An Unfinished Story


The sun sank slowly toward the horizon, and paused for a final brilliant flare before dropping out of view. The stunning sight, however, went completely unnoticed by everyone but Eric Wycombe. It considered backing up for a second showing, but thought better of it, as suns usually do. The ticking of the petrol pump had Eric in a hypnotic daze, and as it clicked to a halt, he took a few seconds to shake out of it. He shook the last few drops from the nozzle, and replaced it on the pump. He cast a final questioning glance at the horizon, before heading inside to part with his 'hard-earned' cash. That money was earned, with at least a modicum of difficulty, at the rubber-band factory from whence he had just come. He was junior supervisor there, a job with little prospects, but it paid well enough to put up with until he earned enough to start up his own café on High Street. He paid the attendant, made a little small-talk about the weather, and headed back out into the Autumn evening.

As he drove down the highway into town, he popped a CD into the player, and lay back to enjoy the ride. He quickly snapped out of it, however, and regained control of the wheel just before the car drifted into the other lane. He was in high spirits this particular evening, as his girlfriend had just returned from a business trip, and he was taking her out for a night on the town. It was, he decided, probably worth staying alive to enjoy it, and he paid that little bit more attention to the road. He passed quickly through the outlying suburbs, and was soon coasting down his street. Under the freshly painted streetlamps, he pulled to a halt, and cheerily made his way inside. The four story building in which he lived was owned by a Mrs Wickerham. It stood on the south side of town, in a quiet neighbourhood. The exterior was neatly kept red brick, and the interior was divided into four apartments. He lived on the third floor, in a suitably modern, but homely flat. Making his way up the stairs, he paused briefly on the second landing for a chat with Mr Zeblefski, then bounded up the stairs to unlock his door. Mrs Wickerham occupied the ground floor, and kept largely to herself. She was always friendly toward Eric, but spent a lot of time in her apartment since her husband had died, with only her two dogs as company. Their occasional bouts of yapping were annoying, but bearable, and Eric was willing to put up with a lot for such a great apartment, with such low rent. The Zeblefskis on the second floor were always arguing during the day in some language, the origins of which Eric could only speculate, however they seemed blissfully unaware that anybody could hear them, and indeed, everyone was too polite to mention it. The apartment upstairs was seemingly unoccupied, although on the odd day he spent home from work, strange noises could be heard through the floorboards. He had tried to broach the subject a few times when he had first moved in six months ago, yet after a few evasive replies, he soon gave up, and politely avoided the subject, as did the other inhabitants. For, when the sun set, a tranquil hush fell over the building, and it was a haven from the outside world.

Eric burst through the door, lobbed his keys onto the hall table, and deposited his jacket on the nearby hook in one fluid movement. He checked his answering machine for messages, and apart from a message from Paige saying that she was looking forward to the evening, and would be over at seven, it was empty. He called up 'Mon Chèr' to confirm his reservations, only to find that there was no record of a Wycombe on the list, and that the restaurant was indeed booked out that night. It would have been less than 30 seconds later that he was back in his car, screeching his tyres as he pulled out onto the road.

* * * * *


The blue sedan hooked around the corner at full speed, and launched off the small ramp that led into the car park. The framework shuddered with the jolt of the landing, and the car screeched to a halt in front of the store, windows still vibrating with the shock. Eric Wycombe flung open the door, and leapt out into the evening air.

He quickly made his way inside, navigating the sliding doors and revolving turnstiles with only slight difficulty. He glanced at his watch, to find that he now had just twenty minutes left to impromptu shop for his date. Cursing 'Mon Chèr' once more for losing his reservation, he glanced around and headed into the fray. He knew that Paige would not mind about their reservation, but he had not seen her for two weeks, and wanted the evening to be perfect. That was why he was here now, trying to put together a romantic picnic in twenty minutes, and get back to his apartment in time to pretend that it was his plan all along. His first stop was the homewares section, where he glanced horrificly at the huge amount of candles on display, before grabbing the first box at hand and hurrying along. He already had a rug in the car, so all that was needed now was food. Food. One french-stick, some butter, a container of salmon paté and some oranges and strawberries later, he stood at the checkout, watching in mute pain as the store girl slowly and deliberately entered every item into the register. Ten minutes, he thought as he left the sterile glow of flourescent bulbs, and deposited his purchases into his car. It was going to be close, but he thought he could make it. He pulled into the bottle shop on the way back, and bought a bottle of expensive champagne from a clerk who looked like he had personally tested most of the stock, and very recently at that.

Pulling into his street, he glanced once more at the clock on the dash. Five minutes. He congratulated himself silently, and slammed on the brakes as he spied Paige getting out of a taxi and heading into the building. He swore creatively for a few moments, before heading a little further up the road to park where Paige would not have seen his car. He leapt out, thinking on his feet, and rushed for the fire escape. He grabbed the ladder at a run, and climbed the three stories to his bathroom window in record time. As he wrenched the window open, thanking god that he hadn't had the presence of mind to lock it, he heard a knock on his front door.
'Eric? Are you in there?' He glanced frantically around the room, looking for an excuse for not answering the door. Desperately, he turned the tap on full, and drenched his hair under the running water, grabbing a towel from the rack and wrapping it around his neck as he headed out the door. By this stage, Paige had remembered that she now had a key to the apartment, and the two entered the living room at the exact same moment.

The pale moonlight shone across the park, glistening off the surface of the river and casting peaceful shadows beneath the tall trees. Eric spread the rug out on the ground, looking up at Paige with a smile as he did so. The way the light reflected off the surface of the water played upon her cheeks made him smile, as did the way her hair fell across her face. So, he smiled again, and started to lay out the food.

Later that night, after some sufficiently vague activities, Eric lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He wondered what it was that had woken him from his contented slumber. Taking a look around the room, he felt that something was odd, but could not place a finger on it. Just as he noticed the glow outside the window, it dissapeared, and the distant sounds of the city came flooding into the room. Uncaring, he turned back over, kissed Paige on the forehead, and went back to sleep.


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