Burn Letters- The Chronicle

Note~ This is the 2nd installment in the Burn Letters Series. To read the first episode look in the archives. Thanks for reading.  Additionally, I have started a new blog post at Tumblr. It has the same content, but it is a different way to view the content and be more interactive. Come Join me over there when you have a chance. I will still be putting the same content on here for those of you who want to stay. Either way. Thanks- http://uponfurtherreview-mark.tumblr.com/

His eyes adjusted to the dull flashlight. The only light in the room shone brightly upon the words that were scribbled upon the legal notepad paper used by its author. Robinson Cross was at first nervous, worried he would be discovered reading these forbidden words, but with every passing word he read he could feel his body relax and his nerves fade away. It was a feeling he had never had before; that of going down the rabbit hole and unearthing a world that was not his own. The letters provided an escapism like that of a movie, but without the choreographed movements or dialogue to reach the audience. To Robinson these letters were better, for they came from a different place in a person that is unrehearsed, and therefore, more genuine. His excitement made his hands tremble as he steadied the flashlight upon the words. 

With every word the dark basement room began to transform into the scene from the letter. It was as if Robinson was being transported from the his small lair into this new world that was being set before him. Robinson found himself looking down a long and low lit hallway in the early morning. Suddenly, a gurney shoots around the corner as a group of nurses and various medical staff race down the hall with a man lying upon a gurney. Robinson jumps out of the way of the oncoming traffic and presses himself up against the wall. Robinson cannot figure if this is real or not. It certainly feels real, but that can’t be. Can it?

Before he has time to ponder that question a door opens right across from him. A young man, about his age walks through the door. The young man, Paul, has a backpack slung over his shoulder and headphones that cover his ears. He bobs his head to the rhythm of the music as he walks up the quiet hallway and disappears into a room that says- STAFF ONLY. Robinson looks down at the letter in his hands and reads-

It was Monday morning as I entered the hospital. I was late. Yeah, hard to believe that I was late, but that car of mine broke down. You told me to get it checked out, but with what money?  Of course that was what we talked about- money or lack there of, me going to school or not going to school, me growing up, me tuning you out. We fought as usual and you reluctantly gave me the car, which I didn’t thank you for because I was too pissed. Instead, I just cranked the music louder and drove off with you yelling something at me. I know what you said, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get to work. 

Robinson looks up from the letter when he hears the door open. Paul walks out in his faded blue scrub, tightening the draw string to his pants. Paul looks up and down the hallway as if trying to decide what direction to go. He chooses to go right down the elongated road that led to the ER. The letter continued. 

At work I kept thinking about all the things you said to me and I was angry. I wasn’t angry at you, I was angry at myself because I knew you were right. I was wasting my life. I was settling when I should have been trying to do something better. That thought followed me like a shadow. I couldn’t shake it. Not until I got to the ER. Usually I try to hide out on Monday mornings, but I couldn’t that day. As I was grabbing my walkie-talkie a nurse grabbed me and said, “Paul, we have a patient coming in off the ambulance. Would you mind doing chest compressions?” I didn’t say anything like I had a choice; I just nod my head and follow the nurse. 

Robinson followed Paul into a frantic room. The nurses rush swiftly around the room like fish in a tide pool. Paul snaps on his gloves and hides himself away in the corner as if not to be seen by anyone. He watches like a spectator at a ball game the chaotic action that fills the room. Paul lets out a sigh, his eyes no longer dart from one end of the room to the other, rather they stare into the ground; his thoughts have become fixated upon something else. He slowly slips his hand into his pocket and takes out a small key, no bigger than a thimble, rolling it over and over in his masked hand. Paul, like Robinson, has ventured out of his own realm to a place that consumes his mind. Paul’s letter presses on-

I hate Monday’s at the hospital. I hate everyday at the hospital, but Monday’s especially. They are the constant reminder of what I have not done with my life. I am surrounded by life and death and here I am in purgatory. You are right mom- I live life like I have already failed. Just a state of limbo everyday. No rise, no fall. You once said “I hold the key”. No, I hold the lock that there is no key for. You tried to help mom. I understand that now. I really do. I just wish I would have listened to you. I should have listened to you.

EMT’s, as well as fireman, rush a middle-aged woman into the house, quickly transferring her from one gurney to another. The woman is in her late forties, blonde hair, and slim. She lies unresponsive as the team of nurses and doctors begin to hook her up to every machine in the room. The rapid fire dialogue from EMT technician to nurse to doctor makes Robinson’s head spin. The EMT’s said the woman was found near the bus stop lying on the ground. She had a stroke of some kind. It was bad. Paul pushes away from the corner while sliding the small key back into his pocket. He grabs a small stool and places it at the side of the gurney. He steps upon the stool and looks down upon the woman. Robinson can see a small shiver run down the back of Paul and in a mirror that sits upon the crash cart he can see a look of terror upon his face. It appears as if Paul has seen a ghost. The nurse shakes Paul out of his moment of panic. The nurse and doctors order him to begin chess compressions. He does so, albeit with a look of sadness marked on his face. The letter continues-

When they brought in the patient I was thinking of you, Mom. I had decided to change my life. To become something more. Not just because I wanted something more, but because you deserved it. You worked hard all your life to see something more in me. I wanted to show you how much more I could be. That your belief in me was not a waste of time. When my shift ended I was going to make a call to you and make that vow to you. The cruelty of life is in the promises that are not kept. 

Paul pumped his hands down vigorously upon the woman’s chest. The nurses and doctors move about him, but under the light of that room it is just Paul and this woman. He begins to press harder and faster. Sweat begins to form upon his brow, but as Robinson looks at Paul’s face in the mirror he can see that Paul has made it his mission, put the weight upon himself to make this woman live. The woman’s eyes flutter rapidly and it seems as if she is fading into a deeper and deeper sleep. The fury at which Paul is pressing down on this woman has become that of anger and despair as he looks down on her and a body that is fading away. Slowly it fades.

The flat line pierces the room as everyone goes silent. Time has, for the moment, stopped as everyone looks upon the small black monitor. Everyone that is, except for Paul, who seems oblivious to the world around him. Only the small, lifeless body that lay in front of him.

Paul finishes his letter- I am sorry mom. I am sorry that I could not do for you what you did for me. I failed you mom. And because of that I will never see you again. 

Robinson looks up at Paul continuing his chest compressions as the nurses and doctors around him try to get him to stop. All of it to no avail. The singular buzz that signifies no heartbeat becomes increasingly louder and louder into Robinson’s ears. The light of the room, too, shines so radiantly it becomes blinding for Robinson to the point he must turn away, shielding his eyes. His head starts to throb by the stimulus of light and noise that Robinson begins to scream loudly with pain.

Then silence. 

Robinson’s eyes have a hard time adjusting to the light in the basement room. He blinks a few times as he looks around at the familiar sight of letters that surround the walls. He looks at the paper that is crushed between his fist; slowly he releases the letter from his grasp, letting it sit crumpled upon his desk. He sits there and stares, but his reflective mode is quickly washed away with a sobering fact.

The lights are on! If the lights are on then that means someone must be coming. Robinson takes the letter and begins to shove it inside the envelope when he notices a small, dull metallic key inside. He takes out the small key, examining it in the light right before his own eyes.

Heavy footsteps can be heard down the hall coming towards Robinson’s work room. Robinson looks at the address on the envelope, memorizing it by picturing it in his head. Robinson races to get the small key onto his own key ring. The footsteps have picked up a louder thud meaning whoever was out there was near. The small key is hard to get onto the key ring as Robinson becomes frantic with each step that approaches closer to the door.

The door explodes open as if a raid were about to happen inside this small room. It is not Mr. Cole, but a man in a dark black uniform named Harris Barkley. Harris Barkley was a no-nonsense security patrolman for the Post Office. He figured himself a tough ex- war vet who had never actually been close to enemy lines. Basically, the post office was his war zone, the perfect sergeant for Mr. Cole to keep a tight ship. 

Barkley surveyed the room trying to find any activity of wrong doing to report. After inspecting the room he finally sizes up Robinson, who was at the furnace burning a letter using a lighter he had found in the drawer. The letter burned slowly as Robinson fingered the corners before he disposed of it in the furnace. He watched it burn before taking notice of Harris Barkley. 

Robinson speaks as if surprised by the intrusion, “Oh, hey. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I heard a scream.” Barkley grumbles.

“Yeah, the furnace is broken. I had to light the letters on fire with this lighter. I dropped the lighter and I thought this whole place was going up in a blaze.” Robinson amazed himself with how quickly that lie came out. He stole a glance up at Barkley to see if he bought the lie. 

Barkley just keeps a hard lock on Robinson, still sizing him up, before coldly stating, “Its closing time. Mr. Cole wants to see you now.”

“Okay, I’ll be right up. Thanks for the notice.” Robinson goes back over to his desk and takes a seat to begin tidying up his desk. He can feel Barkley, still standing in the doorway, has locked onto a new perp, a newbie, fresh meat- as Robinson plays cool to his bullish ways. 

Robinson is putting away some papers into his small satchel when Barkley grabs the back of his collar and drags him out of the room.

“I said now! We have some questions for you.”

Robinson struggles, pulling and yanking himself in attempt to free himself. He is sure he is caught.  Shock filled Robinson as he grasped onto the doorway. As he struggles, Robinson takes a look around the room at all the treasure disappearing before his eyes. His fingers begin to slip as Barkley exerts tremendous force upon his neck. Robinson can feel not only his fingers slipping, but his grasp upon the world he wanted to be part of. He felt more alive in that one moment reading the letters than he had at any other moment in his life. He grasped at anything to stay. Barkley though won the tug of war battle, pulling Robinson Cross from the clutches of another world.

Robinson looked down the long, dark hallway of the basement in dismay. Like Paul, Robinson was sure he had failed.

To Be Continued…. And Merry Christmas.