The Curved Opinion Short Stories Part 10: Where Did You Go?

I heard the bike before I saw it.  But I did not need to see the bike to know what it was and who was riding it.

I had heard the sound of that motorcycle going up and down our driveway every day for twenty years.  Like clockwork.  6.15am and 4.45pm on the dot.

Except I had not heard that sound for the last two years.  Not since my husband had left for work at 6.15am on a Thursday, 13th February 2024 and never came home.

There was nothing special about that day.  I had made his breakfast as usual, packed up a large lunch for him as I always did.  A flask of strong coffee, two huge turkey sandwiches which were his favourite.  Another flask full of homemade soup.  Working as a machinery mechanic he put in a long day overhauling and fixing the equipment for a local factory and he worked hard.

We had spoken that morning about it being Valentines Day the next day and he told me that he planned to take me out for a meal.  This was unusual.  He did not normally do romance.  He showed me he loved me in the things that he did, but he did not like what he called "performative love".

Adam and I met when he was 21 and I was 18.  It was more than just love at first sight.  It just was.  We were together; and that was that.  We married two years later in a local orchard.  He worked hard to provide for us, I ran the home.  It worked for us.  Children were wanted, but that turned out not to be possible.

I remember the day that we found out that we were to be a childless couple.  The problem was with both me, and him.  It could have broken us, but it didn't.  We created a beautiful home, cultivated our hobbies, him with his love of motorcycles, me with my love of felting, crafting and baking.  It worked for us.

So when the day came, 18 years into our marriage that he disappeared, there was no reason.  We were happy.  He just drove off on his motorcycle that morning and did not come back.  He did not arrive at work, no one remembered seeing him.  It was as if he had been simply plucked from the earth.

I reported him as missing, but the local police did not seem to take that much interest.  They did all the usual things of course that you expect when someone goes missing.  They interviewed friends, work colleagues, his family; although there was little of the latter.  They checked the local woods and canvassed door to door.  But after three weeks of searching without a lead, they lost interest, suggesting that he had left me for another woman.  But that was not Adam.  Cheating in any form was something he could never abide.

My heart was broken.  To never find him, never get an answer as to what had happened that morning was more than I could bear.  Yet, somehow, I knew that somewhere, somehow, he was alive,  I felt it.

With no money coming into the house now I got a job with a catering company.  I loved baking so it seemed an obvious choice.  I made cakes and desserts for weddings and events.  My career flourished, but the rest of my life did not.  I could not move on.  I would not.  He was out there, somewhere.

So when I heard the familiar rumble of the motorcycle that morning, two years after he had disappeared, part of me was not surprised.  I had been waiting.  Waiting to hear the sound of that engine that told me that he was home.

I raced through the kitchen and on to the porch as he pulled up.  He looked the same.  No helmet because he said that his head was hard enough.  The same leathers.  The same stubbly beard that I loved.  That look of love in his eyes that he had whenever he saw me.

I shouted, no, screamed at him "Where the hell have you been?"  He looked at me as he climbed off the bike, looking more serious than I had ever seen him.

"Do you still love me?" he asked.  "I never stopped" I whispered as he approached me and pulled me into his arms.  "Do you trust me?" he said looking directly into my eyes.  I shouldn't.  He had been gone for two years without a word.  Yet I nodded.  I did.

"Then pack a bag.  As much as you can fit into a rucksack.  No time for questions.  Will you come?"

I looked into his eyes once more for a long minute and smiled.  "Give me 15 minutes to pack".

The Curved Opinion Short Stories Part 9: A Familiar Face

Story Prompt - Your character witnessed her father's murder when she was 5 years old, and now, at work, she wonders why her co-worker looks familiar.

Photo by Juan Ordonez on Unsplash

 I remember the day like it was yesterday.  

Every Sunday, my dad and I would take a ten-minute walk to the local shop to get a newspaper for him, and a packet of cherry lips sweets for me.  It was a tradition, every Sunday, no matter the weather.

On the day in question, we went out much later than usual.  Dad had been in the garage for most of the day and had lost track of the time.  It was winter and the nights were setting in early.  He came into the house at 3.20pm apologising and telling me to get my coat and winter boots on.  I remember Mum say that she didn't want us to go.  Getting too dark, she had said.  You don't know who is out there.

Dad was a big man and scoffed at the thought.  He said "Come on love, have you seen the size of me? No one would dare!"  Dad was a tall man, with broad shoulders that he used to carry me on.  I  used to think that my dad was a superhero.  Unstoppable.  

By the time we were ready to leave the house, it was dark outside and the snow had become thick on the ground.  But with my dad, I felt completely safe.  I miss that feeling, because since that day, I have never felt truly safe again.

After leaving home and a few minutes of trudging through the snow later, we entered an alleyway which led to the main street.  There was a man entering at the other side.  It was unusual to see people in the alleyway, which was more of a snicket between two rows of houses.  I looked up at the man approaching, and saw something glistening appear in his hand as he removed it from his pocket.  His face reminded me a bit of a weasel.  

I heard my Dad loudly say "You!" in a surprised tone of what I now realise was recognition and then, a cry.  The other man barely stopped in his momentum, carrying on up the alleyway as my dad fell to the floor.

I did not understand at first.  Why my dad had fallen over.  Why the man did not stop.  Why there was red liquid starting to cover the white snow around my dad.  Why he was not moving.

I do not remember any more about that day.  Or many days of my childhood since then.  My dad died on the ground of the alleyway that day and a part of me died with him.  The police investigated, but the murderer was never found.  We knew found out why.  

Twenty years on, I still think about that day.  How could I not?  People tell me that they are happy that it happened when I was so young.  That I must not really remember my dad and what happened.  But I do remember and the memory of the blood seeping into the snow and his dead eyes, shock still registering on his face staring up at me from the ground will never leave me.

I still live with my mum.  Except now we live two towns over from our previous home.  We could not stay there. 

I was always a happy child, friendly and trusting; but after the incident I changed.  These days I am quiet, reserved.  I tend to keep to myself.  As a rule, I don't trust people.  Because a person killed my dad and I don’t know who it was or why they did it.

I started working at the bank five years ago as a junior.  Now I am a banking clerk, studying alongside and slowly, making my way up.  I am known to be a hard worker.  But not that friendly.  But I am reliable and get the job done and that is all my bosses care about.

The reason I tell you my story today is because of yesterday morning.  I went into work as usual and was told that there was a new accounts manager.  Tom Allen they said he was called.  I thought nothing of it.  Accounts managers tended to come and go.  I suspected that he would be no different.

We met in the break room at 10.15 when I was making my coffee.  “Lucy! Come and meet our new recruit”.  I went over to the manager who was sat with an older looking man who sat opposite.  “Lucy, meet Tom, our new accounting manager”.  I turned to look at him, a practiced small smile on my face and my hand outstretching to shake hands but then, I froze.  Everything stopped.  I think time may have even stopped for a second.

It was him.  I was sure of it.  That weasel face.  It was him.

I managed to recover and hide my shock, although I retracted my hand.  “Hi, I’m Lucy.  Sorry, I think I zoned out for a second there!  Welcome to the bank".  Surely, I was mistaken.  After all, it would be impossible.  Yet, I looked into his eyes, those weasel eyes and saw something there.  Recognition.  He recognised me too.

He stared at me, a little too long, as I had done.  “No problem Lucy, it is a Monday after all.  Not a heavy weekend I hope, hahaha!”  He smiled up at me, but the smile did not reach the eyes.  His eyes were searching mine.

Greetings done, I went back to the coffee machine to get my coffee.   I could feel his gaze burning into me as I left the room.  The manager would ignore my awkwardness.  They knew I didn’t socialise or chat. 

By the evening when I got home, I had managed to convince myself that he was not him.  That he was not my father’s killer.  He was just another weasel faced man who looked familiar.  There was no way I could recognise him after twenty years.  Right?

Then we come to today.  I had managed to avoid Tom all day.  Although I knew that another meeting was inevitable.  Yesterday had all been in my head.  Of course it had.  My colleagues knew that I was strange, but damn, I needed to get a grip!

But then, 5.00pm rolls around.  I started to gather my things and my handbag when I heard someone come up behind me.  Close.  Too close.  “Lucy!”.  It was him.  Fuck.

“The manager tells me that you get the train home.  Not safe for a girl like you.  How about I offer you a lift?”  I look up at him.  He is smiling, but his eyes were pointed.  Staring, as if right into my soul.  Stop it, Lucy.  He is just being friendly.

“No, I am ok Tom, I enjoy the train, but thank you for the offer”.  I get up and put my coat on.

No, he says.  “I insist.  It is dark outside.  Too many alleys between here and the station.  You don’t know who you might run into”.

The world stopped right there.  My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest.  It was him.  And he knew.  He knew that I knew.

Fight or flight.  Fight or flight.  I couldn’t fight.  He would say I had attacked him.  What could I say?  He killed my dad?  On what grounds? He looks like him?  He mentioned alleyways?  No.  I had to be clever.

I looked right back at the him.  With the steel in my heart that had started to form all those years ago.

“Oh don’t worry Tom.  I can take care of myself.  Believe me.  Night though.  Have a good evening”.

I walked, not ran out of the building.  I was calm.  For the first time in what seemed like, what was, forever.

I knew three things. 

The first, that that man, Tom Allen, had murdered my father.  I did not know why.  And I could never prove it. 

The second, I knew that he could kill me.  That he was willing to do so.  But I was not that little girl anymore.  And the piece of me that he stolen that day was my heart.  I felt nothing.  I had not felt emotions in years.

I have always been the quiet girl.  Unassuming.  Pleasant but not friendly.  Under the radar.  But, I had started karate when I was ten.  I was a black belt by fifteen.  From there to present day, I studied Krav Maga.  My current instructor calls me the lethal ninja girl.  

I knew that I wanted to be able to protect myself.  I wanted to be strong.  So much stronger than I looked.  I wanted to be ready.  For the day, if it ever appeared, when I came face to face with a monster.  The monster.

The third thing I knew was that I was going to kill him.