Complication

by R.A. Graves

  ** * **

  Michael stood on the bank and watched Debora drop. She went beneath the brown water and as far as he could tell, never resurfaced. He walked the water front for three hours looking for any sign of her and saw nothing but the uninterrupted flow of muddy water. He contemplated going to the police, but that would only draw more attention and do nothing to actually help Debora. Instead he wandered the streets, too afraid to go back to the hotel. Whoever it was that was chasing them might very well know where they were staying.

  As the sun went down, the lights of the city came up, glowing in their unnatural colors of dark purples and greenish blues. A whole new class of people filled the streets, with a whole new set of businesses opened to cater to them. Prostitutes, fortune tellers and drug dealers were perched along the curbs. They called out to him with friendly invites, seeking his business.

  A fortune teller hissed at him from a shadowy doorway. She was dressed in the signature garb: a baggy black and white burqa. A white swatch of cloth covered her face from her cheeks down and another of black mesh covered her eyes. Michael ignored her.

  “Hey. Hey,” she said in a whispery yell. The woman pushed away from the building and followed behind Michael. “No thank you,” Michael called back, picking up his pace. The woman was persistent. She followed him the length of the block until finally Michael turned around. The lady stopped short, lightly bumping into him. He grabbed her arms and shook her. “Get away from me,” he said. He looked into the dark cloth that covered her eyes. “I don’t want my future read. I don’t have one.”

  “Mr. Bandolier,” she whispered, “it’s me.” Michael’s grip loosened and his hands fell from her arms. She let the veil over her face drop. It contoured her nose, her lips and the point of her chin as it slipped to a crumpled mess around her neck. Michael laughed, and nearly threw his arms around her. He stopped himself and just gripped her shoulders instead.

  “I thought the river spirits had you, for sure,” he said.

  Debora pulled cloth up, revealing her arm, and showed him the watch that hung loose and bulky on her wrist. The face of the watch glimmered in the glow of the city lights. The band was darker, having been soaked in the river.

  “They didn’t get this either,” she said.

  Seven