Phases Eight

Phase 4 The Host

Trust is fragile. So delicate. Once it is broken, it can never be fixed.

Jake's trust on Barbara was broken that night. A fine serve of swear words wouldn't suffice his stupidity. It was too obvious. Any outsider would've guessed that it was a trap. But he was too mesmerized to contradict with reality and fantasy.

What is the maximum limit to honesty observed in the world?

Zero?

Nah that's too much. Jake's answer would be negative infinity.

Then why did he lure himself into a deadly trap? Why didn't he listen to the elderly man when he said to run away? Did his dumb desire of possessing a Ducati blinded him? Not even in his dreams he pictured himself locked behind the bars for a ride.

Filled with pride as always he was, Jake fooled himself that the man who tried to save him was envious of him. As he flew past the streets in the Monster, patrol cars surrounded him, bringing the bike to a halt. Jake's hands were cuffed, and he was wrongly accused of stealing the bike from the Night club.

The moment was picturesque like in the movies. A rough hand held the back of his neck and pushed him into the patrol car with a blaring siren. No one saw this happening. The only thing that made Jake not lose his nuts.

He let out a humorless laugh.

He was most cautious to not fall for temptations and desires. And there he sat, in the Brooklyn police station just because he truly believed someone for the first time. Trust paid its price as usual.

Jake tried narrating the last night's incident to prove his innocence, and there came the mysterious part. He was ridiculed by the policemen, and was asked to prepare a new story, as Barbara Hamilton was dead five years ago.

Spooky, isn't it?

Jake remained mute over revealing his identity as he didn't want Will or Anne to think that he turned into a burglar. Anne would be mad at him for not taking care of Will. If only he had not met that fake Barbara last night, his life would've been normal, not involving cold nights at cells in starvation. Anger and frustration seethed inside Jake, expected to pounce at anyone before him.

A short and burly policeman with a thick mustache opened the cell and pushed in a tray of food. Though he didn't have the intention of tasting jail food, he peeped at the tray, intrigued to know about prison menu. Occupying the plate were two thick slices of bread, which appeared as heavy as rocks. Even the faint grumble heard from the bottom of his stomach abruptly stopped.

A pair of boots clip-clopped across the hallway. The door was pushed open without any hesitation. A man wearing neat and crisp solicitor uniform, made his way to the inspector. Patrolmen company never perturbed him like it did for normal people. He spoke less, but each of his words were bold and sharp. He maintained eye contact while talking to make people believe while he fed them with lies. His shoulders were stiff and his body was composed, not allowing anyone to look through him.

Jake's cheeks burned with embarrassment. He wouldn't have spent a miserable night in the cell, if he had listened to him.

Jake flinched as all the eyes in the room were on him. The solicitor submitted a few papers, and the burly policeman unlocked Jake's cell. Without looking anywhere, Jake strode outside the station.

"Jake stop" called the solicitor.

Jake turned back to him with a snort."I know, I must've listened to you. I'm sorry I didn't, but you must've insinuated me, that it was a stolen bike"

"Calm down, Jake. I'm really sorry. I must've warned you properly, but how did you expect me to tell you, that my sister-in-law is a thief?" he said.