All My Sins

An obsidian

*The story has been getting so much love and feedback lately which has made me realize that I've been neglecting this! The only way it is going to get written is if I actually push through my block and DO IT. I hope that this chapter is not too off the wall, I've been very critical of the story lately and would LOVE some feedback! Everything helps! Hope you enjoy!* 

*UNEDITED*

"This isn't a fucking business proposal, Porter! It's a goddamn crime, you're asking me for a criminal investment! Did you even take the time to sit down and consider everything that it would take to make something like this happen? How much it cost to sustain it?"

Porter rolled a blunt nonchalantly in the living room of Paul's house. He knew that once he clued Paul in on the nitty gritty details of his plan that it might not go down so easy. However, Porter knew exactly how much it would take to be able to execute it and he needed Paul's help in that endeavor. Porter judged the outdated furniture and small-scale of Paul's house as unfortunate because he remembered who Paul Rosenberg used to be. And he was willing to gamble on the premonition that Paul would be just as desparate to reclaim that power, that life. Even if doing so required an adjustment of his moral compass.

"There's a teenage girl involved. How do you expect to get away with this?" Paul shook his head incredulously.

"Look, man," Denaun put the cigar in his mouth and lit before continuing. "I know this can work. Marshall been makin' his way up from the underground for months now."

"Then why go through with this crazy shit? Why are you tagging along on these meetings and making a goddamn fool out of me and yourself? What do you have to do with this?" Paul interjected.

"Because if it wasn't for me that motherfucka wouldn't even be where he's at. I'm the one that put him underground. I was the Uncle Tom lookin' fool that hyped that man up and I ain't about to turn the other way and help him to chase the dream. I ain't gon' let him fuck this up for me with his sick shit or his little bitch."

"I think there's another way we can go about this, Porter, I mean"

"Nah, now hold up. Paul why sit back and let that talent go to waste. Ain't no way this man and this girl gonna be able to keep this shit hidden. I invested in the man and I can give it to him that he's got talent, but the girl can help us to make some money too. These producers are fuckin' interested and wanna hear something, and both of em' can produce what we need to pave the way to fame. You help me to front this shit, I can handle the rest. You get back to the top and we cash the fuck out." He clapped his hands together as if it were simple.

"You're gonna have to clue me in on a little more than that." Paul mumbled and poured himself a drink.

"Sit down, Mr. Rosenburg. I'll explain it all to ya." Porter parted his lips and let the milky stream of smoke roll gently out.

-

Almost a week went by before Maureen went home. Marshall had found routine in going to the hospital after work. Every night they read through Of Mice and Men a few chapters at a time. By just the third chapter Marshall realized how at one Maureen became when she was reading. At times he found himself playing catch up within the story, losing himself in that glimmer of knowingness and surety in her eyes as they ran the familiar trail of words. While he felt it selfish, he found a different sense of purpose in being at her side.

It was a Thursday and Marshall had arrived at the hospital. Gray overcast tempted an earlier sundown and a blue-gray tint had fallen over. After having made his way up to Maureen's floor, he found that her room was empty. The bed where she had slept was bare of sheets or blankets and the blinds were closed.