Life

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JohnRLinnane
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Life

Post by JohnRLinnane »

Life


A Short Story
by John R Linnane










Text Copyright © 2021 John R Linnane
All Rights Reserved
Fiction


It was a glorious spring day. Noah Bailey felt good. Recently turned twenty-two, he had already obtained his certificate as a Real Estate Agent, and everybody recognised that an auspicious future lay ahead for him. The market was thriving; life was superb. Young and bright, it seemed Noah had everything to live for, but he was soon to learn that his achievements, triumphs, ambitions, and all he had looked forward to, were about to come crashing down around him.

*

Noah lived with his girlfriend, Chloe, and her identical twin sister, Liza. He and Chloe were a perfect match, compatible in every aspect. Despite his spotless office attire, Noah had a rugged cowboy look about him, and Chloe, an attractive brunette, had a remarkably athletic appeal. Over time, they developed a profound admiration for each other, and now the two were inseparable.

Liza, bitterly jealous of this optimal relationship and Noah’s devotion to her sister, often plotted to play tricks on him, contriving to seduce him by pretending to be Chloe. He fell for it, and Liza got what she craved – oddly, from the man she so much loathed!

Ironically, her vengeance was bittersweet because the better she played her game, the more she liked Noah’s muscled body and the more intensely she wanted him. Every day, Liza planned her tactic to suit an opportune time and deluded Noah into having sex with her.

Each morning, active Chloe got up early to go for a run. Shifty Liza always set her alarm so she would hear her sister leave. Stealthily, swiftly, she dressed in the very same outfit that Chloe frequently wore. Silently sliding into bed next to Noah, Liza’s tender voice murmured seductively that she craved a quickie before her run.

Liza felt smug – it was SOOO easy! The early light filtering through the lace curtains was sufficient for Noah to see her and, emerging from a sleepy haze, he responded ardently.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered. “This is a tremendous wake-up call!”.

When their passion and energy were spent, Chloe’s imposter made her cunningly thought-out suggestions, the demanding tone softened by smoothing caresses over Noah’s chest.

“Sweetie, don’t talk to Liza about us; I realise she’s growing very resentful of our relationship. I don’t want to upset her and make her uncomfortable, you know, so please don’t mention this to me tonight, babe, and… and don’t ask for sex when we go to bed. Just humour me this once, okay?”

She gave him a long, promissory kiss and in silky tones murmured, “I’ll give it to you when I’m ready sweety. But please, just don’t talk about this, ok?”

Noah was extremely perplexed by this odd request, but he begrudgingly conceded.

The twins’ only identifiable mark was on Liza – a small mole no bigger than a match head just below her left earlobe. Now, she carefully concealed it with makeup so that Noah would not detect it. The deception continued: sleazy Liza dressing in her sister’s clothes and wearing Chloe’s makeup and perfume— fooling unsuspecting Noah every time.

This duplicity developed into a pattern for the ensuing six months until one morning when Chloe had unexpectedly returned home – she had overlooked her work project, still lying on the counter. Taking a moment to enter the bedroom and give Noah another kiss goodbye, Chloe was unprepared for the shock that was about to hit her when she turned on the light and encountered her sister in bed with her boyfriend. She stared for a second, astounded.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” she shouted.

Noah was stunned. “Liza, get out!” he bellowed.

The real Chloe shouted. “That’s Liza on top of you! Geez! How long have you two been sneaking around behind my back?” she demanded. “Oh, God! I — I can’t believe this is happening!”

Chloe burst into tears and ran from the room, slamming the door as she went.

Liza glanced at Noah with a “cat-got-the-cream” smile.

Noah was in disbelief. “Has it been you the whole time — every morning?”.

“Yeah, babe, couldn’t you tell the difference?” Liza asked mockingly. “Listen, just so you know … I’ve enjoyed using your sexy body, but really, I don’t like you. I mean … I actually despise you— and more every day. See, understand this: Chloe belongs to ME! And I need my sister back.”

She’s a mental case, thought Noah. Yet he recognised that there was something very alluring about Liza’s love-making technique; something Chloe never had. Although confused, Noah always knew he was still very aroused by Liza’s method of seduction. However, he pushed his disloyal thoughts aside and got out of bed. Naturally, Chloe ran from the house.

Noah eyed Liza now with utter dislike clouding his features. “So, what do you think you’ve accomplished by this stupid charade?” he asked. “You sure fooled me. I thought everything was normal; perfect as always.”

Possessive, jealous Liza giggled. “Well, it proves that I achieved what I wanted.” She slid off the bed and sidled to the door. “But I must be slipping— it took more time than I expected. I didn’t want to hurt my sister, you know, Noah. But anyhow, it worked. She’ll never want to think of you again. She’s mine again, now.”
*
After the breakup with Chloe, Noah fell into the habit of excessive drinking. Now, he frequented the liquor store where Chloe would buy her favourite bottle of wine and his bottle of Tequila, all the time hoping that Chloe would show up. Day after day, he loitered there, watching. Initially, he kept to the same hour, but later, his habit varied. Eventually, he lost his job as he would not show up for work, his car was repossessed by the bank for not making the payments, his rent was unpaid and therefore, he was evicted. He sold what he could to get by, but that money wouldn’t last.

Noah suffered from bipolar. Although medicated and under control, for now, he was feeling the strain of losing Chloe. Physically, he could only search, looking for the love of his life. Mentally, he was lost without her — he was losing himself.

Days grew into weeks, and weeks expanded to months. Noah’s despair over losing Chloe grew into blazing anger. Fury swelled within him; fury aimed at both sisters — Chloe, for not seeing that he was a victim of trickery, and therefore forgiving him, and Liza, for her destructive deceit, the unstable actions of a paranoid tart that had ripped Chloe away from him.

Days dragged by, and the more Noah thought of the injustice dealt him, the more he yearned for revenge. He tried to subdue his escalating anger but eventually lost all power of restraint because of his abhorrence of all the grubby, demoralising hiding-out he’d had to endure; all the prolonged waiting for Chloe to cross his path again.

Noah’s natural capacity for clear, logical thought was gradually deserting him but at least he recognised that he would now have to get out there and actively search for Chloe. He drew the line at the idea of begging for her forgiveness, though. No, he was beyond pleading. He craved only one last reunion with both sisters, but he couldn’t work out where Chloe would have moved to.
*
Noah searched relentlessly for the next 12 months, and suddenly – discovery! The twins were now sharing a flat. This surprising fact infuriated him. He could not understand how Chloe could exonerate Liza and live with her despite the mischief she had caused. He knew that by her failure to seek him out, she had no intention of excusing him. He, who she had adored and trusted, the man who was merely the innocent victim of her sister’s crazy deviousness.

Without medication and these thoughts smouldering in his brain, he approached the flat and banged the brass knocker four times against the wood. Liza answered. She had no notion of who was at the door or what was about to transpire.

It all happened fast. With a sudden jerk of his right hand, Noah plunged a knife through Liza’s abdomen and stabbed her several times more.


He yelled, “Thanks for shattering my world, you jealous bitch!”

Closing the door firmly behind him, he strode inside and found Chloe in the shower. His mind was in a crazy turmoil. He stared hard into her beautiful dark brown eyes, without saying a word, swiftly slashed the knife across her throat. “You should’ve believed me!” he cried and fell, sobbing on the bathroom floor. After a while, he rose and leaned against the shower partition and stared, as if in a daze, at the blood washing down the drain. He took one last, long look at Chloe, curled there on the shower floor, then reached over, and turned off the tap.

The bright young Real Estate Agent, now a wreck with only a dark, nightmare future, hurried, sobbing, from the scene and went into hiding, gradually increasing the distance between himself and the sisters’ flat. By various means of travel, he made good time and crossed to the opposite side of the country. Noah Bailey was a mere shadow of his former self, sick in his mind and absolutely desperate now to evade capture.
*
A few weeks elapsed. While visiting the flat for a routine inspection, the property manager of the unit first noticed a bad smell and then discovered the body of a young woman in a significant state of deterioration … and then another. He immediately called the Emergency Triple Zero line.

The man gave his name, and with voice shaking, he said, “I need the police. There are two dead girls in a unit.” No sooner had he given the address and details to the operator, the police and detectives were on their way.

One of the detectives attending the scene recognised something about the first young woman’s apparel. He realised it was Liza King; she had always dressed in flamboyant, almost outrageous, clothes of flashy colours and, half-drunk, had even flirted with him once or twice at the local club.

The detective was aware of the case, having heard interesting, speculative remarks about a woman having an affair with her twin sister’s sweetheart. Now, he wasted no time in alerting his superiors. Connecting the story with the crime, they made further enquiries and launched a full-scale search of the suspect.

Meanwhile, Noah’s uncomfortable lifestyle activities were reduced to hiding under bridges, in filthy storm pipes or near rivers surrounded by bushland and dense scrub. Wherever he travelled, Noah was careful to keep a low profile, only moving out of his hideout when desperate hunger drove him.

This elusive habit had turned the fugitive into a virtual night owl. Dirty, hungry, and weary, he kept his movements to a minimum. He waited eagerly for nightfall. Under its concealing cover, he combed through the nearest neighbourhood for meagre essentials, maintaining a cautious view on unlit homes that appeared to be vacant, with the intention of taking shelter. With his last dollar long since spent, Noah occasionally resorted to stealing from the local outlets, including charity bins under streetlights, always intensely conscious of the heavy risk this activity imposed.
*
Four years after the murders, Noah had become unrecognisable. Long hair and a scraggly beard covered most of his face. One sunny day, in the dense bush and scrub, two hikers noticed a man, scarecrow-thin with large, staring eyes. Despite having no knowledge of his identity and motivated by pity, the concerned couple provided the drifter with food and water. Conscious of the risk factor but influenced by natural compassion for the homeless man, they invited him to their house where he could clean up and eat. Noah’s old pride made him hesitate, but he decided that since the people obviously didn’t know anything about him, it would be safe to go with them … and nice to feel clean again.

Mr and Mrs Freeman allowed the fugitive to stay and rest for one night. While sharing a beautiful hot meal with his rescuers, Noah became responsive to their polite questions about his life. Several times he skidded close to revealing incriminating details, but he was glad to tell them about his Real Estate career and his beautiful girlfriend who had died. He bit his tongue to avoid any mention of her twin sister.

Noah’s hard-learnt caution weakened with his feeling of new safety. Resignedly, he responded to curious questions and revealed just enough information to explain his predicament.

“I have a drinking problem,” he admitted with an ashamed sway of his head. “When Chloe died, I couldn’t handle it and my life began to spiral out of control. I lost everything”. With a sharp pang, he realised he had slipped when he said ‘Chloe’.

The blunder went undetected. Feeling deeply sorry for this unfortunate, grieving man, the Freemans’ became even more eager to help Noah. They gave him clothes, more food, and even money, and the following morning, wished him well and said goodbye. Noah felt greatly relieved that neither the wife nor the husband had picked up on the name “Chloe” which, he realised, was now well known via news reports.

Weeks went by, Noah found a job as a cleaner. He was responsible for cleaning the windows of local businesses, offices and, on occasion, the local high school. He was an efficient, reliable worker but, noticeably, kept to himself. This humble job was the fresh start that Noah needed. With his earnings, he was able to repay his debt to the kind couple that saved him, he could now afford medication. Noah felt safe — he was four thousand kilometres from his hometown. He finally was free — free of Chloe’s ghost and of the nightmares he’d had about the murders. With time’s passing and his delusion of invincibility growing stronger, Noah began to relax and embrace his new life.
*
After six months in his job, Noah Bailey became complacent, convinced he was safe. Then one day, his boss sent him off to clean the local courthouse. It was early morning and noticeably quiet. As Noah went about the task of cleaning the courtroom, he felt the eery sensation of being closely watched. The feeling passed, and as he finished his work, two police officers entered the room. They sparked up a conversation about his job and casually asked how long he had been doing it. They looked around and commented on what a great job he did. Noah was under surveillance by both courtroom cameras and the officers’ body cams.

Leaving to go to the next job, the officers asked him where he was from. The fugitive was struck by a strange inability to respond, and as he tried to hide his anxiety, one of the officers grew suspicious. It was obvious that Noah was becoming emotional and agitated. They took him to a room and calmed him down. As yet unsure if this was the man they had been looking for, they offered him a coffee and a doughnut and waited for him to speak. Ten minutes passed … fifteen … twenty-three minutes … Finally, Noah showed signs of admission.

Resignedly, he told the police that he loved Chloe and had never meant to hurt her. But he still couldn’t understand why she blindly sided with her sister and would not believe he was innocent. In some respects, after the interview, he was relieved that he did not have to hide anymore and was almost eager to get the judgement over and done with – whatever the sentence.

The detectives took Noah into custody and questioned him about his whereabouts at the time of the murders. When interrogated about his knowledge of the incident, his guilt was written all over his face and in his disturbed manner. The evidence against him was substantial.

In due course, Noah faced his week in court. Noah was repeatedly questioned by the District Attorney. As there were no witnesses, his trial was swift. He was remanded in custody until the day of sentencing. Noah stood in front of the honourable Judge, Albert Peterson, shaking as he awaited the jury’s verdict.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge Peterson asked.

The Jury Foreperson stood and replied, “Yes we have your Honour”.

“On the first count of murder, how do you find the defendant?”.

We, the jury, find the defendant, Noah Bailey, guilty of murder in the first degree.

“And on the second count, how do you find the defendant?”.

“Guilty in the first degree, your Honour” Came the response.

“Mr Bailey”. There was a long silence before judge Peterson continued. “It is the decision of this court, that you serve two life sentences back-to-back, for the murders of Chloe and Liza King”.

Noah could only stare back at the judge.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Mr Bailey”?

“No your Honour,” came the quivering voice of a young man, terrified of his future. Then, after a brief pause: “Yes! Yes, I do!” he exclaimed loudly.

“I mean, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I miss her so much!”. He bellowed out as his words blended together. This was the first time he showed any kind of real emotion.

Noah knew this day would eventually catch up with him. He felt the strength leave his legs. He fell to his knees. He could hear the voices of men telling him to stand.

“On your feet” came an abrupt voice.

“You need to stand up NOW,” shouted another.

As Noah got to his feet the two police officers took hold of his arms. “Hands out in front. Thumbs up”. said an officer, as he placed the handcuffs around Noah’s wrists.

They stood on each side of Noah and led him to the watchhouse. Noah was removed from the public eye forever, but the worst was yet to come.
*
The prison was a stark, cheerless place. A sickening fear gripped Noah. Now in prison, Noah felt afraid. He was worried. He felt sure that the other inmates would injure or torture him after they found out what he had done – and he knew they were sure to find out eventually. It took the passing of three long, lonely weeks before Noah made any friends. One guy invited him to sit at a table and play cards. An absorbing game of Canasta was just what he needed — different rules to what he was used to, but otherwise, inherently the same. As the game progressed Noah thought it would be a good idea not to win. Many times, he could have, but not knowing how serious the other players were, he kept his cards close to his chest.

As Noah glanced around the room, he noticed there were a few others who looked just as afraid as he felt. Then, without any warning, a fight broke out. The prison guards charged into the room.

“Everybody outside!” they yelled. In came the guard dogs and Noah rushed to the safety of the courtyard.

“What was the fight about,” he asked.

“Peanut butter rations”. Someone replied.

He didn’t understand the importance and value of prison rations and thought this was a peculiar, petty, and almost comical reason to fight. Suddenly, rough hands grabbed him from behind.

“You think that’s funny, do you? I’ll show you funny!”

The robust-looking prisoner punched Noah in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.

Noah woke up in his cell a few hours later. A sore head and blurry vision combined with a migraine from the coward punch he’d received. That was his first lesson of prison life. From that day on Noah was careful of what he said and who he said it to. As he came out of his cell the group that he played cards with spotted him and gestured towards the table.

“You can stay here with us, if you like,” invited one of them, and then added, “I’m Andy, the others can introduce themselves. There’s six at this table and now you’re one of ’em”. Relief rushed warm through Noah’s veins – he had a friend.

After a while, three more joined the group; now the table was full. Each man had a plastic box with his share of the rations. Peanut butter, jam, bread, tomato and BBQ sauces and margarine. They gave Noah some of their rations, explaining that he would be issued more on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“Every second Friday is shopping day,” Andy told him, “and the order has to be in by 2 pm. You’ll receive that on the following Wednesday – and the rest, you’ll work out along the way”.

Andy continued by telling Noah who was who. “Don’t trust anyone,” he advised.

“What about you?” Noah replied.

“What did I just say?” Andy blurted out, but then, remembering that he too was new to the set-up once, looked searchingly into the new prisoner’s face. “How long you got?”

Noah responded with a subdued tone, “Two life sentences.”

Andy, silenced by this grave knowledge, peered around to see if there were any listeners nearby. He moved a little closer and said softly, “Geez, mate … what the hell did you do?”

Noah remembered his friend’s warning, (“don’t trust anyone”). He paused for a thoughtful moment before slowly sharing with Andy the story of his LIFE.

******
Kgomotso Maje
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Post by Kgomotso Maje »

It's an interesting story, but much longer than it should have been. With some good editing of the prose and cutting out some parts, it could be better.
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JohnRLinnane
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Post by JohnRLinnane »

Thank you for your suggestions. I’ll take them into consideration. Which parts would you cut out?
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