Author: Alexander Fawn

Statistically, he wasn’t doing well.

Collecting information about people’s whereabouts at any one time was hard enough, without the infection coming along. He only received a commission on information that lead to a successful burglary. The emphasis was always placed on the job being successful. Then, only when the goods had been fenced or sold off and the value of the haul known, was it calculated what each member received. The team was made up of five housebreakers, one of them being the boss, and himself in deep background. He had always been good with IT stuff and an absolute whiz at hacking. It was his skill at slipping past firewalls, encryptions and personal passwords that enabled him to check emails, holiday plans, itinerary details from travel agencies, and chatty social media about their intended holiday plans. In short, reliable information about families going away, taking small trips or even longer holidays was his meat and potatoes. Knowing when the house would be empty was what it was all about and when a job was done, the commission was good.

Any information gathered had to be about punters that were far away from where the team of robbers were based. However, because of the growing number of the population needing to isolate at home, together with the fact that movement around the country was being severely restricted, this ongoing search area for any unsuspecting would-be victims was necessarily becoming much wider. He, as a cybercriminal, needed to cast a much wider net.

For him, things had dropped off dramatically. There was a noticeable slump in unoccupied houses. Suitable targets were becoming harder to find and the other team members were placing more and more pressure on him to perform as time went on.

Bloody Covid!

It was their regular habit to eat at the Chinese restaurant on a Friday night after work.

Several girls from the office would check the numbers and book a table. Most times they would order a banquet and wine to go with it. With the banquet they always got fortune cookies. She had found them remarkably accurate in their predictions, like the time it had said she would receive a windfall and won the lottery the following week. Admittedly, not a great amount, but a win nevertheless. Tonight, she hoped to have something special in her cookie because she had applied for another job. None of the girls knew. She was OK with that. The two interviews had gone well and she felt her chances were good. She’d probably hear something Monday. The work was similar to her present position in the finance section of the building supplies firm, only the company was a lot bigger, and so was the pay. It was in the head office of one of the largest frozen food companies in the country that just happened to be located in the same town.

She was feeling in high spirits, partly because of the wine and partly the fortune cookie. When the evening ended, the work crowd said their goodbyes, with one of them offering her a lift. She’d said no thanks as it was only a few minutes’ walk and she would appreciate getting some air. The real reason she had turned this down was so she could read the slip of paper again to make sure she had not just imagined it. After a minute or two she stopped by a well-lit shop front and took out the slip. She read it again, very carefully. It read: ‘An event with great impact will change your life.’ She felt the same thrill she felt when reading it the first time in the poor light and held on her lap. She was giddy with excitement, not too steady on her feet and very tired. She was really looking forward to getting home and getting into bed.

By chance, the driver of the large, refrigerated truck was feeling the same way, just before he lost control and mounted the pavement.

The couple at number seventeen finally heard from their son.

The man was about to leave the house to catch his bus, when he found the note in an old, reused envelope. He and his wife spent a long time reading it. They decided to remain silent. They would be patient. He didn’t go to work that day.

The note read:

Hi Mum and Dad

I hope you get this note. I gave it to the elderly gardener who comes here twice a week. He’s very nice. He said he would put it in an envelope and deliver it in the early hours. I don’t want you to look for me. It would be too dangerous. The people who brought me here a few months ago, not sure how many, just want me to lay low, they say. They actually apologised about the whole thing being a case of mistaken identity. The kidnapping went wrong when they found out who I really was. They said they didn’t want me to worry, that I am only being detained. I think this is some kind of hospital. The weather is very warm, so I may be a long way from home. The gardener wouldn’t talk about that. I think the men that put me in this little room are probably quite ruthless. They always wear masks but I know they both have guns. I’m allowed out for an hour each day to walk in a fenced-off section of the grounds. I have made friends with a cat that jumps the fence sometimes. One of the men explained that they are planning the kidnapping again. He said if it goes well this time and the ransom is paid, they’ll let me go. He said they would blindfold me again and drop me near home. They can’t promise anything, but they hope to get me home for Christmas. They keep telling me that they’re not killers. The food’s nothing special, frozen meals mainly, and my bed isn’t comfortable. I don’t want you to worry about me. They said it would go badly for me if the police get involved. So, don’t say anything, please. I find that I’m getting more and more bored as time goes on. I told them that, the other day. The tall one said if it takes any more than another month he’d bring in a portable television. So, please don’t worry. Hope to be home soon.

Alec

It was a school project and it was due tomorrow.

It had to be a two-hundred-word essay about endings. He hadn’t even started it. He twiddled the pen around in his fingers while staring at a blank sheet of paper. He figured that endings could be noisy, like a car crash or a gas explosion in a block of flats. It could be very quiet, like and ice cube melting or a person taking their final breath in a bed during the night. They could be spectacular to look at, like the final multi-coloured rocket at the end of a firework display or as unimpressive as an electric kettle clicking off when the water has boiled. He figured it could even be the ending of a smell, like the stink of cabbage being cooked when a kitchen window is opened to let fresh air blow through.

On the other hand, there were personal endings, like leaving a company to work somewhere else, or watching a film in a cinema that was scheduled to close and be demolished the following day. It could be the end of living in a house, knowing you would be moving to another the next day, or watching the final episode of a TV series, or picking up the pieces of an irreparable vase that fell off of a shelf, or taking a last ride in a car that is about to be replaced by something better, or digging a hole in the garden to bury a dead hamster, or your final day of school, or the last day of the year, or waving goodbye to someone that you knew you would never see again.

He supposed even his essay should have an ending. He could talk about the fact that some endings were happy and some sad and how some were both.

His problem was, he didn’t know where to begin.

He stooped and picked up a piece of paper.

He later wondered why he had done it. It was just lying there by the bus shelter. Maybe it was the fact that it looked official, rectangular with straight cut edges. It had no torn edges or visible markings, and it was small enough to fit in his shirt pocket. Face down, it was not apparent that it had anything on the other side, but it did. Turning it over on his ride home revealed a simple hand-written note. It was penned in a nice, neat writing style, just a few words, clearly legible. It read ‘AM – Our blinding moment needs to be moved – P.’ He began to wonder what it could mean. He felt an unexpected sense of excitement about the mystery, the message was certainly thought-provoking.

He was single, fairly reserved and in his mid-twenties, the sort of person that nothing out of the ordinary ever happened to. But this piece of paper… it had started something. That evening, instead of his usual dose of television, he sat staring at the message, speculating about its meaning. It seemed to be cryptic. It could be a love note, changing some prearranged tryst to another time. He kept coming back to the question of why anyone would use the words ‘blinding moment’. Had it been misspelled? He considered the possible links with eyesight and window blinds. He lost track of how long he spent trying to work it out. Before going to bed, he tried to get it out of his head with the notion that it was probably just one of those private jokes between people, a code that no casual reader would understand.

The following night he left the office much later than usual. It was a cold night and he was annoyed with himself for missing his bus. He knew that there was going to be a long wait between buses at this hour.

So, as the stop was right in front of the library, and seeing that this was their late night, he decided to kill twenty minutes, spending them in the warmth of the building. He couldn’t remember the last time he paid it a visit. As he entered, he saw that they had made a few changes. A corner of the main room had been set aside to display a small selection of pictures, mainly the works of local artists.

It was then that he saw it; the ‘Blinding Moment.’ A very large painting of a boy, with his hand shading his eyes from the sun. Beneath it was a small notice that read, ‘If there is a requirement to move any of the exhibits, please contact the Archives Manager.’ There it was, Archives Manager, AM; and P, the sender. He was still staring at the painting when a pretty girl walked past. She smiled at him and he returned it. She was obviously on staff; her badge read Penny. He was watching her go when she turned and came back.

“It’s good, don’t you think?” She said, while studiously gazing at it.

“I do. It hasn’t been here long.”

“Pardon?”

“Here, in this position, I mean. It’s pretty big. Where was it before?”

Although surprised by the question, she pointed to another wall.

He nodded with appreciation and said, “I’m glad you asked for it to be moved… it’s much better here.”

She stared at him in disbelief and said, “How could you possibly know all that?”

He took a deep breath. “Tell you what,” he said with a smile, “when the library closes, if you join me for a coffee in that café across the street, I’ll tell you.”

She had to admit that their first date was unusual.

They had met in the supermarket. He had helped her pick up cereal packets that had tumbled down from a shelf. They had chatted a bit about the pros and cons of having to shop and before she knew it, they were in a nearby café drinking coffee. It was there that they arranged their first date. She had a spare ticket to the concert owing to her workmate getting sick at the last minute with some stomach bug that had her confined to bed. He was keen to accept the offer and the evening had gone really well. He lived some distance from town and had arrived by bus. They met at the bus stop and managed to enter the venue early.

She had finished cooking and was fussing over the final touches to her makeup, and thinking about the evening they had enjoyed together. The entertainment was good, with the group giving a great performance with the usual backdrop of psychedelic, digital effects. Afterwards, waiting for his bus, they had arranged the evening that was now upon her. She was nervous and constantly telling herself to get a grip. They had seemed to hit it off so naturally, she felt that this may well be the start of something significant in her life.

As she had a car and he didn’t, they had agreed with the idea that when his bus pulled in, he would give her a buzz; probably around seven. She said she was happy, at that point, to drive across town and pick him up. She looked at her phone. He was running later than planned, but he’d said the buses could be unreliable.

An hour later, still no call and, her heart began to sink. Two hours later, she had cleared things away, tidied up and gone to bed.

Her mobile, pugged in and charging across the room, remained silent…

Life simply wouldn’t be the same without her.

He couldn’t remember how long he’d had her; ages. She’d always been so reliable, never gave him any trouble. Although she had been appreciated by others, he knew that his would be the greatest loss. He couldn’t believe how suddenly it had ended. One minute she was providing the dependable service that he’d come to expect and appreciate, then, for some reason that he couldn’t fathom, in an instant, she… well, she just went! How was he going to replace her? He was sure that he’d have a hard time trying to find her equal.

He couldn’t remember how she got the nickname of Betsy. Not that it mattered now that she’s dead.

He went online, looking for fridges.

The teenager was on his phone, driving erratically, with a police car behind him.

He was pulled over. The police officer approached, mentally listing all the road rules he had just witnessed being broken. It was his speciality to pull over wrongens. Today was his lucky day. This particular offender first came to his notice when he pulled out from a side street onto the main road without signalling. He drifted around in his lane. He then crossed lanes without signalling causing a vehicle to break heavily to avoid a collision. He failed to slow down through a school zone. He had continued in the same lane for some time driving much too close to the vehicle in front. As he entered the town, he didn’t slow down, ignoring the speed limit. As he drove through the town he failed to stop when people were stepping on to a pedestrian crossing.

Finally, he didn’t yield to an ambulance that was trying to enter the road.

With both vehicles stationary, the officer carried out a registration check on the vehicle, establishing that it was both stolen and unlicensed. He got out of the police car and was feeling pretty chuffed about catching this particular wrongdoer. As he approached the culprit, he was surprised to find him still holding a half full bottle of beer. Burping, he wound down the window. As he did this the policeman noted several track marks on his arm. When questioned about them, the youngster readily admitted that he had recently shot up with heroin. It was quickly established that he was driving without a valid licence, driving while disqualified and knowingly driving a vehicle that was stolen and uninsured.

Much to his private annoyance, he had to admit that in the main, the young lawbreaker had been extremely polite and considerate while the officer had pointed out all of the offences he had committed. However, matters improved for the officer considerably when he looked more closely at the obviously false driver’s licence and saw that the photo showed the boy as being somewhere between sixty and seventy, with the date telling him that it was taken six years ago.

It was fittingly gratifying for the officer that when he was questioned about it, the boy said he’d recently had a face lift!

He stood in front of the mirror admiring his new jacket.

It was a beautiful midnight blue with silver buttons at the front and one on the cuff of each sleeve. He had looked at it in the shop window every time he passed, all the time he was saving up for it. Now, he was ready to go out and catch up with half a dozen of his friends in town. He was sure this would create quite an impression. They met up at the coffee shop, as usual, and in no time at all the conversation focussed on his latest purchase.

“It’s a great jacket,” said one, “I’ll give you that, but I wouldn’t call it blue exactly.”

“You wouldn’t?

“No. Not really. I see a great deal of green in it, myself.”

“Green? Surely not.”

“Green is what I see, sorry.”

He looked around at the others, expectantly.

Another said, “There is a touch of purple in it, but personally I don’t see the green.”

A third person said, “Well, what I see is turquoise. I agree there’s green there, but it’s in equal proportions to the blue.”

“Yes, I agree,” said another. “Although I would describe it as more of a cyan than turquoise.”

Now exasperated, he looked at his friends and asked, “Anyone else think this jacket is anything other than blue?”

“Well, since you ask,” Said another, “I can see that it’s blue…”

“At last!” he said. “Someone can see that it’s blue.”

“No. That’s not what I was going to say.”

The jacket owner frowned.

“What I was going to say was, I can see that it’s blue, but it gives the general appearance of being… well, magenta, I think.”

“Magenta? What’s that?”

“It’s blue, but with a light hint of red.”

“Red! You have to be kidding!”

They all began sniggering.

“Yes, I am, actually. We all are.”

The owner of the new jacket looked perplexed.

They all broke into friendly laughter.

“We knew you were going to get it; knew you were saving for it. We’ve all seen it in the shop window. It’s really great.”

He looked around with raised eyebrows. They were all nodding.

“You’ll be pleased to know that we think it’s a very nice shade of midnight blue!”

He was a remarkable person, when you really thought about it.

He would so often say “did you know?” right out of the blue. He was full of amazing information. At the drop of a hat he could tell you that the height of nelson’s column was 52 metres, or that a kolinsky is a type of weasel, or that there are thirty letters in the German alphabet, that Hg is the chemical symbol for mercury, that the twin Petronas Towers in Malaysia are 451.9 metres tall, that Whoopi Goldberg’s real name is Caryn Johnson, that the world’s biggest jam doughnut was made in January 1998, at Utica, New York, that Nicaragua was the first nation to ratify the United Nations charter, that the first magazine to run an advertisement for condoms was ‘Sport’ in 1969, that it was Montgomery Ward who invented Rudolf the red nosed reindeer in a comic, that political parties are banned in Bulgaria, that Mariner 9 was the first space probe to orbit another planet, or that Barbie’s first horse was named ‘Dancer’.

It just went on and on.

It was such an irony that he was never invited anywhere!