Does this mean the celebration is canceled? Who has taken over the writing now that Sam is dead? I don't even have a name yet, you only know me as detective. Hmmm maybe I will keep it like that, I like the mystique of it all. Make you wonder about our connection or where we somehow now each other but from where.
Anyway no, the celebration wasn't canceled and I will pick up right where I walked out. It's really non of your business anyway how I know Tom, or how we shared that summer together on his first visit here. Ok enough about this. Tom was standing at the window when I walked out and in deep thought. The room was completely empty, he had cleared everyone out when the detectives came. It was a good thing he had contacted me prior to all of this so I had an idea of what to expect. He was in his own world, as much as you plan for this kind of thing after it happens it still changes you, every action effects your genetic make up they say. Your brain constantly learns when it is open. He was talking to himself now and working every aspect out and it went to plan.
From the top desk drawer he pulls out his personal stash of his own bud, it's a cross strain between purple haze and Hawaiian punch. The crystallization is so rich he doesn't even touch it with his hands not to loose any potency. He takes it out with a set of large tweezers and works with it with the same razor that was being used earlier giving the high an extra kick not that it needed it.
After rolling his infamous blunt from nothing but Phillys he walks over to the bar and pours itself a Manhattan on the rocks walked back over to the desk and lights up. He pulls out his journal, a thing he hadn't had time to use since he landed. He had intentions of writing more, he had intended to go to the coffee shops in the mornings and do writing there but his romance with Alexis had him sidetracked with glee so he started writing about just that
December 20 2025
Today I saw a friend who is another guardian angel, I remember the first time we met here. It was at the same coffee shop just up the street that's still open. I was working on my first novel I had an idea of what to do, I learned from the best but there were still a few points that I needed to work on. She was wearing her uniform, she was just a traffic cop back then working the beat a regular woman married, even had kids. Had her life together and knew what she needed to do to make it to where she is now. No help of mine but her own. She was black, tall, has devine beauty, soft skin, her lips lush and her touch was entrancing. It was only one night but I will never forget it, that night she showed me something that I still hold dear, taught me more than she will ever know. I am happy that this mess will be over with, I am happy that I have found Alexis I can't wait to purpose. I think I will wait till we get back to Malibu to do that. We can have a double wedding with me and Moe......
He takes a pause from writing his blunt gone out and and the ice cubes are now half the size. He takes a sip and relishes his blunt and goes back to staring out the window. He hears the birds singing in his had from a long off memory of when he was a child. He used to go to a tiny cottage on the lake in the middle of the summer go to eastern Ontario for two weeks a year at a summer camp where he learned how to fish, create a fire, among other wildlife skills and traits.
He can still taste the smell of the fire burning if he closes his eyes and takes another sip of his aged whiskey and enjoy his personal just before a much needed sleep. He has no intention of waking up early tomorrow, he even messages Alexia to let her know that if she wants to just come upstairs in the morning he will be up for a short time and will be going back to bed. She doesn't respond.
He goes back to his journal ...
Nobody is that helpful
Nobody is that caring
Nobody listens that much
Nobody, not a soul
They don't believe I when they see it,
It's too good to be true
Nobody gives that much
Nobody loves that much
Nobody sees that much
They don't believe it when they see it, it's too good to be true
We must bring it down
We must find a way to hurt it
We must join forces to kill it
They don't believe it when they see it
It can't be real
It can't be true
It can't exist
They don't believe it when they see it, it's too good to be true
Seeing is believing
Hearing is to listen
Touching to taste its existence, it's real
Only the blind can't see
The def can't hear
And the fool never learns
Her name was Susan and I am her son
All she did was give
All you did was take
To be that much much love
Saw it taken
Not this cat, taken enough
Given enough
My love is no longer endless
Tom stops writing for a minute, he looks down at the page. To see his writing has changed since he started.
I dare not write I speak in tongue, the things I hear, the things I've done
Come to me my only son
Share with you my truth unsung
Stop speaking in riddle, speaking in tongue
God forgave his only son
I dare not write I speak in tongue
May God forgive another son
He puts down his pen and closes his journal, he puts it back into the desk.
He reaches for another book he hasn't picked up in even longer, The Guidions Bible even in the fanciest of places still one in every room. He goes right for his favorite parts and starts to read looking for the answers that led him here to begin with only the words seemed to have changed, the story doesn't make as much sense to him anymore.
He is satisfied, he looks up to look out the window one more time before going to bed, has another sip of his drink. He sleeps alone for the first time in years, only this time he knows he's alone unlike the past few years that had just past. He wasn't sleeping alone but was. Now he feels that heavy.
