February 13, 2006

Rendezvous

The evening mist settled on every leaf like a pair of lovers into their blankets. Some crumpled under the weight of the moisture, the weakness of fall giving way to winter with crushing finality. One or two crickets chirped softly in the distance, knowing that their time would be up very shortly as well. The grass, still green, luscious, and soft, wavered silently in the wind, like the fickle end of an artists brush caressing the air with finesse. The shod sole of a man’s foot pushed back, and the grass gave way to an imprint.

He paced back and forth furiously, not giving in to the quiet stillness of the night. He was its opposite, its counterbalancing force of nature. While everything else was at an eerie peace, he was at war with himself. Fog erupted from his mouth with every gaping breath he took, and the burning cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth glowed softly, contrasting the dark, starless sky. He inhaled deeply and blew a small cloud, lost instantly to the surrounding mist. Although his coat was heavy, a chill still ran through his body, perhaps not entirely from the temperature. His hands in his pockets, he darted his dark eyes around the scene, growing more and more impatient with every second. The tip of his nose became red and numb, and he sniffed cautiously, as though any noise might bring all of the silence crashing down in an instant. The silence, however, paid no heed, and ebbed on through time as usual.

The crumpled up note in his pocket came out once again, spinning and spiraling across his palms. He twisted it free of its own grasp and pulled it straight in front of him. Pulling his face close, he took a deep drag on the cigarette so the red light it shone would help him confirm his location. He was, undoubtedly, in the correct place, and a brief glance at his watch showed that he was also there at the correct time. In reality, he had been there with ten minutes surrounding the moment of punctuality now. After twenty minutes, he was beginning to get both agitated and nervous. This wasn’t the sort of thing he could just blow off. Not this time.

The bat perched in the tree to his left stared him down intently, wondering silently many things the pacing man would never know. The open field in front of him showed no sign of anyone approaching, and echoed no footstep, no cough, no sharp exhalation of breath. Time flowed along at a snail’s pace. He crumpled up the piece of paper and shoved it back into his pocket, half angry, and half eager to reheat his hands.

The cracking of a twig caused him to whirl around in a sudden burst of speed. His heart racing, his breath ceasing sharply, he narrowed his eyes and took one sharp step away from the noise. The cigarette fell from his mouth, making a small hissing noise as the damp ground extinguished its final flame. Then, he relaxed, shaking his head and clenching his teeth together. Reaching up, he grabbed the brim of his wool cap and tugged it downward. He stepped forward.

“Finally…”

The man who stepped out of the woods had nothing that would distinguish him from any other man in the middle of the night. A large, black wool coat adorned his body, extending almost past his knees. His hands buried in the coat’s pockets, he wore no hat and no expression. As he stepped toward the very edge of the woods he turned his head up, no longer fearing he might trip over anything in the dark.

“Is everything prepared?” he asked. His voice was low and raspy.

“Of course. It’s been prepared for twenty minutes. You are late.”

The man acted as though the words never hit the air. Instead, he pulled his long and slender hands out of his pockets and unbuttoned his coat. Opening it, he produced a small, black cloth bag which made no noise as he shuffled it between his hands to button his coat again. He impatiently extended his hand, and the man who had been waiting took the bag into his own. Opening the top of it, he peered in side. The shiny metal of a small silenced pistol glared back at him, cold and emotionless. He closed the bag, careful not to touch the weapon, and put it into his own coat. He shoved his hands back into his pockets, cautious not to look too hasty to get his hands to a warm place again.

“Then, as we agreed, tomorrow evening at eight.”

“Agreed.”

“And not fifteen minutes late. We can’t afford to have you play around with punctuality like you do. Be there on time or there will be trouble.”

This prompted no immediate reply from the visitor. Instead, he turned softly on his heel, carried by the wind that had suddenly begun to intensify.

“I will be there when I am there. You will wait, or you will rush, and you will die.”

With that, the visitor departed, leaving a cold, angry, impatient man waiting in the darkness. He hissed through his teeth and cursed inwardly for dropping his last cigarette. He patted the gun inside his coat and turned to go wherever it was he was going.

Silence gripped the air, garroted the throat of life, and left it twitching, eyes bulging, on the nighttime forest floor. And then, all was still.