Morning everyone. I hope you are having a fabulous day. I know today is Thursday but I will be opting out of the Friday morning writing prompt this week. The reason is simple. Tomorrow I am getting married so I will be far from the computer. So after today’s prompts I will post the upcoming prompts for next week with a reminder as to what Friday’s prompt entails and I will catch up with everyone on Monday. So with that in mind, lets jump into the morning prompt.
I kind of like this idea. It could be fun to work with once I figure out why someone who is supposed to be dead clearly isn’t. It is a story line where you need to figure out the mystery and then go back and write the story. But I like the idea.
Thursday, November 21st: He could not believe his eyes.
He could not believe his eyes. He stood, welded into place. Across the courtyard he saw her. She was standing laughing, joking with one of the other apartment residents.
“It can’t be,” he whispered to himself. He voice, stunned and barely audible to his own ears.
He watched her cross the courtyard to the managers office. He lifted his foot, his body moving automatically to follow as she slipped from his sight. He stopped. What was he going to do? Walk into the managers office and demand to know what was going on?
Why she was here?
Where she was before?
Why was she not dead?
He saw her die. The accident was one of the most horrible things he had ever witnessed. It was burned into his memory. It replayed every night while he was in the hospital and for months after. He could even close his eyes for a brief rest during his physical therapy and have scenes flashing in front of his eyes. For a time he was scared to even blink too long lest images return.
It took years before he could stop seeing that night on slow motion replay and even now he had a hard time watching any movies with car crashes in them. There were five of them in the car that night. Only two survived, him and Bruce. They were close friends before but after they each reminded each other of death and pain. For their own survival they drifted apart.
Jake reached for his phone and took it out. He stared at the blank screen for what seemed like an eternity. He still had Bruce’s number, called him on occasion to check in. ‘But what would I say?’ he thought. ‘I think I saw your dead wife looking for an apartment in my building?’
It would be cruel to bring up. Dismissed or worse, seen as a sign that he had finally cracked. Still he turned on the phone, saw it light up and keyed in the passcode. Perhaps it wouldn’t be bad to check on Bruce. How long had it been? Six, eight months?
‘Longer,’ he realized. ‘Ought to call him anyway.’
Jake lifted his phone meaning to move into his contacts. Before he coupled, the woman emerged from the office, the manager in tow.
He was half hidden in the shadows and before he could think about it, he engaged the video function.
“We have several available apartments at the moment, Ms. Morrison,” Brian, the apartment manager said.
“Please, call me Meridith,” she replied. She laughed and Jake found the hair on the back of his neck rising. It was the same laugh.
They moved out of sight and he stopped the recording. Before he couldn’t move. Now, he nearly ran to his apartment. He forced himself to slow down., to not look suspicious.
‘Suspicious,’ his mind repeated laughing at himself. Why would anyone be looking at him to see if he was doing something suspicious? He wasn’t a spy nor was he doing anything clandestine. Still, something told him he didn’t want to be caught with a recording of the woman calling herself Meredith Morrison.
Ten til Midnight 