Classified
Filename: ys01.html
© 1998 Youssef Sleiman
Length: 1500 words
Genre: Spy/Romance
Description:
A novice writer and similarly published, Youssef Sleiman's piece is about a man who, by chance, saves a mystery woman's life and how he deals with the implications of it.
Classified
"I saw her coming first. In the New York subway system, a daily grind for every commuter in the Big Apple, it is difficult to miss anything out of the ordinary. In a pair of jeans, a casual tee shirt, and a dark flight jacket; first, she barreled in the door on the far end, her clambering run matching the rocking rhythm of the car. I stood on my end with a grip on the subway hooks. My curiosity peaked when I saw the way she shuffled through the car in such a panic.
"The automatic doors had started to close behind her when a black gloved hand held the door in a strong grip and pushed it aside. I pulled myself higher to watch as two men, both darkly dressed and armed, follow her into the car. She quickly glanced back and sped up her pace.
"Oddly enough, this hunt went on silently, save the loud clacks of the subway and the sharp breathing of their prey. I noticed the way her blond hair bobbed madly as she made her rush through the crowded car. The lead man in pursuit stretched his arm out and reached to grab her jacket.
"Now, I never actually saw a gun in her hand; I just saw her whirl around and in a loud crack, he crumpled down to the floor. Everyone jumped and some screamed from the sound, but with the tension in the air, no one dared move in her way. Strangely though, the second man start firing just then. He barely regarded his dead partner as he made chase. As she slipped her way towards me, I noticed her fumbling with something in her hands. Finally, she threw it aside in frustration and kept moving.
"She abruptly bumped past me and started to open the door. The second man’s gun clicked as his bullet rose into the chamber. She began to panic as she unlocked the door, but she strained when the door caught in the frame. She was so close to me I could smell her perfume over the beads of sweat running down her face, and over her perfume, I could smell her fear. But what could I do? As a mere bystander, I had no responsibility to help her, or come to the aid of anyone. I had no business with them. Besides, she looked like she could handle herself. She had killed that other man, hadn’t she?
"I watched her strain harder on the door. I looked back at the man. If I could see past his round rim sunglasses, I would probably see the murder and satisfaction of a job well done. I looked back to the woman. A small lock of her hair fell over my view of her face as she released small futile grunt. Who was I kidding? My mind asserted itself and I recognized who was the bad guy and who was the good guy.
"The door jerked open and she disappeared between the cars and started to open the next door. She seemed able enough to take care of this last guy. They had obviously been chasing her for awhile. She could handle him. Look at how far she had gotten now. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the second man raise his hand for the door and undo the safety on his sidearm. He raised his gun just inches from my face and started to take aim right in front of me, his expressionless visage homing on his target. If I was going to help her at all, now would be the time.
"I pushed him hard into the door frame and setting off the gun, shattering a subway window. Shards of glass flew in my face, carried by the wind rushing in from the tunnel. I pulled him again into the door frame. The man grunted as he bounced off and fell down between the cars and disappeared into the tracks. I looked up after the woman I saved.
"She had stopped in the walkway and was now staring at me. Our eyes connected for only a moment, but I knew that her face: with her eyes locked, her hair caught in perpetual flight, and framing her slim face and piercing disposition, would stay etched in my mind. Then the door shut and it was over.
"The subway stopped and people started piling out to their everyday lives. I considered following her, but despite my idealistic intervention, I didn’t. I was about to join the mob of people when a silver glint caught my eye. Her gun was lying under a seat, nickel in coat and looking very small. If I had not seen it used, I would have thought it was a toy. A thought crossed my mind, but I dismissed it with a nod. It would never work out.
"I started off to work, a boring clerk job at a local bookstore. I couldn’t focus at all, so I left early. It’s been three days, and two long nights. Every night I wonder about the what-ifs and the could-have-beens, and every morning I board that same subway car, hoping she’ll burst through the door like she had before. Hoping to see her again. I don’t suppose I ever will."
"And that’s it?"
"Yeah. I was on my way home when you guys showed up."
Both investigators looked at each other. One was slim, probably new to his job, and wore a tag that labeled him as "Robertson." The other was slightly larger around the edges, balding, and ripe for a mid-life crisis. His tag labeled him as "Johns," and he constantly sipped out of a coffee mug.
Robertson sat down at the steel table in the bleak, dark room. Almost dark, except the bright light which I sat under. Johns took another loud sip. Robertson started to write on a notepad that recorded my entire story. They both seemed to be waiting for more. There was no more. Johns spoke first.
"Dat’s a sweet story," he grumbled in his deep Brooklyn accent, "So, you haven’t heard anything from the two agents?"
"Nope."
Robertson quietly nodded in agreement as he wrote. Johns took another long, decisive sip of his now cold coffee.
"Well." Johns licked his lips. "Tank you for your cooperation. Dis situation should resolve itself in a few days." He stood and stuck out his hand.
I rose and received it. "I’ve just got a couple of questions. Will I need to come back for anything?"
Robertson started to pack up the tapes and his papers. Johns set down his mug. "You shouldn’t have to. Interpol will clear up anything else." He started to help Robertson pack up.
"And, one other question. Who was she?" Both men froze. Johns nodded to Robertson. The rookie left the room, barely keeping balance with the coffee cups and papers. Johns stepped towards me.
"Who?"
"The woman. From the subway."
Johns nodded understandably.
"That’s classified," he said bluntly, as if that answered it all, "Now, if you’ll excuse us...?" He gestured to the door.
Outside on the street, I started down the sidewalk to my apartment. After a block of thinking about the could-have-beens and the should-have-dones, I checked the inside pocket in my coat. It was still there. I looked over the silver weapon and smiled. Ok, so I wasn’t completely virtuous in there. I tucked the weapon back in my pocket and went home.
In my apartment, I dropped my coat on the couch and undid my collar. I don’t even know her name, yet I’m so obsessed with her. I might never know her name... I sat down at the kitchen counter, which was a rubble pile of dishes, both dirty and clean; papers, work notes, and my drawing tools. I picked another pen up and started a drawing. My doodle inexorably turned into her image. The curves on her face manifested themselves at the mercy of my pen. After ten minutes of remembering and doodling, it closely resembled her. I let out a long sigh. It looked good, but it was missing something. My mind drew to the gun in my coat. I took it out and set it on the paper. That seemed more like it.
My thoughts were interrupted by a buzz from the apartment COM system. I got up and answered it.
"Hello?"
"Hi," she stated casually. "We met on the subway, and I believe you have something of mine." I looked back at the countertop, to the gun and smiled.