Glimpse: Volume 2: Glimpse

Other Works:

Glimpse: Volume One

A Week and Some Change

The Spirit of Magic

Nowhere in Particular

The Committed

A Time to Commune

Copyright © 2012, 2019 Glimpse | Justin Mermelstein

All rights reserved.

Written and illustrated by Justin Mermelstein

Edited by Marissa van Uden

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

If you’ve stumbled across this book without

purchasing it and you like what you’ve read,

please support the arts and purchase a copy.

Any resemblance to anything real is purely coincidental.

for Belle Belle

Time is a circus, always packing up and moving away.

-Ben Hecht

The time I kill is killing me.

-Mason Cooley

ONE

The fireplace ed brilliantly. Even from across the room, Morgan could feel the heat. He sat on a white leather couch with one leg crossed over the other and tapped his fingers nervously.

Sheila took a drink of wine. Her lipstick left the trace of her mouth on the glass.  Do you really think I’m afraid? she asked, and dragged on her freshly lit cigarette.

Afraid? Gabriel Burn said. No, I don’t think you’re smart enough to be afraid. If you were afraid, you would have kept your nose out of my fucking business.

Morgan stammered, Look, we didn’t—

Shut up, Burn snapped. I don’t want to hear a word from you. When I want your worthless opinion, I’ll ask for it.

Morgan shifted uncomfortably back into the leather. Two hard-looking men in suits stood behind the couch, one at each end.

You invaded my privacy, Burn said, leaning forward. And then you tried to expose my work – not that anything you did would have made a goddamned difference.

Your privacy! said Sheila. What about everyone else’s privacy! What about them! You steal their money and then have the balls to talk about your privacy!

"Oh, now Sheila, are you judging me? You of all people, with your Robin Hood moralities?"

She shook her head. I can’t believe we trusted you.

Burn quickly and violently grabbed her by the face, like a grandmother would a misbehaving child. He hissed in her ear, For quite some time now, I’ve dreamed about slitting your fucking throat and watching you bleed all over this couch.

Morgan moved as if he were about to stand, but one of the suited men grabbed him by the back of the neck and held him in place.

You self-righteous cunt, Burn said, pushing away her face. I’m glad you’re not afraid. It makes it easier.

She began to laugh, until the larger of the two men stepped forward and grabbed her by the hair on the back of her scalp. He pushed her head forward and, with the other hand, slit her throat in one effortless motion.

Morgan shrieked and jumped up. Blood spurted from the wound as Sheila gasped for air. The man casually wiped the blade of the knife on the back of her dress as her head drooped forward. A few seconds later, her body fell lifelessly to floor.

Morgan stared in horror at the growing pool of blood beneath her. The other man grabbed him from behind again. This time Morgan tried to pull away, but a sharp blow to the kidneys brought him to his knees.

He crawled over to Sheila. No, no, no! He held her against his chest, and her blood soaked him in red. He clenched his teeth and cried.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, said Burn, I think it’s time you and I had a conversation. He motioned for one of his men to lift Morgan up.

Don’t fucking touch me! Morgan roared. Another shot to the kidneys took his breath away. One of the men pressed a gun hard against Morgan’s cheek.

Will you cut the dramatics? said Burn. He picked up his scotch, knocked it back like water, and returned the empty glass to its coaster. He walked to the oak bar built into the wall underneath a large picture window. The stars glistened off of the lake outside. He lifted a decanter and filled his glass halfway.

It took both men to bring Morgan to his feet.

Please, sit. Burn said and motioned to the chair in front of his desk. The men dragged Morgan over and shoved him down into the seat. "You’re a business man, Morgan. You know how it works. You run your own company. Like me, you also control every aspect of what you do. I admire that.

If someone tried to compromise your business, how would you react? Burn asked. "Wouldn’t you do whatever it takes to protect yourself and your family’s best interests?"

Morgan thought about Chester and Darcy. What would he tell them about their Aunt Sheila?

I work very hard doing what I do, Burn continued. I do not think it is very fair that someone would try to ruin all of that for me over a technicality. As if no one else in the business world exploits an advantage and uses it. Come on now. Can you tell me that you’ve never used our gift to get ahead?

Morgan stared forward blankly, refraining from making any eye contact.

And we both know that your ability is much more refined than mine. So, I want to make you a proposition, Burn said, sitting down in his chair behind the desk and clasping his hands. If you come work for me, I won’t kill everyone you love.

You’re a bastard, Morgan spat.

Think of little Darcy, Burn continued, ignoring Morgan. Those sparkling green eyes. How old is she? Ten? Eleven? It would be a shame if something were to happen to her. Or your son. Or your wife.

Morgan was out of options. What do I have to do? he asked, nearly inaudible.

The same thing that I do, only better. Burn grinned through his perfectly veneered teeth. We will make a lot of money, you and I. And your family can live a very comfortable and safe life.

Whatever you want, Morgan said. Please, just leave my family out of this. The drying blood on his face started to harden. I wasn’t even involved. Sheila is the one who wouldn’t stop. I tried to stop her. I told her a million times that it wasn’t a game …

I understand that. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. That is why you aren’t dead right now. But you should have come to me first.

Morgan shook his head. I was too afraid.

Well, now you have a second chance. Burn loosened his blue silk tie. I’m relocating part of my operations to San Francisco and will be spending some of the year there. When I’m here, you’ll help me when I need you. When I’m in San Francisco, I’ll expect you to come out for a few weeks and help me there, too. Take your family on vacation. Whatever you need as an alibi.

Fine, Morgan accepted quickly. Fine, I’ll do it. You just tell me what I need to do and how.

Burn laughed. You can relax now, Morgan. Have a drink. He got up and poured another glass of scotch. "No one can know. Not even your wife. If I find out that you tell anybody …" He nodded at Sheila’s body.

*

My name is Chester Dyllis and I’m twenty-eight years old. It is the fourth of July, 2013. If you’re watching and listening to me speak right now, it is because we share the same curse. He stared out into the emptiness that surrounded him. It also means that, unless you’ve stumbled across me by sheer luck, you are here for a reason. Perhaps you’ve heard stories about me. Maybe I die here soon, and you’ve come to see how it happens. He inhaled deeply.  The smell of gunpowder and the rotting garbage of Chinatown filled the air.

I thought I understood the value of my life. I didn’t. Not as I do now. I’ve learned to fight for it, and I will keep fighting for it. That’s just the way it is. It shouldn’t take facing death to show you how much you appreciate your life, but sometimes it does. And if we want to see the future, we need to get used to it.

Chester brushed away the sweat-drenched hair stuck his forehead. His voice resonated against the walls of the alley.

"The future. What an odd concept now. It all seems so implausible, doesn’t it? The biggest revelation I’ve had through any of this is realizing how much we all think about the future – what we’ll be, who we’ll be, how many we’ll be. Two or three children? A two-car garage or a hot tub? How will we make rent? We plan for a future in an effort to create memories for a past. There is no present. None. Whatever happened to living in the moment?

We’re in this together, whether you’re here a month from now or fifty years from now. As you listen to this, I’ve already made my memory. Now you’ll make yours. And then we’ll fight for those memories.

He brushed his fingertips across the rigid surface of a brick. A firecracker sizzled somewhere in the distance. The