The Dislocated Man, Part One
Read The Dislocated Man, Part One Online
Authors: Larry Donnell,Tim Greaton
| The Dislocated Man, Part One |
| Larry Donnell Tim Greaton |
| Focus House Publishing (2012) |
For nearly thirty years, Jack Werth has tried to forget his twisted past. Now, a financial broker at T. Boonsen Equities and the father of two happy children, he relies upon the love of his wife, Hannah, to keep the darkness at bay. But when a sudden screech of metal and an explosion of glass obliterates their idyllic life, a terrible entity claws its way back from the grave.
Can the love of a woman and a man bridge the border between life and death to somehow fight this evil?
Larry Donnell
was born in America (according to all official documentation available at this time), though he insists it was Olympus Mons. His myriad escapades have stretched all the way across the United States, up into Canada and back again. His first story, written in the second grade, was about a dancing squirrel...and that was followed by forays into painting, music and the ultimate creation: children. His wonderful and supportive wife at his side, his adventure continues....
Tim Greaton
lives in Maine with his beautiful wife and three amazing children. They share seven acres with one dog, two cats and a population of ducks that varies with the weather. He is a full-time corporate writer and novelist. His fiction and nonfiction have appeared in forums all around the globe. You can find his novels in paperback and ebook formats at all quality book retailers.
Sometimes referred to as "Maine's Other Author" (TM), he prefers just Tim.
The Dislocated Man
Part
One
Larry Donnell
and
Tim Greaton
ALSO BY LARRY DONNELL
Junkie Love
A Gift, Of Sorts
Tales of the
Enochian
: 01
ALSO BY TIM GREATON
Supernatural Suspense and Dark Fiction
Her Yearning for Blood
Episode One
Distilled Shadows
A Collection of Dark Stories
A Colonial Evil
Episode One
Emotional Fiction
The Santa Shop
(The Samaritans Conspiracy - Book 1)
Red Gloves
(The Samaritans Conspiracy - Book 2)
Under-Heaven
Fantasy & Science Fiction
The
Pheesching
Sector
(A 6,000 word sci-fi story)
Zachary Pill,
The
Dragon at Station End
Trilogy
Her Yearning for Blood
Episode One
The Dislocated Man
Part One
Larry Donnell
and
Tim Greaton
Copyright 2012
by
Larry Donnell and Tim Greaton
Published by Focus House Publishing
Kindle Edition
This is a work of fiction. The names and the characters are fictional. Any resemblance to living or dead individuals is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced in any form, including digital or audio sampling, internet display or download, or any other form of digital or physical display or transfer, excepting only brief excerpts for use in a literary review, without expressed written permission from the author.
Published by Focus House Publishing
Dislocated Man
, Part One
Cover graphics by Wizards Prism Art & Media
The Dislocated Man
Part One
Larry Donnell
and
Tim Greaton
Focus House Publishing
Wilton, Maine
Jack
Werth
slid into the men’s room and saw a young man, probably one of the new mailroom trainees, slamming his palm repeatedly against the sink. His shaggy blond hair, red cheeks and uncontrolled anger reminded him so much of Emil that Jack paused by the door and just stared.
Angry blue eyes swung his way.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
Jack shook his head.
“I’m
okay.
How ‘bout
you?”
“Do I look
okay
to you?”
He stripped his blue tie off with one vicious pull.
Jack raised his hands.
“Hey, I was just trying to help.”
“Well fuck you, fuck your help and fuck that
Boonsen
bitch
who
just fired me!” With that, the early twenty-something exploded past him
.
They could be twins
.
The eerie similarity to Emil clotted Jack’s
thoughts in place.
Then, a
s though through someone else’s eyes, he watched
his hand follow
the angry young man
and hover near the doorframe
.
The door slammed shut
.
Jack came to his senses
and
yanked his hand away,
but
not in time!
White hot agony shot from the tip of his pointer finger.
"Goddamn it!"
He gasped and pulled his finger out of the impossibly small gap between the steel door and the jamb.
It was as though an elephant had stomped on his finger. He clutched his thumb
and squeezed the
sharp pulsar.
It didn’t help.
A part of his brain luxuriated in the throbbing which seemed to thrum through his whole body.
"Goddamn it, I’m not going back to that.”
He dampened the perversion inside of him and willed the pain to lessen. There came a languid sense of focus as his breathing slowed and he squashed all thoughts of that horrible time from his mind. Approaching the sink, he pushed the lever and doused his aching finger. The cold water shocked then soothed the dented flesh around the bruising knuckle. He shook it and doused it again.
At least there aren’t any client reports due.
Typing was going to be out of the question for a few days…maybe longer. He cupped both hands and splashed cold water on his face, neck and stared into the mirror. No way could Hannah find out about this.
Through the closed door, he could hear laughter and the first strains of
“
Jingle Bells
.
”
Remembering he had come for a reason, Jack relieved his bladder then returned to the mirror
where h
e stared at the reflection of his dark eyes and tried to understand
how the past had crept up on him again
. It had been years—well, at least months—since he
had even thought about acting
that way. He dunked his finger several more times, took a deep breath and wiped his face with his good hand.
His therapist would have a great time with this.
“Time to go back, Jack old man.”
One more deep breath then a practiced smile slid onto his face as he exited the bathroom and flowed back into the maelstrom of co-workers and plus ones
pretending
to have fun. He waved to catch the attention of the nearest overgrown elf. Everything about the T.
Boonsen
Equities’ Christmas party
—
right down to the waiter’s green costume, replete with fur boots and a floppy green hat
—
was ridiculous.
“What can I get for you, sir?”
“Double scotch.” Jack said. He fought the urge to suck on his sore finger.
“And I’ll have a triple martini with a splash of cranberry juice
,
” Derrick added as he stepped up to Jack’s table.
“No problem
,
”
t
he young waiter said, brushing his hat’s white puffball from his forehead and moving back through the balloons and streamers. They would have been more suited to a birthday bash than a Christmas party.
“Ten to one, he screws our order up
,” Derrick said. “T
he kid never wrote anything down.”
Jack feigned a smile. Leave it to the Director of Sales to complain even at a Christmas gathering. Why couldn’t Hannah understand this was why he needed a glass glued to his hand tonight
?
How else would he survive so much face time with T.
Boonsen
management?
Dressed in the same red tie and inexpensive blue suit he’d worn earlier at the office, Derrick Branson patted his gigantic stomach. “I’m going to start spending some time at the gym. That’s my big resolution. You always keep fit, Jack. What’s your secret?”
Jack wanted to suggest the obese man use his mouth for something other than a funnel
,
but he wasn’t quite that drunk. Besides, at forty-two he was too old to be following the angry mail clerk out the door. These days, financial companies had no problem letting experienced brokers go only to replace them with new recruits willing to work longer hours for less pay. T.
Boonsen
Equities was no exception. Over the last ten years
,
average salaries had plummeted as youth among the staff increased.
God, I miss the nineties.
“A little basketball and jogging on the weekends
,
” Jack offered, which was mostly true.
He sat and admired Hannah from across the party floor. Though not quite as slim as some of the young trophy wives roaming the room, she was blond and stunning for a woman in her mid-forties. Hannah caught him looking and gave her best coquettish smile, a promise of wanton things to come. By the time they got home the boys would be asleep. Jack smiled because even if sleep won out over intimacy, he would be cuddling with a woman he still desired after twenty-two years of marriage. She and their two sons were everything. They made even the barely tolerable parts of his life somehow better.
“So I’m thinking of turning a couple of the newbies over to you, Jack. You’d make a helluva team leader
,
” Derrick offered.
Translation: I want you to train your replacements.
Jack reluctantly pulled his gaze from his wife’s shapely calves and faced Derrick’s intent gaze and fiery red nose. Why was it that people with authority felt the need to wield it even after hours? He drained the last of his scotch.
“I can’t train anyone right now, Derrick. I’m the only agent old man Van
Hausen
will deal with, and the partners specifically asked me to get his portfolio back on track this month.” He didn’t bother to add that
he had finished work on that account
earlier in the week.
“I never actually spoke with Van
Hausen
,
” Derrick said. “What’s he like? Do you think you could introduce me?”
“Hi Jack, Derrick.”
Like the goddess she was, his wife had come over to save him.
“Hello
,
Hannah
,
” Derrick said
.
“You look lovely as always.” The way the heavy man’s eyes traveled up and down her sleek red dress and paused at her chest suggested he meant it.
So much for who’s got the most power.
“Hi, Hon
,
” Jack said pulling her down for a kiss.
“I came over to take my husband away for the next slow dance.”
“He’s a lucky man
,
” Derrick said, “but it’s okay because the buffet has been crying out my name for a while now.”
Just then, the
elf
returned and handed the men
their
drinks from a full tray. Derrick fell silent because, of course, the waiter had gotten their orders right. Jack kicked his double scotch back in one gulp.
“I thought you wanted to walk out of here?” Hannah said, her tolerance reaching its limit. In the previous five years, Jack had fought two bouts of depression, the last one requiring him to join a program for six months. She had already made
it clear, medication was one thing
,
but she
would not live with a drunk.
“Last one
,
” Jack promised, even though he was already thirsting for his fifth—or was it
his
sixth?
“On that note….” Derrick heav
ed
his considerable frame to his feet and shuffl
ed
toward the lavish buffet.
“Like an emphysema patient to a smoke shop
,
” Jack said.
“Really
?
”
Hannah lifted his empty glass. “What’s
your
analogy?”
“An apologetic puppy wagging his tail?”
Jack suggested.
“Okay, that one was cute. But I’m serious. Our kids aren’t growing up with
a
lush for a role model.”
He pulled her down onto his lap. It amazed him how it still felt like a first date with her. He nuzzled her ear until strains of the
Kiss ballad “Beth” poked through the din
. Wordlessly they made their way to the floor and enjoyed the sway in time. After two decades together, they had an unspoken rhythm that was at once familiar and exotic. Date nights with Hannah always confirmed what Jack had known since the day they met: she was the perfect woman for him. By the time “Beth” transformed into “Lady” by Styx, the party around them had faded into a wash of surreal sound. It was only Hannah and Jack, Jack and Hannah.
“You are amazing
,” h
e breathed.
“That is so true Jack
,
”
s
he whispered
,
“
b
ut it
’s
very nice of you to notice. You’re not so bad yourself.”
“That was a little weak as far as compliments go, Mrs. Werth
,
”
h
e said, nibbling her ear.
“I prefer to give my compliments at home
,
” she said.
“Not fair
,
” he countered, running his hand up and down her waist. “I still have to wait for Bonnie and Clyde to give their yearly ‘make us some money’ inspirational speech. That’s probably two hours away.”
“
You know
I could have sworn I brought my pills but they’re not in my bag
,
”
s
he told him.
“
Nobody went near it when I went to the ladies’ room earlier, did they?
”
“No way
,” Jack said. “
I was like the secret service for that purse
.
”
Then, more seriously,
“That’s not like you to forget.”
“I know but…well, I must have left them on the dresser or something. I’ll just have to go home and get them. That’s all.”
Jack stopped dancing.
“I don’t want you driving, not without your medication.” Hannah had been diagnosed with a mild form of epilepsy several years earlier. It had taken three different drugs and almost six months for her to get her driver’s license back. Though she had never had a seizure while driving, he didn’t want to imagine the possibility.
“You’ll have to take a cab
,
”
h
e told her.
Hannah pouted for a moment then nodded.
“You could...
c
ome with.” Her long nail painted a tracery on his chest.
“God, I want to. You know I do.”
“But you’re going to stay.”
“Ye
ah, I have to
.”
“Okay
,
”
s
he said. “It shouldn’t take me long. Save the horizontal dancing for me, or else.” Her exaggerated snarl made him laugh.
“Okay, okay.” He started to say something else but paused.
“What, Jack?”
“I should go with you. Tipsy hot woman, cab, miscreant driver; all the earmarks of—”
“Jack, Jack. Stop right there. I’ll take Yellow Cab, the one we use for the kids. Their drivers have always been good.”
“I just worry about you.”
“I’m the one who should be worried.” She pointed at the cluster of empty glasses on the table. “Promise me you’re going to behave.”
“Okay
,
”
h
e agreed. “Less drinking and more face time with the real miscreants of the world.”