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    A Despicable Man: Ascension, #4
    A Despicable Man: Ascension, #4
    A Despicable Man: Ascension, #4
    Ebook506 pages7 hours

    A Despicable Man: Ascension, #4

    By Brian Rickman

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    About this ebook

    Casper is a modern man with decidedly modern problems. His chain of pizza shops is preparing the risky task of changing their menu. In addition to their traditional fare, he'll now begin serving grinders and chicken wings. Casper is doing so in an effort to compete with the likes of Dominos and Pizza Hut and it's costing him a lot money to do so. There are long nights experimenting to discover the perfect dressing for certain subs. He has radio advertising to purchase and menus to print. It's stressful. 

    Couple this with his now sexless marriage, two teenage kids and a mortgage that he can barely afford, Casper is being pushed to his limits. As the bills pile up, so does his anxiety and he eventually suffers a nervous breakdown. Dissatisfied with the benzos prescribed to him (they only make him sleepy, and his wife swipes them regularly), Casper turns to internet forums and discovers a promising research chemical that has received rave reviews from those with similar debilitations. 

    This drug makes everything better. He's more confident and focused; his libido is through the roof. Unable to find sexual satisfaction at home, Casper, once again, takes refuge online. He meets a beautiful, young escort and begins an ongoing tryst. In his stupor, he concludes that this is his perfect scenario. That is, until her pimp begins to cause problems. 

    It is then that Casper recalls a talent from his youth. Since he was a child, he has always been able to stop time. Although long dormant, the research chemical he's taking seems to reawaken this ability. A chance meeting with his courtesan's handler, which promptly turns violent, results in Casper putting the world on pause and manipulating his surroundings. People die and now he's on the run. Casper is no longer the owner of a pizza shop chain, he's now an outlaw, evading the authorities with an effortless zeal, his pretty, young, and understandably confused, escort in tow. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBlack Dahlia
    Release dateMar 28, 2015
    ISBN9780692319550
    A Despicable Man: Ascension, #4

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      Book preview

      A Despicable Man - Brian Rickman

      Thanks to Jessica, Kendall & Mike

      Text copyright © 2014 Brian Rickman

      All rights reserved.

      ISBN-13: 978-0692319550

      ISBN-10: 0692319557

      CHAPTER ONE

      Fuck Christopher Columbus. Fuck everything about him. Fuck him a lot. Casper felt the excitotoxicity coming on and next came the skin pricks; one thousand tiny needles danced beneath his skin at random whims. His arms were a favorite target, apparently, followed quickly by the middle of his toes and any given point on his neck. He twitched and switched in the sheets. His t-shirt was drenched in sweat. Casper struggled to sit up in bed and remove it. Exhausted, he lay back naked beneath the sheets. It was only 5:30 am and he'd somehow managed to sleep for fifteen minutes at a time, making it an hour total since midnight. Between his sporadic dozing, he focused his vitriol on Christopher Columbus. Because, seriously, fuck that guy.

      When Columbus arrived in Haiti in 1492, he immediately unleashed a fury of destruction upon the once idyllic culture of the indigenous Taino people. He began by collecting thousands of men and women from the tiny island of Hispaniola and selling them into slavery. It quickly became apparent, however, that the Taino were unsatisfactory slaves. The men were insolent in the fields and the women were violent and unhappy caretakers of Spanish children. The product Chris Columbus had been peddling to his wealthy and well-connected clientele was roundly and unceremoniously determined defective. As any slave-trading CEO will certainly attest, this would never do.

      Columbus was stuck with his product, however. After all, he’d been allotted a great deal of money to round up suitable slaves and had settled upon the Haitians.

      He couldn’t just leave, and besides, he’d spent over a year pre-promoting his find. They were exotic looking creatures; strong, beautiful and, Columbus, thought, endearingly temperamental. His customers, of course, vehemently disagreed on the third point. Should he wish to not endure the wrath of his benefactors, he’d need to find a way to adapt his product to the marketplace.

      To this end, Columbus set about ordering his men to beat the tribes into submission. Men, women, and children were randomly selected to have ears cut off and eyes gouged out. They would be then sent back to their villages, still bleeding and writhing in agony, many helplessly clutching their dismembered eyes and ears, presenting a message to their fellow citizens: the consequences of non-conformity to the Spanish will would be dire. When the tribes continued to fight their oppressors, their children were impaled alive in village squares.

      As they could not be sold successfully as working slaves, the Taino women were then shipped explicitly for sex. Girls as young as nine and ten years old were regularly raped and kept as playthings by French and Spanish men. The women left behind in Hispaniola, upon giving birth to a female child, would quickly murder it so as not to doom the baby to a torturous and miserable existence on this planet Earth. For this, Columbus collected a tidy profit.

      It is this legacy of rape, murder, and savagery that is annually celebrated without much fanfare each October across America. Generally, it’s too cold to barbeque. It’s one of those holidays, not unlike President’s Day, that everyone forgets about until that guy in the cubicle down the hall laments that payroll will be late. He’s going to have to call the company with his car note and explain why his monthly payment won’t be arriving on the due date. That damn twelve dollar late fee is going to bite him in the ass again.

      Other payments will be late as well; millions of them. In fact, most

      industries worldwide take into account this day recognizing the sadism of Christopher Columbus. The torture wrought by this man continues centuries later and has spread in ways and to lands that he could never have fathomed. Perhaps he would be proud but, mostly, he would be astonished that so long after his death he might still reach a calloused hand through the ashes of hell and somehow manage to torture a desperate man like Casper.

      He had coughing spells now that left a terrible taste of bile in his throat. If he could take any consolation in being sequestered in the middle of nowhere, it might be the slight, warm breeze brushing against his skin, filtered through the broken window screen, on an otherwise chilly autumn morning. This made him feel better, if only for a few moments. He listened to the rustling of un-raked leaves against the sidewalk outside and it mimicked the sound of what he imagined must be happening to his insides.

      The brain zaps were the worst and they came in unpredictable waves. These were shots of electricity fired like a bullet at random intervals, jerking his head back into the far too soft pillows of this ramshackle motel. The zaps were followed by a dizzying head rush, likely caused by a rush of blood to his brain that led to the inevitable spots before his eyes. He could barely see, he was congested, and Casper felt certain that he was going to die. Suddenly, the door burst open, cans clanged against the wall in black plastic bags emblazoned with yellow smiley faces. Have A Nice Day, they mocked poor Casper. A young woman’s keys got caught in the lock.

      I'm so sorry, baby, she said in her thick, southern drawl. Everything was closed. I had to drive all the way to Litchfield...

      Yeah. It’s fine, Casper managed, attempting to right himself in the bed. Too weak, he immediately fell backwards against his will.

      Lay down, baby, the girl said, fighting off tears. You just relax. What do you want first? Beer?

      Yes.

      The woman cracked a can of something terrible and helped his head toward the ragged edges of aluminum. He shook his head forward. There you go, honey. Drink as much as you can.

      Casper took the biggest sips he could muster. By the time he finished two cans, the zaps seemed to subside and the pin pricks tapered off. As the young woman indulged in a quick shower, he began to feel slightly coherent again. She emerged from the bathroom nude, drying her hair and Casper finally spoke a complete sentence. What, uh... what did you get... for pills?

      I found the Magnesium and the L Thea...

      L-Theanine.

      Yes. But not the brand you wanted, she sorted through one of the bags and handed him an economy size bottle of the supplement.

      Anything else?

      The woman bowed her head. I got two sixers, baby...

      It’s okay.

      It was after midnight, honey. Ain't nothing else out there until at least 9, Casper knew she'd done all she could; above and beyond, really. I'll go back out...

      It's fine, he said, managing a weak smile. Really. It's okay.

      She was relieved that she might be able to sleep. I checked online. U.P.S. will be here by 10. The woman saw a look of exasperation cross Casper’s face. Is that going to be enough beer?

      Did anyone follow you?

      No, baby.

      You’re sure?

      We’re in the middle of nowhere, Casper. She sat on the bed and touched his hand. Ain’t no one out here but us, some cows and a couple of rednecks minding their own.

      Where exactly are we? He’d forgotten.

      Illinois. It’s called Raymond. She crawled under the covers and hugged him gently. Casper was old enough to be her father, but he relished the feeling of her smooth skin – still sticky from the shower – against his. Still reeling from the tremors, he ran his fingers through her wet hair and took in the smell of her shampoo as he began his third beer. I’ll take a nap, sweetie, and then I’ll go get some more. Don’t worry, she whispered. I’ll take care of you.

      In a moment, the exhausted girl was sound asleep. Soon thereafter, Casper felt finally able to stand and so he tucked her in the best he could. He sat in the desk chair and watched the beautiful woman in the broken down bed doze as he made his way through the first six pack in silence. He took five of the giant Magnesium pills. This would help stave off the excitotoxicity for a time. The alcohol was slowly taming the neurotransmitters in his brain. In about three hours, the withdrawal symptoms would subside completely. Still, he’d be drunk. That didn’t solve anything. Casper checked the desk drawer only to assure himself that the guns were still there. Of course they were.

      Suddenly, he noticed the time. Casper quietly rummaged through the only bag he'd packed; tucked away beneath two sets of clothes, one of which was dirty, he found his portable shortwave radio. He extended the antenna, plugged in his companion’s ear buds and tuned it to 6425khz. Casper wearily grabbed the motel stationary and complimentary pen. He began to write down what he heard.

      64. 901. 22. 147. 15. 19. 878. 14. The sunshine has faded. Ende.

      Casper drew a line on the paper and waited for a few moments as the over-modulated bars of Internationale blared through his ears. He’d been just in time for this series. He took another drink and the voice began again.

      Achtung! 74. 721. 567... Casper stopped writing. It was a placeholder. ...23. 84. 65. 929. 44. Our hen has laid one egg. Ende.

      He sighed and rubbed his eyes as a German drinking song softly played. The cicadas sang along outside, somewhere beyond the ragged screen of his motel window, as a diesel engine began to churn and sputter on the far side of the parking lot. Someone was making an early start of things.

      Soon the sun would begin to rise above the brown and aged cornfields withering just across the road, rendering them far less imposing figures. But for now, those crackling silhouettes began to sway in the breeze. They bowed in reverence to the man bathed in the only lamp-light that shone in any window for miles. The cicadas and the diesel engines knew the score.

      Anleitung! Acht. Sieben. Sieben. Vier. Neun. Acht. Null. Ich bin sehr beschämt. Ich habe nur einen Stuhl. Ich habe Schande über meine Familie gebracht. Ende.

      Here sat one of the most powerful men in the world. Naked, dangerous, in a spiral of withdrawal; getting drunk on stale beer in a seedy motel as a young prostitute lay sound asleep in the bed beside him. Casper felt assured, at least, that things couldn’t get much worse. Once again, however, he’d invariably come to the wrong conclusion.  

      CHAPTER TWO

      "Casper, tell us about the decision to add grinders and pastas to the menu," Craig Kilborn asked.

      Well, it was obviously an economic move, in part. For thirty-plus years, our pizzas were our calling card in North Alabama and Southern Tennessee. While we had certainly been successful in this regard, I felt that the time was right for our chain to branch out; to offer our customers an additional option.

      And how was it received?

      Well. Quite well, for the most part. There was certainly an element of trial and error – I think that comes with any menu adjustment. You have to wait and see what the public will embrace, and adapt accordingly.

      Tell us about some of the items that didn't make the final cut, so to speak?

      Fuck. Milk.

      Casper weaved the car into the right lane and pulled in to the mall parking lot. He had already passed the last convenience store on his way home. He'd have to back-track. Casper had nearly forgotten Ella's call during the lunch rush. She wanted him to pick up a gallon of milk.

      The interview had ended abruptly, but they almost always did. He'd been doing it since he was a teenager; interviewing himself in the car. For Casper, it was a way to sort out problems and think things through. He found that if he expressed his concerns out loud, they were somehow easier to dissect. Why he needed John Stewart or Conan O'Brien to throw him the hardball questions was a mystery even to him. He just did it that way.

      Casper was certain that he had made the right decision to add sandwiches and pastas. The chain needed to expand its horizons if it were going to compete effectively alongside the big dogs: Domino’s, Pizza Hut. He struggled with the right selections, though. Would patrons in the Deep South embrace a Chicago-style meatball sub? Should he have gone with the Philly instead? This had kept him up nights for nearly two months. Today, though, the menus had been printed. There was no turning back now.

      Casper elected to pass the convenience store and make his way to the Foodland a little further down the road. Milk would be cheaper there. Right now, especially, money was tight. Well, it was always tight. Still, Casper had dipped in to what little personal savings he had to buy the media time he needed to promote his new menu. Ella wasn't happy about that. Ella wasn't really happy about anything – hadn't been for years.

      Casper parked his car, entered the store and went directly to the dairy aisle. Christ, it's freezing in here, he thought. Casper thought it was ridiculous to keep the aisle that cold. His walk-in cooler at the local shop was barely this temperature. He found a gallon of two-percent and noticed that the express line was the longest wait. Casper elected for aisle three instead.

      Why, hello Mr. Marten!

      Shit. It was Isabella, the ninety-something matriarch of the Whitford family. She stood smiling, ever so slowly unloading her buggy on to the conveyor belt. The menstrual, teenage cashier, meanwhile, wished her and every other customer in the store dead. Mrs. Whitford had known Casper's father but, then, she also knew everyone in town. Her late husband had made a fortune in textiles and she could easily buy and sell anyone in her midst should she, a sweet, old lady, ever wish to do such a thing.

      Good evening, Mrs. Whitford and how are you tonight? Casper smiled.

      I'm about as good as any woman my age can be. How are the children?

      They're doing well, thank you.

      We haven't seen you at brunch lately. Mrs. Whitford had stopped unloading her cart at this point to focus solely on Casper.

      Yes, I know, said Casper. I've been awfully busy, and have even found myself working Sundays, I'm afraid.

      Well, that's just not right. Do you know they took prime rib off the menu at the Marriott?

      You don't say?

      They surely did.

      Mrs. Whitford, can I help you with that water? Casper said, referring to the 24-pack of bottled water that Isabella had miraculously managed to load into her shopping cart.

      That would be nice. Thank you, Mr. Marten.

      Casper used this opportunity to also begin moving the rest of the items in her buggy to the conveyor belt. The check-out girl smiled barely and silently concluded that he would be spared her wrath.

      So, you've been getting along well? Casper asked, simply to avoid an awkward silence.

      I've had a vaginal discharge for the past month.

      Oh.

      Doctor Johnson says it's just a minor infection but I think it's the medication they've got me on.

      Casper now became the most pitied man within earshot. Well, have you told him you think it's the drugs?

      He won't listen. He's just like his father. Stubborn as all get-out. That's what got his Daddy killed.

      Well...

      Do you know that he had a chance to survive that cancer if he'd just done the radiation?

      I did not know that.

      Mrs. Whitford frowned and shook her head disgustedly. Didn't want to lose his hair.

      I see...

      One hundred thirty-two fifty, the cashier finally said.

      Isabella fumbled for her check book. Good lord. Do you know that's just for me for the next two weeks? I can't imagine what your grocery bill might be, Mr. Marten.

      It's not cheap. Don't forget, I have to feed the whole town.

      Isabella laughed. You know, I need to order your pizza soon. I haven't had it in ages.

      Casper nearly told her about the new menu but that would only extend the conversation further. Well, I'll bring it by personally if you do.

      Oh! You don't have to do that... but it sure would be nice.

      Isabella was given her receipt and she struggled to push the cart out of the aisle, finally making way for Casper to purchase his milk. He noticed that the express line was nearly empty now.

      Well, you take care of yourself, Isabella, Casper called as a bagger began to help her with her cart toward the door.

      I will, and you kiss those lovely children for me!

      I sure will. As Isabella made her way to the exit, the cashier mumbled something disparaging under her breath. You know someday, if you're lucky, Casper told her. You'll live to be that old too.

      The girl rolled her eyes and held out her hand. Three ninety-eight.

      Casper turned the car into his gated community and waved at the security guard as he raised the crossing bar. Tomorrow was garbage day and every driveway in the neighborhood was adorned with large, green barrels, placed precisely where the HOA had determined acceptable. The front lawns were perfectly cut. The HOA took care of this too, sending a crew weekly to mow each lawn in succession. God forbid one lawn should be longer than another. The back yard was up to you.

      It was early October and a few homes had already decorated for the occasion. Casper wondered if Ella would allow him to dress the house up for Halloween as well. She shot the idea down last year, saying that the kids were too old for it to matter. Casper didn't see it this way. It was for the little ones that came trick or treating. Besides, he liked doing it. Ella thought it was gaudy. Christmas was the only time she would approve of her landscaping being altered and, even then, it had to be tasteful. There would be no giant Santas in the Marten's front yard... and certainly no scarecrows.

      Casper sighed as he climbed the stairs of his front porch and let himself into the house. The dog greeted him at the front door and Casper gave him a pat on the head and a smile. Otherwise, the house was quiet. He knew where everyone was. The kids were locked in their rooms and Ella was probably in the living room watching television. It would be up to him to make dinner. Ella didn't cook.

      He walked into the living room and found Ella asleep on the couch with the T.V. on. A nearly empty bottle of wine sat on the coffee table, as usual. He clicked it off and she woke up.

      Hey, he said.

      Hey. Ella rubbed her eyes, sat up and began to stretch.

      I got the milk.

      What?

      The milk. You told me to...

      Right. Yeah. Thanks.

      The kids in their rooms?

      As far as I know, yes.

      All right. I'll get dinner started.

      Okay, Ella managed through a yawn.

      Casper put the milk in the refrigerator, did a brief scan of its contents, and began contemplating the evening meal. While he thought about what to make, he walked upstairs to his daughter's room, knocked on her door and opened it to find her sitting at her computer.

      Hey, honey...

      Hi.

      You working on homework?

      No.

      Oh. How was school today?

      Fine.

      Did, uh... Casper tried to think of more conversation starters. Did the car run okay today?

      Yeah. Why?

      I was just... Y'know. I just wanted to make sure you're not having any problems with it.

      Well, it's old.

      Well, if you'd get a job...

      I know, Daddy. I don't want to work at the store.

      Okay. I'm just sayin', Casper wasn’t in the mood for a fight with his moody teenage daughter. I'm going to make dinner. You hungry for anything in particular?

      No.

      Okay, then... Casper shut the door and walked past his younger son's room and found him playing video games. Hey, bud.

      Hey, he said, not taking his eyes away from the television screen, erupting with gunfire and the shouts of other players from around the world.

      You get your homework done?

      Not yet.

      Okay. I'm making dinner. Do you want anythi–

      Dammit! Fuck you, faggot ass-hound!

      Hey! What the hell?! Language, son!

      My platoon is getting wiped out.

      You don't need to cuss.

      Another prepubescent voice with a thick Indian accent emerged from the speakers, This is what you get! You are a gay nigger fag!

      His son gave him a defeated look. Casper realized that this was par for the course. Back in his day, this sort of taunting bullshit was relegated to the locker room. Today, it was worldwide and his kids faced disembodied bullies in countries they could hardly pronounce. Just... try to win without stooping to their level... or something, he finally said,

      All right, Dad.

      I'll call you for dinner shortly.

      Sure, okay. The boy's character was shot on the screen. Oh! You son of a bitch! Your mother's a whore!

      That night at dinner, it would be more of the same, really. Casper would attempt to engage his family in conversation and little would come of it. His daughter, a pretty, sixteen-year-old débutante named Jenny, would be evasive. His son, twelve year old Casey, might be argumentative unless Casper could steer the conversation to football and talk about the Tide.

      Ella would spend most of the meal making sure the children didn't slouch and ripping into her after-dark bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

      It was a mundane existence and Casper knew it. So, he spent most of his time dedicating himself to his work. When the kids and Ella went to bed, he'd crack a beer and surf the internet for a while. Maybe he'd watch some TV. Mostly, though, he would pour over spreadsheets and crunch numbers. Unfortunately, he always found the same result. They were barely getting by.

      Casper couldn't really afford everything Ella demanded. The house in the upper middle class neighborhood, three car notes, the clothes, the Country Club membership; everything came with a cost – too much for a man with eight stores barely turning a profit. They were living month to month. Ella was well aware, but the kids didn't have a clue.

      Ella had no intentions of altering her lifestyle. Her entire life, she had been accustomed to finer things and, at forty, that wasn't going to change. In truth, Casper knew this when he married her. What he didn't anticipate was the complete disregard she seemed to show him. Maybe she didn't need to get a job to help the family out, he thought, but she could, at least, show him some affection or concern.

      Casper and Ella's marriage was barely intact. After Jenny was born, their relationship became a sexless abyss of passive-aggressive nonsense. Short of a chance encounter following too much wine, Casper could count on getting laid maybe four times a year. Even then, the sex was boring. While they kept it well hidden from the children and friends, they fought constantly; mostly about money and sex. In truth, they were little more than room-mates, raising two children.

      Divorce could have been an option, but it was complicated. Ella had taken precise care to ensure that her family was well regarded in society circles throughout Alabama. A divorce would humiliate her, and Casper felt certain that she would make it nearly impossible for him to see the kids. He suspected that she would move the children back to her parents' home in Georgia. The travel cost of visiting every few weeks, coupled with alimony and child support, would have left him bankrupt or an absentee father.

      This was coupled with the fact that Casper’s family business regularly teetered on financial disaster. It was Ella’s father who Casper could rely upon for last minute bailouts. His credit was shit following years of Ella’s overspending and some miscalculated business moves on his part, so banks weren’t realistically on his radar. While he rarely had to turn to Ella’s family, he did feel a certain comfort in knowing that the option was present. Additionally, he also quietly longed for the day that Ella’s mother and father would pass away.

      Of course they were wonderful people. Casper, in fact, liked them better than he enjoyed the company of their daughter. Yet, they were exceedingly wealthy. Should they both – for sake of argument – perish in a blazing car accident outside of Atlanta (not that Casper would ever admit to having imagined such a thing), that wealth would be passed to their three children and thereby Casper as well. Casper knew that if he could bide his time, he might be able to afford to send his children to exceptional schools and, perhaps, enjoy the rest of his days in relative comfort.

      Should he and Ella separate, obviously, this would no longer be an option. Not only would he never see his kids, a divorce would financially benefit only her. Casper would be left in ruin. Inevitably, his business would fail and he’d likely lose his only source of income. Despite everything, divorce wasn’t a possibility and they both knew it.

      Ella, meanwhile, seemed perfectly happy with the current arrangement. Sure, she hated the arguments, but as long as Casper kept up with the mortgage, Ella had little to complain about. She was a kept woman, after all. Short of the occasional volunteer work, she'd never worked a day in her life and had no intentions of doing so now. Ella knew that Casper would always break down and give her what she wanted. He was obligated. Besides, she knew that at her age, despite her financial prospects, her days of being a seductress were long behind her. She’d feel ridiculous operating as a cougar. It was far beneath her stature, imagined or otherwise. No, Casper would do just fine, she thought. She’d weather the arguments, assured that he was, in all, a decent man. Ella thought that she could have done much better, for sure. But Casper would do. In her mind, she had more important things to occupy her time with than questioning her choice of spouse. There was, after all, a fundraiser coming up for the Community Center.

      Of course, it hadn't always been this way. When Casper and Ella met in college, they clicked immediately. They liked the same bands, they read the same books and the sex was fantastic and frequent. She was a wealthy girl, attending her Dad's Alma Mater, the University of Alabama. Casper's family was reasonably well-off, thanks to his Dad's popular pizza shops, but he went to the school on a scholarship and student loans. Despite the financial gap, they were a great pair. They were engaged and her family embraced him with open arms.

      Upon graduation, Casper had dreams of pursuing a career in advertising and public relations. In fact, he was being considered for an internship at a large agency in New York City. Ella’s parents had even agreed to bankroll their move and cover their expenses during the unpaid tenure. Casper felt confident that he’d land a position with the firm at the conclusion of his internship. At very least, this would give him the connections he needed to make inroads in the business. Yet, it was not to be.

      Casper’s father fell ill the summer after graduation and his mother pleaded with him to return home to Florence and assist her in operating the restaurants. What was to be a temporary misstep in the trajectory of his chosen career became permanent when his Dad passed away from prostate cancer. He immediately took over full operations of the three stores as his mother retired, gifting her shares in the business to Ella and Casper as a wedding gift.

      There were worse things that could have happened. The business was a profitable one and while Casper’s father never had intentions of growing the chain further, Casper used his marketing knowledge and college education to expand the operation over time. Under his leadership, the company added five stores and, for a time, did exceptionally well. Ella and Casper bought houses and cars and had kids. They joined the Country Club, moved upward in Florence society and, in a flash, they were forty years old.

      Now it was 2009; the year that Michael Jackson died. Casper was never a fan of the pop star while he was alive. Sure, when he was a kid, he had the Thriller album but, then again, who didn't? Someone gave it to him for Christmas one year. Beyond that, however, Casper never really gave his music much thought. Michael Jackson was just there. He was always there. In an instant, though, he was gone.

      Other idols of his formative years had died, of course. Kurt Cobain, Casper thought, was an especially tragic loss; also, that guy from Sublime. Yet, whereas Cobain died in the prime of his life, by choice, Michael Jackson's death represented a long and well documented struggle with his own mortality coming to an abrupt and graceless end. It was the equivalent to the death of Elvis Presley for the baby boomers; John Lennon's for the hippies. This was Generation X's wake-up call that they too were mid-way through their allotted time above ground. In June of that year, this made Casper think and reassess. Unlike so many others, Casper didn't mourn the loss of an artist but he did begin to mourn the loss of his youth.

      To this end, he began to re-imagine the steps that led him to his present circumstance. He did this in secret. Casper had only a few friends and he'd never burden them with this sort of nonsensical soul searching. Also, some of the things he did were borderline creepy.

      In particular, Casper began to stalk an old girlfriend online. Not just any girlfriend, however. This was the girl that Casper was certain that he was meant to marry. They'd been an item for nearly four years until Casper broke her trust. He began sleeping with another woman. Ella.

      Katie was an innocent girl, two years younger than Casper. She was about the most wholesome person he'd ever known. Katie was beautiful; flawless, sun-kissed skin and shimmering blue eyes that grew wild when she’d kiss him. Katie was also about as country as they come, but that was part of her charm. She was the type that believed sincerely in first and true love and, without reservation, Katie gave her heart to Casper unequivocally. He shattered it with embarrassing abandon and, because of this, he never really forgave himself.

      High school sweethearts, Casper and Katie separated when he went to college. There, he remained loyal to her for two years, seeing Katie only every other weekend and summers, of course. In the meantime, Katie worked at his father's restaurant, waiting tables. In his absence, she was embraced lovingly by his parents. The plan was that she would join him in Tuscaloosa upon graduation and they'd begin to build their lives together as they completed their schooling. It was naïve. Casper slowly began to recognize this by the close of his sophomore year.

      One night at a bar, he was introduced to young Ella by a mutual friend. She, too, was beautiful but a stark contrast to Katie in every way. Whereas his devoted girlfriend possessed a childlike goodness about her, Ella exuded sophistication and poise. Yet, a spark of impending danger seemed to follow her into every room. She had a confidence about her that was infectious. If Katie brought to Casper tranquility and peace, Ella offered adventure, cool refinement, and elegance.

      Mostly, Casper was quite impressed that someone like Ella had expressed any interest in him at all. She was just so far above his station. The night they met, they had too much to drink and had sex back at his apartment. She was only the third girl he'd ever been with. When he woke, he fully expected to find Ella long gone. Instead, she greeted him with a bloody mary and treated him to lunch at an upscale cafe off-campus. They began seeing each other regularly thereafter.

      Casper began making excuses as to why he couldn't make it back to Florence to visit Katie. In time, though, the lies wore thin and Casper and Ella grew inseparable. Poor Katie had her suspicions but kept her chin up and her denial strong. Had Casper been a man about the affair, she might not have deluded herself so terribly. When the news finally did hit her, courtesy of a friend who'd witnessed Casper and Ella together while visiting her brother at the university, all of those delusions collapsed in an awful frenzy.

      She desperately tried calling Casper but he wouldn't return the calls. She wrote him frantic letters and, while he read them, he just didn't know how to respond. Casper would later reason that he was confused; just a stupid kid, infatuated with a new love. But the truth was, he was only cruel. He was selfish and the damage he did to this girl would jade her forever.

      Katie's world was thrown into such disarray that she quit her job and locked herself in her room for a week. She wouldn't eat and she refused to go to school. Katie's parents were at a loss and frightened for her. It was so bad that Casper's father made an unannounced trip to Tuscaloosa to have words with his son.

      Do you love this girl? This Ella?

      I don't know, Dad. We're... close. Yeah.

      Well, then, what about Katie?

      I don't know...

      This is a complicated situation, son. Casper paused and took a sip of his coffee. While he'd been purposely ignoring the inevitable, he was well aware that his predicament was not without its consequences. You and Katie. You have... history.

      She'll always be important to me, Dad.

      You know what I mean. Casper nodded. What does this Ella know about Katie?

      I haven't mentioned her.

      Casper...

      It just hasn't come up.

      It hasn't come up that you're already attached? Practically engaged? Really?

      She never asked.

      I'd reckon you need to breach that topic immediately.

      You'd like her, Dad. Ella.

      Maybe I would but that's not the issue at hand. There are more important matters. Casper's father now gave him a very stern look. Son, do you understand the circumstance?

      Yes. His Dad continued to stare him down. I really do.

      Well, then we need to go back to your place, pack a few things and...

      Dad, I have classes...

      You're coming home with me. Casper's father stood, took a final sip of his coffee and shoved his chair under the table. This matter is closed. Let's go.

      Maybe this is all part of the new chapter, Dad.

      His father leaned in close and nearly whispered, You know damn well Katie doesn't deserve that. Now get your ass up out of that chair.

      Casper did as he was told and returned home to break things off with Katie. It was one of the most difficult things he'd had to do at that point in his life. While it was certainly devastating for Katie, Casper had the benefit and assurance of Ella waiting for him at the end of it all. Katie was now left with nothing, save her broken heart.

      Over the years, Casper heard the occasional word about Katie's whereabouts. She went to college in another state, got her degree and moved on. Years later, Casper found her on Facebook but he never had the courage to friend her. Surely, she must have seen his name pop up as a suggested friend as well. They had numerous mutual acquaintances after all, but Katie never made the first move. Some nights, after a few solid drinks, Casper nearly pressed the button to send the request. A fear of rejection and embarrassment for what he’d done always overcame him.

      Through what little he could see of her Facebook account, he did manage to find out where she worked. Katie was employed by a steel manufacturer in Pennsylvania, as the head of Human Resources apparently. With this intel, he obtained her email address. And there it sat in his address book, untouched. He chose instead to let it taunt him daily.

      Casper also obtained her direct office line via the company’s website. He hadn’t called it. Some nights, he debated phoning her office after hours. Just hearing her voice on the voice-mail would be interesting, he thought. But what if she had caller ID on her phone? She’d recognize the area code. It might worry her, thinking that a family member had called or something.

      What would he ask her anyway? Casper didn’t know where to begin a conversation with Katie today, nearly twenty years since they last spoke. He wanted to say that he was sorry. At the very least, he wanted an assurance that she’d forgiven him and moved on. She hadn’t married. At least, according to her Facebook profile, she still had her maiden name. In his arrogance, he wondered if he’d scarred her so irreversibly that she was unable to have a relationship with another man. Maybe she was a lesbian now?

      Worse, perhaps, Casper had come full circle and karma had bit him squarely in the ass. This is what troubled him the most. What if, today, Katie was happy and had never given him a second thought? There was, after all, the distinct possibility that she was still a beautiful thirty-seven year old woman with jet setting boyfriends and a successful career. Katie might be a leader in her field, adorning the cover of Human Resources Today magazine and renown for her advancements in divergent employee screening policies. Meanwhile, here he sat in North Alabama, nursing his sixth beer, trolling porn sites and debating the cost of Ricotta cheese. No. Casper could only take solace in the hope that Katie was miserable now.

      And so, middle age came upon Casper quite suddenly thanks to Michael Jackson but, beyond his obsession with Katie, the requisite crisis

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