Two Secrets

guest post by Jorden House-Hay, 11-14-12

Note:  This short story is incomplete.   If you'd like to read beyond Part 1, please leave a comment to that effect.  Jorden says that with sufficient interest by readers he will complete the story.

Two Secrets, Part 1

It was like a clichéd scene from a bad movie. With his peripheral vision, Chuck watched him inconspicuously enter the bar through a tattered back entrance and could almost hear melodramatic music playing as the man walked edgily to an empty seat and sat down. The newcomer was dressed professionally with a crisp black suit, white shirt, shiny shoes, and sleek thin blue tie tied tightly in a traditional Double Windsor. He had messy brown hair, a strong jaw, and deep, searching eyes. Some might have considered him handsome had it not been for some intangible feature that was present in his face; you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something about the way he scanned the room and ran a hand nervously through hair that fought back against the penetrating digits was faintly reprehensible- just enough to make a person suspicious and untrusting in his company. They didn’t make eye contact, or glance even momentarily at each other, but both were highly aware of the others presence; the tension was strung through the air like a cocked bow, the string tight and quivering as the atmosphere desperately sought to release the arrow and leave the collective worlds of the two men in shambles. A bead of sweat wormed its way down Chucks face, slicing through the grease and filth that had accumulated as a result of several days without access to a shower. “There’s no way he could possibly know”, he thought, raising the back of his hand up to his grimy brow to swipe away the salty presence. His mind raced frantically, backtracking through the series of events that had led him to this moment, searching vigorously for something he could have overlooked, some clue that could ruin everything. “No”, he decided. It had been perfect. The tremendous secret that he had buried deeply in the most secure crevasses of his mind was safe. He tried not to think directly about it, as if doing so would enable the man to burst into his consciousness and pry out the precious evidence with voracious fingers.

The two sat in mutual acknowledgement, neither moving much except to take a swig from their respective drinks.  If only Chuck had known the man had been simultaneously experiencing a similarly lung-constricting paranoia that his own hidden information would possibly be found out, the two might have conspired to throw a wrench in the workings of what was to be a tragedy of catastrophic proportions.  As it was, however, neither knew accurately of the other’s distress, and the night progressed without hint of its insidious potential.