Authors: Mia Zabrisky
He looked around at the other tables and saw a red-faced girl chatting softly with someone on her phone, and three old men talking quietly among themselves. He saw a polite young man reading a book and two middle-aged, beaky women taking in the scenery. None of these people gave him a second glance. He felt isolated and alone.
He would have to go see Delilah.
She was the only person he could trust.
Time rolled ceaselessly forward, memories eroded rapidly, and almost everyone who could connect him to the past was gone. Now all the kids had smart-phones and wanted to be rock stars instead of teachers, and things weren’t the same anymore. This wasn’t his old neighborhood anymore. The oldest generation had died off and the newer generations had moved away. His friends and colleagues had either died or moved on to other things.
Mandelbaum didn’t know what to do. He had thought so much about his wife and children that his mind was playing tricks on him. Sometimes he couldn’t picture Estelle’s face or hear her voice, and it killed him that she could be so far away. His memories had been replaced by recycled memories. He was forced to look at old snapshots if he wanted to see her rosy cheeks and adorable lips.
Leave. You don’t belong here anymore.
He sipped his coffee and stared at the sparkling ocean as if he might find the answers there. One more task, and then he would leave Florida. For now.
*
Mandelbaum was expert at many things. He was sly. He was crafty. He could slip easily in and out of a place undetected. He knew how to pick a lock. He knew how to become invisible. It was all a matter of adjustment. You put on a hat. You changed your posture. You parted your hair on the other side.
He drove up the coast of Florida, where the roads were narrow and winding, and stopped in a small town called Logan, just outside of Jacksonville. The sun had set an hour ago. He parked on the street, high enough on the hillside so he had a good view of the house.
It was getting dark. The warm winds were picking up. Mandelbaum waited until John Driscoll’s Jeep pulled into the driveway and parked, its taillights winking out.
He waited until Driscoll had gone inside, and then he got out of his car and walked toward the house. He could smell sage and rosemary on the wind. He stood on an incline bordered by bougainvillea and watched the house lights blink on in an erratic pattern. He caught sight of Driscoll’s shadow in an upstairs room. He studied the modest stucco home surrounded by lemon trees. The concrete patio was cracked, and there was some hillside erosion. Driscoll came out onto a second-story balcony, and Mandelbaum ducked behind the bougainvillea, while Driscoll stood gazing at the stars and the moon.
Five minutes later, he was back downstairs, wearing shorts and a bright orange T-shirt. He went into the living room and turned on the TV. Next he wandered into the kitchen and stood gazing into the refrigerator. He made himself a snack before returning to the living room, where he sat in front of his computer and checked his emails.
Mandelbaum couldn’t tear his eyes away. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding. The betrayal was so unforgivable. He had to do it.
Mandelbaum broke silently into the house, walked softly into Driscoll’s living room and just stood there.
John Driscoll glanced up from his desk. He went pale with shock. “Tobias? How’d you get in?”
“Your door was open.”
Fear flared in his eyes, but he tried not to show it. “I don’t think I left it open.”
Mandelbaum didn’t respond to this. He stood shifting his weight between his hips. “Do you know what you’ve done?” he said softly.
Driscoll’s mouth turned down at the corners. “What do you mean?”
“Think a minute.”
He winced and looked around for an exit. He swallowed hard. “How the hell was I supposed to know? He blackmailed me. We talked about this, right? It’s water under the bridge.”
“How old are you?” Mandelbaum asked, picking up his cane.
“Thirty-sev-...”
The heavy mahogany cane impacted the side of Driscoll’s head and his brains sluiced across the wall, crimson splotches blooming like peonies. Driscoll slumped in his chair, and the next blow knocked him to the floor.
Mandelbaum stepped over the body and swung the cane higher and higher, bringing it down with all his might, until he’d battered the man’s head to a pulp. Then he got out his handkerchief and wiped the blood off his walking stick.
YOU ARE LEAVING
NEXT STOP
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SHUDDERVILLE
FOUR
Mia Zabrisky
Copyright © 2012
All Rights Reserved.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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