The Pacifist

Business Card

Rachel

Rachel had left the bridge and wandered to one of the benches that lined the canal. She pulled out the business card again and ran her fingers across the minimal text, hoping she could recapture some of that feeling she head felt when their gazes had locked. Joseph Maxwell had promised peace, but Rachel's gut knew she'd find everything but that with him. Still, her intrigue grew stronger each time she ran her thumb across the textured card.

Biting her lip, she pulled out her phone and texted the number.

Rachel: Okay, how does this work?

Rachel sat back and waited, staring at her phone, but there was no reply. After a half hour or so, she pocketed her cellphone and walked back toward where the canal met a busy street. Shops and restaurants lined the street that had been outgrown by the city's ever increasing population.

Her stomach growled. Rachel noted her hunger and considered getting something to eat. But eating was for the worthy and she felt useless; a true waste of space. So she opted to endure the hunger pangs and walked up the street, peaking into the restaurants, imagining the conversations being had by the diners inside.

Why can't I be normal like them? she asked herself. Why can't I make plans with friends, and laugh and smile while enjoying good food? It was a good question, because Rachel always chose to be alone. She chose to ignore the few friends she had and chose to suffer by denying herself life's small pleasures.

Shoving her hands deep into her fall coat, she continued on aimlessly, her eyes trained on the ground while her thoughts alternated between roars and drifting whispers. When she finally looked up, she was shocked to see that she had walked through the little borough and then some.

Her phone buzzed.

It was a text from Joseph Maxwell's number and seeing the notification sent a tiny shiver of excitement up her spine. The text was just as vague as the card and the card's owner, containing only an address and a date and time.

"Tomorrow?" Rachel said to herself. She wondered how he maintained clients making appointments that may or may not work in one's schedule. Alas, Rachel had no schedule. No commitments. No where to be. Maybe he had sensed that about her and that was why he had boldly given her the date and time without verifying her availability. She didn't like the idea that she could be read that easily. Another text followed asking her to confirm the appointment.

She replied with, "okay."