or irrelevant, I can still deny. So, I first need to take an appointment with whoever's in charge for my job conference."
"What's the name of the school?"
"St. Patrick International Catholic School in Japan."
Genevieve confounded.
"Oh, that's the same high school my sister went."
"Amelia?"
"Ah, ha."
"Did she say anything about the school?"
Genevieve reminisced for a moment.
"Very few she acquaint about the school, I remember, once, she returned home; her emotion looked confused. I asked her what's the matter and she said about…"
"About what?"Luke curiously sets strait up on the sofa.
"An unlicensed premature photographer of some sort.Telling my sister to do daftly things."
"Such as?"Genevieve paused.
"You know what? She didn't exactly articulate what she was trying to tell me."
"Could it be something disturbing?"
"Possibly."
"Ah, shit."Luke pulled down his eye lids in discomfiture.
"I hope it's not some messed up league of imbecilic religious bluffs."
De facto, Luke didn't get blown into this diligence; Atheism is the standard philosophy in Luke's lifeblood. What Luke found out after period of time breaking one's neck over monetary? A major religion stream phenomena; Presence of the Lord, was nothing then a world large apparitional psychedelic experience. He gladly accepted the devil to intervene in his life, any faithful Christians would say Luke thought. Luke's intension was only to make a living out of by committing folly, not that he had a choice to which he could choose from. According to the so what called the Holy Book inclusive of; mind control, hypocrites, and false fact, Lukes' action was not allowed.
"Luke, the phone is ringing, Luke?"
Luke woke up from the bound of missing time. He pressed the button.
"Sup, Luke? Been for a while man."
A familiar voice of a black male crowed. Though, Luke didn't give in that easily.
"Say what? Who are you anyway?"
"Don't recognize me no more? It's me man, Harold."
The man crowed again. Luke came down with a fundamental identity check tactic.
"If you really are Harold, tell me the song we heard at down town city in Tokyo, on October 2002."
The man thought for a moment, then, confidently replied.
"The Brothers Gonna Work it Out by Willie Hutch."
"Holy dumb fuck, it's him…"
Luke stunned without promoting orally. He blindingly turned to Genevieve; she looked at his astounded face and chortled. Luke kept on with the conversation.
"Shit Harold, where have you been all this year man? Genevieve missed you so much."
"Well, the story's kinda long; talk you about it when we meet up."
"No thanks, I don't wanna hear your long boring story."
Luke banter, they both cracked up.
"Why don't you come and visit Genevieve's house, since you already seems to know the location."
"Sorry man, I didn't mean to play secret agent on you."
"Man, I even reported you thinking that you are a mugger."
"Oh shit for real?"
"We all missed you man come home."
"Sure I do see ya all sooner or later."
He hung up. Luke seems to be yet puzzled.
"Say, Genevieve, according to your gossip conspiracy theory Harold basically hit and run a girl in Japan, correct?"
"Likely, yes."
Luke brushed his eye brows.
"If so, Harold has committed a public offence shouldn't he be chased around by cops?"
Genevieve thought for a second before claiming other information. She dropped her body on to the couch and set next to Luke. Her eyes looked like if she was skimming through the past.
"It's just inconvenient…"
"About what?"
"Teenage pregnancy? This case occurs often now days and criminal justice research has been done to track down these people. If Harold committed this crime on full conscious the authorities would convicted him before hand, but somehow however he managed to deport from Japan with no hesitation and even had the nerve to return? This is quixotic."
Luke was mesmerized how woman could be so sharp edged. For the first time, Genevieve professed her penetrating hypothesis on this gimmick puzzle-like avocation. Luke felted as if this was some crucial turning point in a history.
"Wow, did Sherlock Homes had an under covered French daughter?"
"This is too obvious! Harold can't just walk away acting like if nothing happened."
"Well, us man have tendency to pretend if nothing happened in this kind of moment."
Luke grimed sarcastically while Genevieve looked him as a feebleminded brick.
"That's not the issue Luke; Harold has an innominate back up."
"That's impossible; Harold had minor contact with other people in this country and think of the budgetary expanse with his monthly salary he receives for side work; he has no such expense even to hire a loyal. It can't be done."
"Or someone might already pay for him."
Each by each, Luke and Genevieve's fabrication of hypothesis incremented. The table illuminated with a small desk lamp with scattered mounting of construction papers replicated a perfect ambience of a scene from Law and Order. A medium of silence surrounded the room if it's like contributing for the couples to observe this inconvenient case. Sound of a car engine crossed the front road; a nebulous, black Pontiacs swept way just like a funeral vehicle on the way to grave yard carrying a dead man on the back. Then, an unnoted verse from a book occupied Luke's mind causing him to space out from the original concept. 
"Several young men playing at foote-ball in the Jee upon the Lords-day are all drowned."
What the hell was that? Luke shrugged in disgust. Since when did I pay actual attention in bible class? As a grown up teenager, yet this verse gave Luke goose bumps. For him it seemed if it was some phonetic teaching of a strict Church. He thought of asking to Genevieve, but later figured out that this is not the proper time.
Bible verse badgered Luke's high school life great times. The expression on the teachers I shall fail you face vividly projected to his mind as several other quotes from the gospel of John recollected. In such a private theocratic school atheist (like Luke) had very little to say. When a teacher told him to memorize three or six passages as if it was a cake walk, Luke had to cleave himself inside a cramped dorm room repeatedly jotting down the same passage ad nauseam 'till the letters burned perfectly into his mind. Oh, the hell with that, they were all filthy-rich morons anyway.
Luke took another sip of coffee, which surprised him because he thought he hadn't any left. The mug was still warm; someone must have poured in a refill. As it seems to come to a point where Genevieve was walking around with a pot filled with…coffee. At exact midways of the kitchen entrance she stopped and passed the curtain coming out from the other side entrance (Luke imagined the amount of the lump sum of cash Genevieve's father spent for all these particular kind of ornaments: marble floor of quadrant shaped mosaics, turquoise flower vesicle, and every other things looked just gorgeous). What sort of filthy rich house would have a kitchen with two exits? When Genevieve came out from the other end she had a glass of milk on her hand. Rarely, she wore her Pearle Vision eyeglass which she used to wear on regular basis while going to the catholic chapel. Luke wondered if she would ware her glasses tomorrow also.
The next Sunday morning, mean while, Luke waited Genevieve's church service to end (and yes she did ware the glasses) drinking double-shot espresso in Talley's Coffee Shop nearby, instead of sinking to the bottom of the lake playing foot-ball like the other Quaker peers. One by one, Luke toured off the cover of the sugar packs and dumped them into the hot steaming coffee; sterling with the wooden meddler. The aroma of the fume came out from the coffee stimulated his olfactory nerves slightingly with a delicate flavor of cinnamon fragrance. Roosted in a mellow state of mind Luke resumed the conversation he had with Harold.
Surely, he didn't seem hesitated in manner of talking through the phone which it vouches any reason for Luke to postulate that Harold is any sort of a crook. The tranquil vocalization he expressed yesterday through the phone had no overshadowing of external threats. Giving an account from this further analysis Luke began to suspect the fact of Harold undertaking an anonymous oppression (i.e. law suits). Apprehensive and even curios of where or who Genevieve gathered her resources about Harold, Luke hypothesized the existence of a possible faker who sabotaged the entire scenario in order to accomplish a particular goal presumably to manipulate Harold.
Luke took another sip of coffee, but spontaneously spitted out. It wasn't the taste nor did the heat burn his tongue. It was a loud thumping noise came from the glass window behind Luke. He aggressively turned around and then Luke saw him…Harold; heavily breathing with capillaries in his eyes inflated in terror. "Harold…what the hell are you doing?"
Harold slammed the window in redo, but this time he paused for a moment and flapped his lips like if he tried to communicate with Luke on the other side. "I'm coming out side!" Luke rushed to the exit and reached to the door handle, then as a sneaky bastard he always were Harold vanished in a flick of an eye. When Luke got out on the street there was no sign of him except for clustered crowd of people passing by discursively. Looking around for his friend whom disappeared in thin air, Luke found a spanner on the floor lying next to his tip of the left toe. Before examining the spanner's origin Luke had a savvy sense over this nominal tool which appeared out of nowhere. Something familiar struck Luke's conscious about the spanner. He picks up the cold piece of iron off from the ground. As Luke brood over the surface, he felt a texture of writing on the other side with the tip of his fingers. He rotated the spanner and read the letters curved on the handle written:
Aaron's Appliance Co.
For now, at least, the origin of the spanner will remain uncertain. Just in case, if the memory follows as a corollary that will unexpectedly correlate with the information on this tool, Luke putts the spanner inside his pocket. He turns around and heads backs into the coffee shop, then the mobile phone rang. Luke pressed the button on the key and opens the text message from Genevieve: I just sow Harold!!!
The diagnosis of a person getting knocked out by a flying object of some form is fairly predictable: Waking up not remembering a thing; mind like a black board expunged in clean slate not knowing what took place previously, but a remainder of white choke dust still smeared around the perimeter. Luke felt the similar sensation about the spanner in his pocket; a grasp of vague content without solidity. Nothing necessary knocked out Luke giving him a severe amnesia, except for the phrases Genevieve bellow in French which seemed all Greek to Luke. He tossed the spanner on to the desk in Genevieve room and toppled back on the bed.
"I can't believe it's actually him Luke! Harold is here! He follows us everywhere we go!" Luke removes the pillow off his face.
"Is that all you've been saying the whole time in your language?"
"Who cares? We got to chase him!" Genevieve vociferously persuaded.
"How? He's running away from us, what's the point?" Luke violently scratches his hair squinting both of the eye lids. Noticing that Genevieve was not responding, Luke assumed his uncooperative answer made her livid. Even after been treated cold heatedly Genevieve's mind-set cared less, sustaining her own personal value. She gawks at Luke, toddles to the closet eight yards away on the other side on the room in steady footsteps and opens the closet door painted in purple haze. Stepping on a round oval carpet with a picture of custard colored fur kittens toying on several pink netballs printed on it. As she stretched her body to reach up the clothes suspended on the hangers she disparaged to Luke.
"You are a plague! Do you ever agree with me? Have you become a moral genius all the sudden? Fine! I don't need your assistance since you think that you are more superior then me!" Genevieve fiercely pulls out the pairs of clothes from the closet.
"Now, would you mind stepping outside for a while? I can't run fast with this chapel dress on!"
"Are you legit telling me that you will trace down Harold alone? Probing Harold is like capturing a fume with your bear hands. Believe me; it's fleshly quoted from my own implicit."
The only thing conducted fume now was Genevieve's temper steaming red hot, thought Luke. Genevieve clutched Luke by his arm and heaved him out of the room gnashing her teeth. Luke slammed his spine against the wall and again endorsed caveat to Genevieve.
"You sure got some guts…I understand your implacable attitude, but you have no itinerary to find Harold it just simply doesn't exist; his tactics are sinuous as the roots of a tree."
"That's great! You are really helpful! Now get out of my sight! I need to change!"Well, this is not the first time to see you naked… Luke formed a droll smile on his face and lolled down the stairs.
"Fine, whatever you say, but don't make me come looking for you…"
SHUT UP!!! A bellicose yell boomed across the stair case followed with an additional slamming door. Later than, Genevieve irritatingly rung down the stairs she zipped shut the drown gown coat casing her slim body with golden earrings dangling on both of her ears wearing high heel boots, inopportunely. "I tell ya, you won't be able to run fast with those shoes…" just ahead when Luke was finishing off his sentence Genevieve shrieks.
"You are full of shit! You know that Luke? Shit, that's what you are, a sack of shit!!!"
As matter of fact, I am. Luke smirked when Genevieve got out of the front door. I'm basically a man of hedonism; the world is run by pain and gratification. Who is there to correct me anyway? How can anyone tell me to repel from my fraudulent habit behind all those years of trying to make a living out of it? I didn't deserve to be who I am now just as any other people I met. If I'm a sack of shit, than that's who I am.
The social-emotional conditions in me was taking a down drift as I lived the life as a minority ended up in an incognito Asian country as the result of both my parents being missionaries, I had to stand for my own right in this nation where foreigners were poorly treated dreaming one day would return to America. My soul screamed for more in life, more…more…more oooooohhhh shit!!! I screamed. For countless times, I committed faulty actions, but my motive grew vicarious every moment feeling the thrill traveling inside my chipper vivacious veins. Now, I am a wretched scavenger; I scrape for food and shelters. For twelve years, I waited and if I should wait any longer, I might as well kill myself to cease my anguish once in for all.
Luke depressingly lollygagged up the stairs to pick up the phone which he left on top of the desk just when the fight broke out between Genevieve. He twisted the metallic silver door knob and turns on the light in the room. Temporally glancing at the oval carpet where she stood on; he searched for his phone. Just when he was about to leave the room with his phone a gleam of light reflected from an object on the desk attracted Luke's attention. It was the spanner, right when Luke was about to shove the spanner in his pocket Luke comes to a sense if this pseudonymous tool might be a symbolization of Harold's current location or at least his escaping routes from his threat. Aaron's Appliance Co., the point was obvious that such store didn't exist in Japan or in any other country; it was minimally a code of a locality in Tokyo specifically directed to Luke. Luke retained his information from his past childhood in U.S.; sweeping the cold metallic exterior of the gadget. It was those days, when Luke and Harold played underneath the tree casting a colossal shadow with its branches. Luke being the intelligence agent operating in the Pentagon solving perplexes quandary cases in an investigation with gimmick clues as leads to the mystery set up by Harold.
The name Aaron was his uncle's who owned a record shop back in Arizona, any electrical devise could be qualified as appliance, and the initial Co., which possibly stands for "Cool Ozzy" a jargon that Harold coined in our preschool years which the definition meant a certain place where we usually hang out. So far, I got a record shop, an electrical devise, and a jargon. If any of these combined symbols designates Harold's present site…
Luke scuttled down, grabbed his sweat shirt snatching off from the coat hanger. Almost tripping on the door carpet he cursed bombastically. Luke knew exactly where to find Harold.
"I'm really sorry Genevieve; I should have gone with you to this atypical quest in order to finding someone we barely know, but truly love with compassion."
Luke cried out bitterly inside his heart, cold as lead, blocked up with hairlines from the past and rust from corruptions which he underwent.




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