Downfall

PROLOGUE

With seconds remaining until the last victim in all this madness took a final breath, I finally realized the answer to how we all got here was obvious to anyone who looked closely over the last three weeks. And really, all about perspective.

Day 1

Wednesday December 10, 1999

4:00 a.m.

Joe’s view

Awake for thirty-six hours, my bloodshot eyes should have been my first sign. Thirteen hours airborne, New York to Romania, led to my staring at the hotel suite ceiling; completely losing my mind. The morning sun was still an hour from illuminating a godforsaken country where business dragged my exhausted body on short notice. I tried desperately to fall asleep, but nothing helped.

Television was not the answer. Though I mustered the strength to turn it off, the silence was deafening. As long as I could remember, I required a distraction. The silence drove me absolutely crazy. Left to my own mind, I occasionally wandered deep into the subconscious of the sublime. The constant chatter of the television or radio usually sidetracked the worst thoughts that only seemed present in the deafening silence. The thoughts of murder. Mind you, I never killed anyone, but to be honest, who has not thought about getting rid of someone at some point.

Granted, my mindset was probably not what a panel of doctors might deem normal but being raised in New York gave way to a broader sense of what defined normal. Hell, I worked in sales, so reality was optional on most days. Regardless, I was desperate to put my mind in standby for the night. The alcohol was not helping, but I believed a bath possibly could. I submerged in the warm water of the tub, looking to relax in the comfort of a needed soak. Within minutes, my nerves settled to the point of feeling drowsy. Sadly, my mind never stopped processing the first thought I had on the cab ride over to the hotel. The surrounding town was not the safest of havens. I had little trouble deducing that criminals and killers ran this Third World country. While some would categorize that as an absurd, baseless notion, armed with my second glass of wine, I easily found my validation in unwarranted rationalizations that would not have been fully entertained if I were sober. I assumed that bad people – some killers – were out there, walking the streets, waiting to prey on the weak.

My assumption was simple. At some point, the individual snapped. To define snapped did not mean the individual ran around in the street wearing a diaper and snowshoes, armed with a machete. That type of nut can be easily identified. No, the truly scary individuals behaved normally. They went to work, played with their children and paid their taxes. On occasion, they went out at night for milk and gutted a whore on Main Street behind the bagel shop. Who were they? What did they look like? No clue. It could be anyone.

I heard a scream. My ears were submerged under the water, so it was a muffled sound, but a scream, nevertheless. I sprung from the tub, moving slowly out of the bathroom while peering through the glass doors on the closet for an angular view of the room. Draped in old world tones, the lavish hotel suite now seemed unnerving. I crept in the darkened bedroom, seeing that little was out of place; until I spotted it. To remove the smell of my cologne, I had left the sliding door to the terrace ajar. Stupid. Even on the second floor of the hotel, I was very accessible to a professional thief. Or a psychotic killer.

My head was throbbing and the sudden ruffling sound from the closet next to the terrace doors halted my movement. There was a murderer in my closet. My attempt to think rationally continued to buckle under the combination of wine and lack of sleep. I reached for the steak knife on my dinner tray and as if hunting a deer in upstate New York, crouched down in a predator’s stance. Naked and alive, I felt strangely aroused by the situation; a feeling dissimilar to stalking an animal. This was much more invigorating. I shifted to the front of the closet, my heart racing uncontrollably as I gripped the handle, my life passing before my eyes. My wife; she wouldn’t know the circumstance of my possible death. My mind flooded until the pain of my fingernails penetrating my palm brought me back. Raising the knife, I was positive of one thing; the intruder or I would be dead in the next few moments. I was going out as a man, leaving this world as I came: naked and drenched in blood.

I swung the door open in anticipation of facing my destiny, savagely plunging the knife into the dark closet. Without comprehension of what I was attacking, I continuously swung at the intruder until I realized the knife was not contacting flesh. I stopped in mid swing and pulled back to gather my senses.

I destroyed my black raincoat.

Unable to clearly fathom my actions, I clumsily ducked when an enormous black crow flew out from behind my shredded coat. Carrying a piece of my dinner bread in his mouth, the rotund creature frantically circled high above the room before exiting through the terrace door, thus completing its original destined course.

The knife dropped from my hand. Sweating and trembling, I was unable to remain still but eventually found the corner of my bed. I tried to assess the incident, thinking how a normal person would have found the situation humorous. How even I usually would have found this funny.

I would have, but not any longer.

I felt something else. Sitting alone in the deafening silence, I felt angry; cheated. Deprived of my climax to an incredible hunt. It was unlike coming home without a deer. That was all premeditated entertainment. This, this was different. This was life or death. Knowing I was the hunter as well as the hunted. Knowing another human being was about to die at my hands. A death no court could convict. It would have been self-defense. The bastard would have deserved it.

Barraged with half-coherent thoughts, the line between justice and justification rapidly blurred. Sanity and insanity separated by only my viewpoint. All I could think as my head spun out of control was how my thirst had not been quenched. My anxiety took over; I became lightheaded while everything faded from sight, the void consuming my soul.

And somewhere, in the darkest corner of my mind, if you listened closely, you could have heard;

A snap.

CHAPTER 1

The beginning of the end.

This is Terry King, reporting live from London; CNN.

My eyes opened and instantly, I was aware. The clock read 7:03 a.m. Clear as a bell. I was unsure why the television was on, but I answered the phone on the second ring and spoke as if I had been awake for hours.

Hello?

The moment I allowed for a response provided nothing in return. By the time the line went dead, I questioned if I was as awake as believed. A faint smile crossed my face after returning the phone to its handle and flipping through a few channels. One of the most pleasurable things in Europe was their lack of broadcast censorship. They had no problem showing nudity on every channel. After a few minutes in oblivion, I headed for the shower. The icy water hit my skin, instantly jarring the crow incident hours earlier. I stood silent, feeling each trickle of water traverse down my spine. Crouched down, my shaking was uncontrollable. The chills had nothing to do with the water.

I ran for my bed, throwing the blanket over my body in an attempt to block everything out; the light, the sound of the heater and most of all, the vision of the knife in my hand. I remained dormant, waiting for the pain in my skull to subside. Not until I heard the pounding on the front door was I able to move an inch. The blanket still wrapped around my body, I stumbled toward the steel door and unlatched the lock. Scott’s hand aided the door open and it only took a quick glance in my direction before his smirk said it all.

Aw, Jeez! Come on! I knew you were still sleeping!

Though unnecessary to throw his hands up to exaggerate the situation, Scott had a flair for the dramatics. He sauntered his way to the open bar without further notice of my condition. I was pale as a ghost.

Hey, are you feeling all right?

Finally, concern.

I don’t know.

He leaned down to get a better look at my complexion, realizing I was serious. I could not describe what was wrong when I wasn’t sure myself. Could I share that I was ready to murder a human and was disappointed when I did not?

I think the veal on the flight didn’t agree with my stomach.

Under the circumstances, my lie could have been better. His eyes verbalized he was not buying my tale, but he made his best effort to move on. Slapping his hands together, he was ready to build a better me.

Let’s get some tea and toast in your body to bind you. We can’t have you scaring the locals by going out naked.

Scott smiled and tossed my wrinkled silk tie into my face.

Here, put this on.

Thankfully, I was able to dress while Scott dropped into the loveseat and marveled at the nudity on the local broadcast stations.

✽✽✽

Catching a cab to our meeting was not a problem. Getting it to our destination was a different story. Scott argued for the driver to take us to the airport while the cabbie kept trying to offer a sightseeing tour. I watched the two have at it, finding a moment to smile. Scott Presco was a unique individual. Aside from being my colleague, he was one of my closest friends. A year or so younger, at 5’ 11" he also stood about an inch taller. Apart from that, the physical similarities were there. His sandy brown hair was a bit lighter than mine, but I would admit that he did have a more athletic physique due to my slight beer belly.

I met Scott when I started working at Swanair three years ago. Originally from Detroit, his path to New York included a few stopovers in cities desperate for his talents. His sly tongue was second to none. Our position in sales required prior IT experience as well as a flair for bullshitting in closing deals. My wife said I had enough of both to do well; part compliment, part insult. We sold our airline’s computer software to the airports. Further elaboration was unnecessary, as it really did not matter. I went from tech to sales in five years. To sum things up, I considered myself a person of change and willing to try anything once. Apparently, including murder.

No change.

Once I heard Scott’s voice, I realized we arrived. Fed up with figuring out the currency exchange, he threw the driver enough money to buy two cabs. We exited and moved cautiously around the traffic since it was our first time in Romania. Scott had a profound sense for directions and constantly claimed he was never lost. I messed with him anyway.

Are you lost? Because I can always…

Still wearing his sunglasses, he furrowed his brow and delivered his usual reply.

Hey, nothing can hide from me.

Sure enough, we found the boardroom for the airport managers. Due to my little panic attack, we were twenty minutes late. Rather than walk in the room, Scott stopped us at the doorway entrance.

Plan B. Full court pressure, Jojo. Follow my lead.

I sighed. What’s the timetable?

Scott removed his glasses and smiled. Six hours to nail the deal, five hours of Happy Hour leading to last call for alcohol.

I rubbed the mounting sweat from my forehead.

Just promise me no wolf.

Six and a half hours later

The marble floor entrance was just another prop in Scott’s favor. Sliding in the front door of the hotel bar with his arms high in the air, the animalistic howl he released gathered the attention of the bar’s patrons.

Ladies and gentlemen! Drunks of all ages! All aboard the intoxication express!

I remained a few steps behind, irked by the usual dramatics.

Thanks for keeping it low key.

The first open bar stool was my destination while Scott ordered. After he did a tremendous job at the meeting, we were back to the hotel bar right on his intended schedule. The Bistro was a moderately sized place, scattered with a few lost souls who toiled about the bar. I was told it crowded nicely with the expectance of many visiting executives very willing to buy the local women drinks. I raised my beer towards Scott.

Here’s to the contract. Signed, sealed and deceitfully delivered.

Clinking my bottle, he laughed off my comment.

Come on, you said ‘I do’ at your wedding, didn’t you? You’re the real pro, bud.

I felt tired, likely due to the combination of the jet lag and the crow incident. My slight attempt in the cab to tell Scott never happened, deciding he would have just laughed. Hours passed and as the shot glasses piled into the shape of a pyramid, I noticed the glaze across my partner’s face. Scott bought the last six rounds. He was feeling it.

Do you know what’s wrong with this world?

I knew he was not more than two steps shy of passing out in the gutter when he started with his philosophy on life, but I braced myself for another obscure conversation. Part of being a friend meant humoring the inebriated.

No, tell me. What’s wrong with this world?

Boobs.

Boobs?

Boobs.

In his state of mind, this was going to be interesting.

Please elaborate.

He did.

The problem with this world can all be traced back to a woman’s breasts. If you go back throughout history, every great man, in whatever field of expertise, has most likely been humbled by some woman with great breasts. As man watches these simple fat glands bounce up and down, all our years of maturity and posture are forgotten, and we revert to the infant days of breast feeding!

Even intoxicated, he was going to attempt to make this semi-plausible. Quick to catch my nod, he raised his eyebrows in anticipation of the inevitable. Giving him his due, I nodded my head again.

Continue.

His raised voice drew a small audience and by clearing his throat, he had the attention of the crowd. His dramatics caused chuckles and mock applause. Finding his prop in the keychain laser pointer on the counter, Scott directed the shining dot to the poster above the bar.

Look at this advertisement. Its intended purpose is to sell the beer. Yet, the actual bottle is far in the background while her breasts are hosed down front and center at the outdoor car wash! The tool they use to deceive us is the treacherous ‘push–up bra.’ My God! Women drill into our heads to always be honest and never lie and they attempt to fool us from the introduction!

Leaping on a chair, he preached to his newfound followers.

Can I get a witness!

His arms spread wide in Messiah-mode, he looked down at his followers, some of whom jeered and dismissed his ranting. The women did not seem to appreciate his opinion and just went back to their conversations. All but one of them. I tried to ask Scott what he hoped to accomplish by his silly speech, but I was interrupted by a voice from behind.

You poor boy.

Turning, I was speechless at the sight of a lovely woman dressed in a short, red mini skirt. My eyes traced her long, black hair from the top of her head right down to her perfectly round bottom. Her painted red lips formed a pouty expression as she slowly lipped to Scott in a seductive manner.

Have you been a victim of deception?

Scott put forth his best puppy dog eyes.

Yes, ma’am.

Well, I think someone needs to show you that all women aren’t like that.

She raised her hands from her side, slowly cupping her breasts as she focused on Scott’s eyes.

No bra, all mine.

My partner simply smiled. His slow step down from the chair was deliberate.

Another round, bartender. Give the lady and my friend whatever they want.

CHAPTER 2

Spending the next hour getting acquainted with the woman, Scott played his A game. My head throbbed; the music was loud, and the beer aided in deteriorating my condition. I think she said her name was Melanie or Shelly or something along that pronunciation. I listened to every other word when I was sober. All bets were off when I was drunk.

Scott’s lips found comfort against hers shortly after the alcohol dulled their senses. They seemed to forget my presence and I should have just slipped off, but I made the mistake of tapping him on the shoulder to say goodnight. He misunderstood my desire to leave alone since he hastily threw a few twenties on the bar and motioned for his companion to grab her shoulder bag. Once we were outside the bar and able to hear ourselves think, my attempt to explain how I wasn’t looking for them to leave fell on deaf ears. We reached our hotel floor and I hastily exited the elevator and said goodnight to the frisky couple. My room key fumbled to hit the moving target of the lock and no sooner did I rest my back against the inside of my door did my exhaled sigh provide relief.

Two swallowed Advil capsules from my travel bag needed water to aid the elixir down my throat. I knew that I should not mix with alcohol and the water would hydrate my condition. Before I could get to the bottle, the pounding began. This time it was not in my head. It was at my door. Loud and repetitive, the banging sustained until I swung it open. Scott pushed past me with the woman in tow.

JoJo! Change of plans. Can’t find my room key. What’s in your room bar, anything good?

Distracted by his rapid firing of words, my response was curt.

The same alcohol that’s in your room!

My voice was raspy from the taste of the pills. Deaf to my words, Scott pillaged through the alcohol supply in the fridge while I grabbed for a bottle of water. In dire need of liquid, I gulped it down and turned to Scott. Before I was able to speak, the woman quietly interrupted my intent.

Excuse me, gentlemen, I’m going to freshen up.

She disappeared into the bathroom with her oversized bag, allowing my attention to return on Scott. A devilish grin accompanied his plopping down on my bed. I watched as his legs crossed and his hands rested behind his head. I was irked.

Scott, I need to go to bed.

A wink accompanied his response. Okay.

My heart beat a little faster.

Listen closely, I have a fucking splitting headache and I won’t be part of your orgy. Now take your woman…

Cut short by the sound of the bathroom door opening, our attention focused on her entrance. The painkiller had not taken affect and though my vision was blurred, I was still able to see her outline. Changed out of her tight outfit, she stood clad in only a white silk robe. I remained silent as Scott sprung from the bed laughing. Gently pushing my stiff body into the recliner, he sauntered over toward the stereo. The mood set, he sat back on the edge of my bed and looked in her eyes.

He reached for her hand while taking hold of her robe handle. Gently tugging, the weight of his movement untied the already loose knot, revealing her tight stomach. Although it was winter, her skin was a darker complexion than I perceived. Scott extended his tongue to outline her mid-section before moving upward. I should have moved. Said something. I tried to, but it was as if my vocal cords were gone. I never cheated on my wife and this was not going to be the entrance point. His hands moved upward, caressing her body. I had to stop it. I tried to speak but the combination of the alcohol and painkillers had me close to delirious. What came out of my mouth resembled a gurgle more than any coherent sound. Scott gave me a smile before looking back to her.

Don’t worry, buddy, I won’t deprive you of such a lovely lady.

My mind was screaming for them to get out, but my mouth would not comply. Realizing what Scott had in store, she laughed.

Both of you will cost three hundred, honey.

Even if I were fully functional, Scott still would have beaten me to the punch. Springing from the bed, he turned with a mortified look on his face.

You’re a hooker?

A bit surprised, she looked at us in disbelief, unable to decipher if he was kidding.

Uh, I told you I was. Down in the bar.

Eyes wide with embarrassment, Scott was finally at a loss for words. Nervously glancing in my direction, he barely regained his composure.

You did not! You certainly did not! I do not pay for sex!

A glance at my glazed expression caused her to break out in laughter. We looked completely asinine. When she could not stop, even at Scott’s insistence, he mumbled under his breath and stormed out of my room. Watching the door click and lock itself shut, I turned back toward the hooker. Trapped in my room, I was completely powerless to get her out. I was on the verge of passing out when I saw that she was rummaging through my wallet. My expression made her giggle before she tossed the wallet aside.

I’m getting my money ahead of time for you, baby.

My shock turned to rage. Unconsciously, I grabbed for the first object I could find. I could not think nor had my vision gotten any better. While I clutched the corkscrew sitting on the wine tray within my reach, she slithered on her knees toward my chair. Displaying the same devilish grin as Scott earlier, she seductively spoke the last words I heard her say.

I’m going to make you feel much better, honey.

And just like that, I was gone.

Everything went black.

Day 2

Thursday morning

I was unsure how many times I heard the noise before I knew that it was knocking. The television was on again, but this time I could not tell what the reporter said. When I eventually adjusted my eyes and was able to think clearly, I headed for the front door. Stopped in my tracks, I noticed a chair wedged under the doorknob. I stared at the restraint until the pounding resumed.

Who is it?

Silence trailed my inquiry. It was deafening.

Housekeeping. I cannot get in. The door is stuck.

I’m fine, thank you. I don’t need anything.

The voice paused.

But sir, I need to clean the…

JUST LEAVE THE FUCKING TOWELS OUTSIDE!

There was silence until I heard the cart roll away. Surprised by my outburst, I left the wedged chair where it was and checked the rest of the suite. There was no sign of the hooker. I checked my wallet and my cash was still there. My watch, my wedding ring. Everything was in the room. Except the hooker.

I brewed a cup of coffee and attempted to sort things. I took my vitamin and hit the toilet. While watching myself pee, I suddenly realized I was in a different set of clothes than I last remembered. Visually shaken, I lost my balance and missed the porcelain bowl. I returned to the bed, ripped the sheets off and searched everywhere. When I did not find any sign of it, I looked on the floor and under the couches. I could not find it anywhere. I could not find any trace of blood. I could not find the blood or the corkscrew. I did not know if I was relieved or disappointed. I did not know why I changed my clothes at some point AND I DIDN’T KNOW WHY THE FUCKING TELEVISION KEPT COMING ON!

I dropped to the floor and stared. Not at the television or anything in particular. Just a blank stare. By 10:30 a.m., I regained my composure and gathered my belongings. I needed to get the hell out. With the flight home in two hours, I did not want to run the risk of staying any longer. It only took two knocks on Scott’s door before he opened the lock. He looked as bad as I felt. His eyes were red and I could see the Alka Seltzer tablets on his table.

Joe, I’m sorry about last night.

Forget about it.

I did not want to have the conversation. I just wanted out of Romania.

Did you get rid of her?

Almost swallowing my tongue, I looked at Scott with a sudden bolt of energy.

What?

Did you send her away? Tell her to leave?

Uh, yeah. I gave her a few bucks and sent her away. She probably went back down to the bar and found her next client.

I unknowingly made so much sense, that not only did Scott buy it, so did I.

He seemed relieved in his words. As we checked out, he chuckled how stupid we must have looked. I reassured it would not be the last time a woman made us look foolish.

We waited at the gate to board the flight back to J.F.K. airport while Scott spent his time reviewing the contracts. Still struggling with the last two days, I wanted to tell what was swirling in my head but pondered the outcome if it did not go over well. Would he think I was nuts? Was I? Would he tell my wife? Or work? Believing that I might have snapped left me in a peculiar position. I might have gone over the edge, but how did I know for sure? If I somehow did kill her, I was obviously not aware of my actions. Do you sanely kill someone and continue with your day, or do you block it out? Maybe blame it on an alter ego? If I told Scott and he reacted badly, would I be forced to kill him?

Scott.

Rising from his documents, his attention was mine.

Yes?

I think…

Hey, what’s the commotion over there?

He did not allow a moment to finish his question before he walked over to a crowd of airline employees. Not concerned with additional problems, I paid little mind to what he was talking about until his returned. Once seated, he lifted his documents and feigned interest. I was baffled.

What was that about?

Shhh! Make believe everything is okay.

Indicating with his eyes as if I should have picked up on what he meant, I nodded before he continued.

The police discovered the body of a young woman an hour ago.

What does that have to do with us? Do you know how many people get murdered…?

She was found hacked up in a dumpster around the corner from our hotel. They said she was a known local prostitute.

Had my arms not been crossed, my slight trembling would have been a dead indication of guilt. I sputtered my words.

And? Oh. Do you think?

Do I think it was our hooker? Unless it’s damn coincidental, I’d think enough people saw us leave with her. Don’t you?

I shrugged to convince both of us.

I don’t know, like I said, she could have gone back to work.

Quiet for a moment, he swayed his head side to side.

She could have...

Scott’s voice tailed off. He was also trying to convince himself. I needed more information.

Did they say anything else?

I watched him think how to phrase whatever he was going to say. My teeth dug against my lower lip. Finally, he just shrugged.

They found her naked, with one of her thumbs missing.

Her thumb was missing?

Sick, huh?

His remark lingered until the intercom above us crackled. Through its rusty, old wires, we made out the flight attendant’s voice, announcing that our flight was boarding. My haze broken, I reached for my bag.

Let’s just get the hell home.

We boarded our flight under the watchful eyes of a larger group of law enforcement than noticed earlier. Not until we finally lifted off the ground forty minutes later, did I feel any relief. The plane delayed on the runway twice and each incident gave me indigestion. Once we were safely on our way, I tried to get some rest and searched through my travel bag for my eye mask. My frustration grew as it eluded my grasp until I oddly came across one of my socks. It shouldn’t have been in this bag. Something was inside of it.

I dumped the content of the sock into the bottom of the bag before quickly reaching for the airsickness bag. Unfortunately, I drew enough attention that two flight attendants and Scott thought I was dying. It took a few minutes and a can of ginger ale to bring me back to breathing properly. Once I reassured everyone that I was okay, I sat and waited until the attention was off me. As I looked in the bag again to make sure I was not crazy, I realized that was a poor choice of words. I was not crazy for what I saw. Yet, I might have been for what I had done.

I had the hooker’s thumb.

CHAPTER 3

Thursday afternoon

New York

The remainder of our flight home was uneventful. I picked at my salad, but had little appetite for the rest of my meal. After speaking briefly about the hooker, Scott and I made a vow not to discuss her again. There was little point. She was dead, and nothing further would come of it.

Dropping beneath the clouds, the plane’s turn allowed my glimpse of Long Island. While it did not stretch far in sight from north to south, the land had its share of breathtaking views. Crossing over the eastern tip of Montauk, I spotted the historic lighthouse where Allison and I spent our romantic honeymoon. Strange how something so wonderful could seem so long ago once things change. Though I always sought consolation in the belief that everyone was somewhat bizarre, I doubted anyone onboard was carrying the body part of a slain prostitute. The Boeing glided effortlessly through the sky until I felt the wheels lower during our descent into the airport.

The stewardess made the announcement to prepare for landing, leaving my questioning why I had not gotten rid of the evidence by flushing her thumb down the toilet. Truth be told, as bizarre a situation, I found it fascinating. How often was someone actually involved in a homicide? The news ran stories daily, but most people just shrugged it off. That was someone else, somewhere else, not real to their lives. For myself, it was not far off from watching a movie. I grew as a child of mass media. A young mind shaped by television and film, one who grew up with a broader idea of what normal meant. It all became second nature. It all became acceptable. If the hero cracked a sarcastic joke, I disregarded the fact that someone was murdered. I nudged Scott, who irritated me by simply being able to sleep.

Umm, what?

He was still out cold. Very gently, I leaned over and whispered into his ear.

You want to get physical, Scotty?

Hmmm. Yeah baby.

I wondered whom he pictured as he smiled with his eyes still closed. It wasn’t really important, but I gave him what he wanted.

Ouch!

A quick bang of my forehead into the side of his head snapped him out of his slumber. Using the center of my skull caused far less pain to myself than the receiving party. It was an old trick I learned in high school when I was on the receiving end of the lesson. He furrowed his brow as he rubbed his head.

What was that for?

Pleasant dreams?

Understanding my point, Scott relaxed his anger and leaned into my face to respond to my frustration.

Listen, I know how you feel, but we agreed to put her behind. That was a world away. Live today, don’t lament the past.

The past? It was yesterday.

Although I was possibly insane, I found it hard to accept his attitude so easily. Making one final attempt before the plane door opened, I closed our gap in the aisle.

Scott, I think…

It’s over. Let it go!

His sudden snap caught me off guard. Looking in his eyes, I decided not to continue. Returning flights from overseas were awful. The last thing I wanted to deal with after a strenuous flight was going through the long line at Customs. As usual, Scott and I chose the wrong line. Sensing my growing frustration, he opted to lighten the mood.

Stand still, it’s hard to write on a moving object.

He pushed my shoulder down with his forearm and filled out his entrance card on my back. Just before we got to the Customs window, Scott straightened his tie and suit jacket and retrieved his leather gloves from his bag. Slipping his fingers tightly inside, he quietly handed his sheet to the Customs agent. Unbeknownst to the worker, my partner turned my way and winked. The agent was about to pass Scott through until something caught his eye.

Excuse me, Mr. Presco?

Scott stepped into his character. I believe the accent he donned was British.

Yes?

The worker was unsure how to phrase his question.

Does this say your business purpose for travel is ‘Die; Killings?’

Scott, calm as ever, lowered his brow in a puzzled manner. He glanced at his sloppy writing before answering with the tone of a man insulted.

That says, ‘Pie Fillings.’

Playing it up with a deep, aggravated breath, Scott tore the guy apart.

For your information, sir, I am a world class baker and take offense toward your insinuations. We cannot all have perfect penmanship, but we could at least have the decency to treat each other with respect.

Yes sir, I’m sorry, I just…

I should find your manager and report you! Why, I lost my middle finger in the war and still forge on in my passion for excellence! Look at this!

I had to bite my lip as not to laugh. What war? Scott waved his gloved middle finger in the poor guy’s face and shook it furiously.

Yes, sir. I see, sir.

You should be lucky it’s the holidays and I am feeling festive. Good day, sir!

As soon as we got outside, I broke out into laughter.

Thanks, I needed that.

The drive home was crippled with the usual traffic on the Belt Parkway. By the time we entered Suffolk County, I noticed there had not been any drastic changes to my town. I always felt the world would change in the few days I was gone. Just before the car stopped in front of my house, I gathered my belongings and broke the silence.

I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

Clearing his throat, Scott grabbed my arm.

Are you going to be okay?

I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to say I had gone over the edge and wouldn’t be capable of keeping my emotions in control.

Sure.

I wanted to say all that, but I couldn’t. Scott gave my wrist a squeeze.

Listen, remember our code. We are sales. Trained to conquer our own fantasy world. The state we live in? Denial.

Deprived of my emotions again, I sighed and ended our conversation.

Right. Lie till we die.

Once the driver removed my bag from the trunk, I was left standing alone in front of my house and car in the driveway. I walked up the path to the front door, wondering if Allison was even home. If so, I prayed she was in a better mood than before I left. We had been in the middle of a minor spat related to her brother, which abruptly ended when the car service shuffled me off to the airport.

In the simplest of summaries, her brother was a bum.

Victor was a twenty-eight-year-old High School dropout who wasted his life partying. A blonde pony-tail atop, his wardrobe consisted of one pair of ripped jeans and a leather vest; in essence, telling the world that he could not play the game of life. He was capable of deceiving, but not for the purpose of succeeding. How could one accomplish any goals by protesting and fighting the system? One must embrace the system, because only at that point could one prey upon it from the inside for personal gain. Harsh, but true.

When it