How to escape your imagination

Chapter 7

"You said that there was some goal you have to accomplish?" Martha asks, curiosity burning inside her. We had arrived at the house a few minutes ago, and immediately got into the conversation.

I shrug, distinguishing the intrigued flame in her eyes.

"That's my punishment, I guess." I say, not completely paying attention.

Martha looks puzzled.

"You know, for dying and stuff." Francis cuts in to resolve the look of confusion on her face.

Giving him a hard stare I continue. "This anonymous voice informed me that dying would mean that a punishment had to be afflicted for being in that car crash."

Martha looks startled. "Oh Jonathan, I didn't realize it was a car crash."

I nod. Francis looks between Martha and I holding back a smile. "Yeah well, I didn't realize that Martha could be so sensitive."

She smiles planting a kiss on your cheek.

After she pulls away, Francis has taken over her look of confusion and speaks.

"What I don't understand, is how Matthew died exactly when Jonathan did."

Matthew looks over to me, his nod agreeing with Francis' statement.

"That's a fair point."

I step closer to Matthew, narrowing my eyes.

"Could it be possible?" I say. "For our lives to be connected, I mean."

Matthew shrugs, looking down at his shoes.

"It's definitely possible."

Martha sits down on the arm of an old chair.

"Wait, so you mean if Matthew dies..."

"So does Jonathan."  Francis cuts in once more. "That could be a problem."

I nod. For the first time, I agree with Francis.

There is a moment of silence where nobody says a word, before finally Martha pipes up.

"Don't worry, we won't let either of you die, ok?"

Matthew and I agree.

All of a sudden there is a knock at the door. Francis rises off of the couch and cautiously moves across the room towards the noise. He slowly wraps his fingers around the door-knob, and quickly pulls it open, revealing nothing. He looks around in complete confusion, before finally looking down to find a small white envelope. He reaches down, grasping the letter as if it were a bomb.

"What is that?" Matthew asks, looking over Francis' shoulder.

He shakes his head. "I...don't know."

He rips open the envelope turning around to face us.

The letter inside is small, and precisely folded. Almost as though written and printed by a computer.

The printing is small, kind of a challenging read, but it doesn't stop Francis.

He sucks in a bit or air before he reads:

You really think I would let you get out of your adjective that easily?

Nothing's changed, Brier.

12:45pm, Brooklynn bridge.

If you aren't there, your friend dies.

Francis finishes in almost a whisper.

"That's it?" Matthew says in shock.

Francis nods glancing down at the paper, turning it around in his hands.

I jump as Martha rests her hand on my shoulder.

"Who's your friend, Jonathan?"

Shaking my head I think of all ways this could actually be possible. I only have one reasonable explanation. It's not.

"It can't be possible."

Matthew turns. "Who is it?"

"I think it's Simon."

Francis fake gasps. "Alright someone fill me in, who's Simon?"

"He was someone in the last movie we were in." Matthew reply's simply. "He got killed with Jonathan."

I narrow my eyes at Matthew. "I never told you Simon died with me."

He shrugs in response. "Yes you did."

I shake my head once more. "No, I didn't." I say taking a step closer. "How would you know that, unless you're the one that crashed into us?"

Matthew looks shocked that I would even question him that way.

"How could you honestly think that I tried to kill you?"

I shake my head, looking down at my shoes.

"Look, I'm really confused right now, and I guess I'm taking it out on you." I say looking up at him. "I just feel like the second I drop my guard down, something is going to catch me by surprise."

Matthew is surprisingly understanding due to my relatable explanation, and so he forgives me.

But I can't help but listen to the gut feeling inside that's telling me something is wrong.

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The red convertible roars across the busy streets of Manhattan.

I am on my 5th time reading over the white letter, trying to find something that will give me a clue, a little hint of how to get Simon back. Whoever this was, I was going to figure it out in less than 20 minutes...if we got there on time.

"I told you we should've left earlier!" I scream over the sound of air pumping past the vehicle.

"Simon will be fine!" Francis yells back. "We're almost there!"

I shake my head in disgust. Francis is absolutely insane and his lack of emotion is quite perturbing.

The car begins to slow as we turn onto an empty bridge. It is 12:44pm and there is no trace of anyone except for the occasional pedestrian walking along the path, completely unsuspecting.

"Where is he?" Matthew asks. "That is assuming its a boy." He adds quickly.

I shrug. "I'm pretty sure it's a boy, but that's not what I'm worried about right now."

Francis scans the ground around us, looking for any clues.

"Francis." Martha says in almost a whisper.

Francis looks up at her from his kneeling position on the ground at Martha, who points up at the iron on the top of the bridge. His mouth drops in shock. "Please tell me that's not Simon..."He says looking back at me.

I wasn't listening. All I could see what the body. Hanging limp from the iron beam.

"No, it's not." I say to Francis. I hear him suck in a breath of air and turn back to Martha.

She is kneeling down on the ground reading once again, another white letter.

I snatch the letter out of her hand and begin frantically reading over it.

I did you a favour.

No more excuses.

You're welcome.

I put the letter in my pocket. I look up at the body once more. He did me a favour? I tried my best to take the good out of the situation, but I couldn't. For hanging from the iron beam, was a limp, lifeless, Bram.