A few years ago, I was big on writing short stories. They were easier to pick up and put down than a novel and, often times, I could use them as practice for my creative writing class. Most times, I would write something and it would just hang out in a virtual file on my desktop. This is what happened with Shadows in the Fog. I was in the mood for comic books and felt inspired to create one of my own. I tried making a huge character arc- beyond the origin story- and I didn't get all that far. Also this is a few drafts in, but if I ever felt how I did when I wrote it I might be likely to further tweak it.
But, I saved a lot of it(drafts and all) and feel that it would make for a fun blog. I'm going to split it up into three blog-post pieces: 1) origin story(which is happening now) 2) where I consider what happens to Daniel Hatcher and 3) where I toy around with plotline(s). Before I post this I just want to say that these are my ideas and, as such, I am copyrighting them here and now WHICH MEAN under NO circumstances are you allowed to REWRITE, RESCRIPT, or REPASTE/RECOPY my words without my CONSENT. I noticed that happened to a blog I did a few weeks ago and, funny enough, if I had been asked to share my works on that site I might have. So please, while this isn't money making material, be respectful.
Oh, and it gets a little PG-3, so just putting that out there..
And so it begins...
Shadows in the Fog: Me and Mrs. Jones
Sighing,
Hatcher ran a hand through his golden locks.
The strands parted smoothly as flesh found hair, then he swept them back
and set his brown suede hat on his head.
Part of him wanted to maintain a slow pace while a larger part of him
was dying to see her. Damn chick gave
him a fire like he hadn’t found in quite some time. Hatcher knew they would be kissing fools if
they had been found out. ‘Suckers is
more like it,’ he thought to himself. He
felt like such a smuck for not being able to pull away from her, that desirable
temptress. A fond smile came to his face
as he remembered their last evening together.
They
spent it in a cozy Italian restaurant over on Main Street. The wine was perfect that night, and was
probably the setter of the evening’s mood.
The bottle had been aged a good couple of years by then, no longer ripe
but still full of flavor. Or maybe it
was the undertones of soft piano and smooth jazz, “you’ll never find another
love like mine, you’ll never find someone who loves you tender like I do,” sang
the deep-voiced singer on the jukebox.
The corners of her lip curled upward as she let the rhythm get into her
and her head began slightly swaying.
“There’s
nothing like a classic to make you feel alive,” Alison crooned, “It makes
everything seem better.”
“Not
even a classic makes me feel the way you do,” he said as he slid his hand
across the table and put it gently upon hers.
His smile reflected hers, warm and sincere.
“Oh
Daniel,” she smiled playfully and squeezed his hand. Hatcher winced from the inside and tried
desperately not to that it show on his face.
‘Sawyer,’ he corrected in his head.
The first time he had told her his name he had lied to her. Lying to Alison was the last thing he wanted
to do and he made a promise not to do it after that night. So far he had kept that promise. As Come Fly With Me started on the
radio, he got the sudden urge to ask her to dance.
“Wanna
dance with me sugar?” He asked looking
intently into her pale green eyes. She
finished her sip of wine, setting the glass down on the table. Shifting in her
seat, she leaned in close to him.
“Sort
of,” she said coyly. Hatcher knew the
routine. He wanted to keep his manners
so he would ask her ‘your place, or mine?’ But she always said ‘yours,’ then
they would leave. Part of him felt
pathetic for keeping his distance but telling himself that he was loving her
right. He was loving her the best way he
could. To the grace of someone upstairs,
the nights had always been amazing and undisturbed.
He
leaned in and put a hand under her chin.
“Your
place or mine?” he asked, putting on a smile.
“Yours,”
she said. As they stood up, he took her
hand. She grabbed her hand satin bag;
the clutch purse matched her dress. The
dress was a rustic sort of orange that looked stunning on her. It was an elegantly simple dress which she
worn with nothing more than heels and a set of earrings. It was floor length and pleasantly form
fitting. Hatcher had seen what was
underneath already and still he found himself wanting more than just a glimpse
of what was exposed in the cut of the dress.
They
were already in one another’s embrace by the time they finally got to his
apartment over on fifth. Pressed close
to one another, he ran his hand through her onyx hair, making her close her
eyes and lean her cheek into his palm.
His other hand traced her sultry outline, stopping at her waist. She opened her eyes and looked for his. She smiled when she saw he was still looking
at her. Holding each other’s gaze deeply
for what felt forever, he broke the moment and turned towards the door. With one swift movement, he had the door
unlocked. Sweeping a hand in front of
his, he gestured her inside. She giggled
lightly at his gentlemen’s act, but stepped inside anyways.
Watching
her stand in the doorway way always quite a sight and it usually took his
breath away. He would marry her if her
could. ‘You can’t think about that now,’
Hatcher told himself. He regained his
breath after that moment and followed her lead.
She took his hand, entwining her fingers in his, and led him to the room
in the house she was the most familiar with.
He wasn’t even sure what they had was love, but it was the closest he
had even known and it was sweet to him in so many ways. He decided to let his mind stop thinking for
the night and just enjoy her presence.
He kissed her the most passionately he had in a long time and before
long they had tumbled upon his bed.
That
was only last week and yet it felt like some much longer had gone by. He straightened his collar and blue tie, the
least he could do as look presentable when he finally got to see her. Lost in formalities and though, Hatcher
avoided running a woman passing by. She
looked sort of familiar but the thought had come and passed as he was arriving
at the restaurant. The place was called Bon
Chocolate which means damn good chocolate- the little Parisian restaurant
severed the finest deserts in town. It
had eight years on Hatcher, built in the twenties, and he grinned to see it had
stood the test of time. He could recall
coming to this place with various relatives and a few lovers that he deemed
“worthy.” The only thing that had
changed was the addition of a terrace and the adjoining second floor. With his hands in his trouser pockets, he
strode up to the entrance. She stood
just as fine as ever, clad in a peach silk dress tonight. The collar-line draped playfully about her
neck while the waist bunched under a pearl belt. The belt matched both the earrings she wore
and the small strand about her neck. How
she could be so lovely and so simply clothed never ceased to amaze him.
“You
look ravishing Mrs. Jones,” he warmly said to her.
“How
many times have I told you Alison?” She said sternly to him. But as soon as the words had left her tongue
and she saw the hurt in his eyes, she regretted saying them as she did. “But thank you Jonathan.” She smiled and took his hand. She looked up at the old red bricks of the
building.
Tilting
her head to the side she said, “You know, you’re an enigma sometimes.” He chuckled heartily, she didn’t know the
irony of her words.
Looking
at the building for the last time, he then looked at Alison, that dame that
brought him to his knees, and then gestured her towards the glass doors.
Once
inside, Hatcher scoped the place out before the waiter came over to them. It was pretty busy for a Thursday night, the
bottom level was nearly full. Any space
consisted of corner spots and he was not about to settle for one of those. Caught up in the hoping place, Hatcher didn’t
see the waiter slide up next to them.
“’Ello
mon amie. I am sorry but we are quite
beezy. If you are willing to wait-“ Hatcher helped up a hand in front of him.
“How
much to get a seat up stairs?”
“Daniel,
we couldn’t!” Alison started to protest,
but Hatcher merely smiled at her and then winked.
“Eh
sir I am not sure that my manager wood-“
Jonathan grabbed his hand and firmly placed a small bill in his hand.
“Is
that gonna work?” The waiter inspected
the bill and then began grinned from ear to ear.
“Right
theese way sir.” The waiter said as he
hurriedly ushered them up the stairs and to the second floor.
The terrace was a small addition, a private
one that held one table and two chairs.
The sight of the bay that it overlooked was amazing. It was like they finally had a change of
scene and had gotten away from the city for a night. It wasn’t late enough for stars, but the
shades of blue cast a low light, making the table candle that much more
subtle. The candle was placed in a
bronze holder, just a thick wire that stemmed from the base and wrapped itself
around the candle. Hatcher smiled as he
admired the addition. The waiter smiled
and nodded, he’d be back later. Hatcher
grabbed the chair and slid it out from beneath the table. Alison walked over to it and delicately sat
down. She thanked him as he pushed it
back in. He sat across from her and quickly
grabbed her hands. He hadn’t felt her
smooth skin in over a week. Before they
knew it the waiter was back. They
ordered roasted chicken with bread rolls, garlic mashed potatoes, and some
mixed tossed greens. The good-sized
chicken was plump and golden brown, the bread was freshly baked and warm, and
the greens were also fresh. The course
went perfect with the ’35 bottle of white wine.
Their tongues had not tasted something so delightful since the evening
they spent at DaVinci’s Clandestine.
During
the meal, his gazed trailed up to her eyes.
Their dishes were exquisite, easily told in the fact that they were
eating in silence. He tried to hold the
silence as long as it would last, but eventually it had to be broken.
“So,
what do you think?” He asked rather
nonchalantly.
“Oh,
what dear?” She asked innocently.
“What
do you think,” he gestured roundly, “Of this building?”
“Its
nice. I particularly like this
terrace.” She said as she looked around
again. ”Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity,”
he responded shortly.
“Darling,
there is never a reason when you ask a question.” He smiled, she knew him well.
“Honestly,
I planned this night differently than most of our nights, hoping you would
enjoy a piece of my past.” She stared at
him intently, he had gotten her attention. “I used to come here when I was
younger. It was a treat to the family
because it was always for some sort of special occasion. Its not because they use a different currency
either,” they laughed and he began again, “It is just that not many of us in my
family had money then. So we would
penny-pinch and at one point or another we wound up at this joint.” At the end of his sentence, Alison looked at
him blankly.
“You’ve
never shown me something so close to you.”
She said almost in a whisper. He
grinned.
“I
take it you like it?” he prompted for
some sort of acknowledgement that he had gone in the right direction and picked
the perfect destination. The waiter
poured them each a glass of Chardonnay and left behind savory strawberries and
chocolate mousse served in round wine glasses.
Then he hurriedly went out the terrace doors, back inside, and down
stairs again. Alison looked him as deep
in his brown eyes a she could and said,
“I
do appreciate you bringing me here, but I-“ he squeezed her hand, then let go
and produced something from his pocket.
With both of his hands cupped around an object, he stood from his chair
and kneeled at her feet. Slowly opening
his hands, a small black box protruded from them.
“Oh
Jonathan,” she sighed, a smile just at bay from her lips. He quietly cleared his throat, trying to hold
back stammering and bumbling in order to produce his words as strong as
possible.
“I
love you and I know that his can only be a token of my love for you, but I felt
it was time to do something for meaningful that love-making and dinner. This is what I chose,” he added, “it was my
grandmothers.” He opened the lid to the
hinged box. Inside was a small emerald
green stone set in between two smaller black stones. While it was a small ensemble it was radiant,
a craftily cut couple of gems. Hatcher
removed one hand from the box and handed it to Alison. She took it the moment it hit her fingers,
but did no more than start at it. A few
silent moments went by before either of them could say anything. Hatcher spoke first.
“Alison,”
he said sweetly, “you don’t li-“
“I
love it,” she said weakly as she began to cry.
“Sweetie,”
he said gently and with a confused look upon his face, she had never cried in
front of him before. He stood up, as did
she, and then embraced her. He held her
tightly, as if she would fall apart otherwise, and swept away the wet droplets
that had begun to collect beneath her eyes.
“I
love you, you know that.”
“Of
course I do. Even without it being put
into words, I can feel it.” She hugged him tightly and started again.
“If
I could leave him I would. I would leave
the mob world I’ve gotten myself into. I
would stop feeling horrid for placing you second. I would say yes to you and marry you like you
have asked. I would be your wife and not
his any given day.” She took the ring
and placed it on her right ring finger, the only empty ring finger she had. She beamed as she looked upon it.
“Its
beautiful,” she said almost breathlessly.
“Not
as beautiful as you,” he said cupping her chin and pressing his lips to
hers. When the kiss had ended she spoke
again.
“Let’s
get out of here.” With a smile he asked,
“Your
place or mine?” she stunned him once again, this time with her words.
“Mine.”
“Baby,
are you sure? I don’t want to be running
into Mr. Jones anytime soon. For your
sake more than mine.”
“He’s
gone on another one of his trips, this time to Manhattan.
I don’t care what her name is or how many people he deals to while he’s
away. I just know that he said he would
be gone for about four days. He left
yesterday, seeing as today’s Monday that means he’ll be back Wednesday.” She looked expectantly at him.
“Alison,
if its what you really want.”
“What
I really want is you. So, yes, its what
I want.” She could tell he had a worry
behind those brown eyes of his and as she held him tighter she added,
“Jonathan, he’s gone. At least for
tonight, but that’s all we need, one night together to bask in each other’s
love.” Hatcher smiled from ear to ear, she
had said the magic word; love.
Hatcher’s
place was shabby compared to Alison’s.
The paint actually matched, carrying some sort of theme, and none of it
was chipped. It was mostly a jade green
with a crème trim. The doorway was
adorned a brass knocker, a sort of welcome sign. Inside it was dimly lit, whatever light came
in flooded in from the streets. He could
make out that there were some black framed pictures on the walls and dark
curtains framed the windows. As Alison
slipped off her heels and went to close the curtains, Hatcher continued looking
around the room. He counted two doors,
including the entrance to the house. In
this semi-light, he could see a black marble vase filled with white peonies
sitting the long wooden dinner table.
The room was overall very tidy and pretty modern for its time. Hatcher could also tell that a lot of money
had been put into it and he had to keep reminding himself that Alison wanted
him there, so while his instincts were tense he made himself calm down.
Alison
stood in front of Hatcher and, grabbing his blue satin tie, she pulled his lips
to hers. They were always soft as rose
petals and he would gladly kiss her any time she asked. He placed a hand on the small of her back and
she placed her other hand on his face.
She smiled when she felt he had cleanly shaved it. Hatcher made a habit of it, not only because
he knew Alison preferred it that way but because if he was going to shave he
was going to do his damndest to make sure it wasn’t full of short prickly whiskers,
otherwise negating the act. Her hand
followed up through his hair, slowly gliding through the strands. He pulled her close to him, kissed her, and
then dipped her backwards in the kiss.
When he had set her back correctly on her feet, she tossed his hat and
tugged off his grey pinstriped overcoat, letting it fall to the floor.
“The
bedroom is upstairs,” she breathed. He
continued to kiss her and as she led him they slowly fumbled to the
stairs. Once up them she pulled his tie
to his left. He no longer cared what the
house looked like, all he cared about was her happiness. As she undid all of his buttons, he found the
zipper at the back of her dress and slowly pulled it down. Putting a little space in between them, she
let the dress fall to the floor at her ankles.
His hands ran up her sides as she stepped out of the material and worked
him out of his clothes. He drew her in
his arms again and kissed her like he never had before. He felt like every time he saw her bare skin
it was the first. To him, she was
perfect.
The next thing they knew they were on the
comforter of the four-poster bed and he was running his hand across her
collar-bone and breasts. She let her
hand rest upon his stomach while the other still ran through his hair. They laid there like that for a few moments
before she spoke in her sweetest voice edged with a sexy demeanor.
“Make
love to me Daniel,” she asked as she grabbed his hips. He rolled upon her, and she place a leg on
either side of him, allowing him to gently slide within her. When they were joined she sighed deeply,
being completely content in his presence.
He placed a hand on either side of her shoulders, looking her straight
in the eyes, and began slowly rocking his hips.
She began moaning as the ecstasy grew.
They rolled and got tangled within the sheets. Hatcher grunted a bit, allowing himself to
let go and feel the remarkable pleasures that the act of being with her gave
him. Eventually he found himself on top
again, she placed her hands behind her head, starting to grip what they could
as her back began to arch. With a few
more forces of his hip, the climax was nearly reached. A clacking sounded from somewhere and Hatcher
came to an abrupt halt. She frowned at
him,
“What
is it?” she asked with a slightly worried undertone.
“I
thought I heard something.” He said as clear as he could.
“You’re
letting your paranoia get to you again baby.
I didn’t hear anything. Though
this is a good delaying strategy” She said as she looked at him. She grabbed his torso and rolled him over,
straddling him. She began to get a sly
look upon her face again as she ran a hand across his chest trying to keep him
in the same mood as her, then her look turned to a full smile. Hatcher placed a hand on either hip and Alison
began rocking her hips. He leaned his
head back and closed his eyes; nothing could feel better than her.
“You
little slut, you ain’t nothin’ but a floozie” said a figure from the bedroom
doorway. Hatcher jumped and grabbed onto
Alison, trying to pull them to some sort of cover that wasn’t there.
bang.
Alison’s
body went drooped in Hatcher’s hands, all life fading from her eyes. Crimson blood began to trickle from the
wound. He lost focus, laying her beside
him. A pool gathered beneath her body,
permanently staining the sheets. He ran
a hand over her face and started shouting,
“Alison! Alison!”
All she could get out was meek and barely audible to even him.
“I
love you,” she said as she went limp in his arms. He couldn’t think, he could barely breath. How could she be gone?
Before
Hatcher could think too much he remembered why she had stopped moving. Staring through the darkness, he searched the
doorway. There stood a man of average
height, sort of large in the torso. He
had black, slicked back hair. He was of
Italian descent, Hatcher could tell that
much, but besides that he couldn’t determine the bastard as anyone
special. Then it clicked. That’s Mr. Jones. Jones stood starring at Hatcher for a minute,
taking the sight of him in. Hatcher stood immobile, he didn’t want to think and
even if he wanted to he couldn’t. Mr.
Jones lifted the gun towards Hatcher, then slightly left as if he were going to
shoot Alison again. Hatcher clung
tightly to her body which protested as it began to slip from his pams. But almost as Mr. Jones had changed his mind,
he placed the still smoking gun back in a side pocket of his overcoat.
“Don’t
worry bub, I ain’t gonna shoot ya.
Besides, I would rather see you suffer her loss. Me? I
got more where she came from and then some” then he smiled a most malicious
grin, “You can have what’s left of her.”
Jones then turned and went down the stairs. Hatcher counted the stairs Jones went down
before he finally heard the front door slam and an engine roar off into the
distance.
His
arm started to go numb and turning and looking down he saw his angel,
Alison. Pulling himself back into the
situation within the room he began to feel tears welt in his eyes. There was no way he could stay to let her see
him weep, and even if he wanted to he couldn’t.
in this day and age, if you get caught with a dead body you would be
lumped in with all the other crooks and criminals and hauled away in the
slammer. Alison wouldn’t want that for
either of them, she would want them to runaway to someplace warmer. But he wasn’t about to leave town. Sliding his arm out from beneath her, he
gently laid her head upon a pillow.
Tears began to streak down his face as he gathered his clothing and
began to dress. Before he left, he took
the green-stone ring from her finger and out it in his pocket. She never got to see the inscription.
“we’ll
always have the moon to dance darling, love Hatcher.”
He hadn’t found religion yet, but he still
prayed his hardest that someone would give her a decent burial. Trying to shut off any form of emotion, he
left the room without turning back.
It was three years by
the time he was able to be intimate with another woman. He’d occasionally meet a nice dame and be
able to take her home, but while he left them satisfied, none of them cut it
for him. The sex and small talk was
never the same as it was with Alison. He
knew it never would be again and so he lived as if he were going through the
motions. In the meantime of those three
years, however, he picked up some old hobbies.
He had picked up drinking again, but it was usually a good accompaniment
to the records he buried himself in. The
new hobby, however, made perfect sense to him after the first few radio
broadcasts. One night while he was
listening to The Shadow play on the
old scratchy grathophone, it hit him.
Hatcher didn’t have any close relatives or relations anymore, so no one
knew his name, he lived in a rundown house so it was inconspicuous, and he was
pretty agile for his age and cunning with his charm when he wanted to be. It all made sense.* Sporting his favourite brown suede hat, he
pulled on a matching short trench coat, and tightened a green tie around his
white shirt collar. Beneath all of it
Hatcher wore Alison’s ring on a thick string, vowing to never lose sight of his
task. ‘Someone needs to stand up for
those who refuse to help themselves.’
During the day when he walked to streets, he would refer to himself as
Danny Jacobs, but by night he decided to call himself “The Hatchet,” taking
down any punk, panzy, or offender of good-natured people that got in his way…
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