Complete the short story/flash fiction, that has the following opening:
“You can help her, you know.”
“Stop it, stop it, stop it.” I stood still and had my hands pressed over my ears even though I knew that wouldn’t help. “Just shut up, I don’t want to hear to you talking anymore.”
“Come on Jeremy, you know you can help.”
“And how the hell am I supposed to help her? How am I supposed to explain that I know where her boyfriend took her baby? Do I just walk up to her, tell her I’m psychic and I know what’s going on? She’ll scream and I’ll get locked up. We’ll get locked up.” It was late at night and not a lot of people were on the streets but those that were there looked at me as if I was nuts. Maybe I was.
“Jeremy,” said the voice, dripping with condescension. “We both know that I will be the one helping her, you’re just my voice.”
“The voice of fucking insanity,” I muttered.
“I can hear you, you know. I’m inside your head. Whatever you think, whatever you say, whatever you feel, I know.”
“And that pisses me off to no end you sadistic bastard. You know damn well that I want to help her but I need to make sure that I’m not going away for accessory to kidnapping when this is over.” I froze as someone put their hand on my shoulder. Fear ran through me and I damn near lost control of my bladder. I turned around, slowly, and lowered my hands so I wouldn’t look like a complete maniac.
And there she was, standing there like a lighthouse, at the same time warning me to stay away but at the same time beckoning me in. And like thousands of sailors before me, I decided to crash my ship upon her shore. Man, I suck at analogies.
“Can I help you?”
She stood there, the snow gently falling around her, with the odd flake landing on her skin and melting immediately. I wanted to be the snowflake that touched her, that melted in her presence. Instead, I was standing there like a freak.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but from what you were saying to … yourself? … do you have any information? Can you help me? The police won’t help me, no one will help me.” She started to cry, the tears starting as glistening in her eyes and continued their life following well-worn tracks down her face. She was beautiful in her sadness. And I was going to help her. I took a deep breath.
“Yeah, I can help you. Let’s grab a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you what I know.”
Post a link to the story in the comments.
A Writing Prompt A Day 