Fair Virtue | Steeped in Bitter Brew

"It seems so light for seven days," he said, hefting her duffle bag with a furrowed brow. "Have you got everything you need? What about your shawl? Do you have it with you?"

Alice let out a light laugh. "My son, you sound like an old man now."

They chatted for a few minutes before he gave her a warm hug. He climbed back into his car.

It looked like any other goodbye. Time kept its secret well. He drove away with a goodbye he didn't yet know was her last.

The ever-pious Alice. Faith played a monumental role in her life - it was her anchor, and she never let anyone forget it. This was, naturally, one of her usual merit dedication retreats. Always eager to utter pieties, ever ready to guide others, it was only apt that she be a fixture at the local shrine.

Smiling to herself, she stayed out in the early dew of that compound. She only turned around when his taillights finally faded into the gray hours of the morning.

She had no inkling that someone had been watching from the shadows.

---

Between mouthfuls of slippery cold noodles, he watched her from his sedan all through the sweltering dog days. On the coldest days, he watched her still, sipping hot Bovril in his misted-up cabin.

He stayed holed up in the car, surrounded by greasy takeout cartons and notebooks full of scrawled logs.

He watched her emerge in her outfit for the day and caught her in pajamas when she took out the rubbish in the morning. She would water her cactus collection on the windowsill right on the dot every Monday.

He knew her clockwork habits down to the letter. The bathroom light. Room by room, she snuffed the light out on her way to her bedroom. And finally, the amber night lamp flicked off last.

Photo by Amirhosain Gazor on Unsplash

She was the cornerstone that imbued the town. There was hardly a public community effort she wasn't a part of.

Volunteering can be an onerous responsibility - but one hid that under a daily mask of smiling. Never letting a single grievance slip past her lips. Even when she had to run all over town on her bunion-tortured feet for collections - all in the name of public service

Never complain, never crack.

Then came the day a new volunteer arrived. He looked like someone she ought to know, though the name wouldn't come.

She worked best alone, yet mentoring meant that the new recruit would have to shadow her every move. At first, he was just overly eager, firing off question after question.

But soon it crossed a line.

Word got to her that he had been asking around about her, but she shrugged it off. He was peppering everyone with questions about everything else, anyway. The new lad was probably trying to get his bearings.

Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill; soon, to the bewildered towners, he had transformed from an eager newcomer into an absolute ogre, stirring up trouble at the shrine and prodding at the committee - looking for the non-existent ill-bored red apple.

Soon, the towners were turning away whenever they saw him coming.

That pushed him into a direct confrontation with Alice. Word of what happened leaked out, as it always did.

Snippets were caught of the exchange: angry words were hissed, culminating in a stare that felt like a physical threat. It left her visibly shaken.

It was a perilous impasse. The towners remonstrated with her. It was foolish to assume it was mere aberration, they argued.

It wasn't.

Photo by Aconitum on Unsplash

A woman was pushed into the A&E in a wheelchair; head bloodied while she held her injured arm. Her unbroken stream of distress filled the area, and triggered an aggressive panic in her son who brought her in.

He started shouting down the staff about bureaucratic incompetence. He kicked up enough of a fuss at the counter that security had to step in.

Alice wailed along even louder by now.

Deaf to anything they tried to explain about procedure, he just kept demanding they see to her right then and there.

Even the quiet, mangled man who arrived on an ambulance a moment before her felt compelled to call out for the staff to take her first.

She sat on the edge of the examination table. Her good hand clutching a ruined kerchief. Her other arm was a weeping mess of raw abrasion. Dark stain of dried blood matted her hair and face.

A sudden racket tore through the A&E.

Alice had violently yanked her arm away as the nurse tried to clean her wound. Her elbow caught the tray with a smack, sending the metal crashing onto the floor.

Beneath the mess, the wound was a far cry from the expectation based on the initial commotion. The nurses traded a quick look before one excused herself to check the charts, leaving the other to finish the dressing.

The police officer who had hovered just outside the cubicle curtain stepped in after that.

Staring down at her lap, Alice only nodded to his questions - perhaps stupefied horror had silenced her.

The officer pressed further. "Any witnesses?"

Alice shook her head.

He tried to probe further but it was useless. She wouldn't give him anything to work with.

"Even if you reported it as a moped snatch," the officer told her, his tone strictly professional, "with that much missing from the committee fund, it's a major inquiry in its own right. We can't simply file it alongside a petty street crime."

"Please, all this questioning is too much for her right now," her son interposed, as Alice suddenly snatched at his sleeve as she trembled.

"But without your cooperation, you're making it impossible for us to do our jobs." he continued.

She said nothing, staring blankly ahead.

Photo by Ryunosuke Kikuno on Unsplash

ANCHOR:
Investigators have cordoned off a residential street following the discovery of a woman in her sixties, found dead inside her home earlier today.…

She rose from her armchair and turned off the TV.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sank to the floorboard. She just cried until it slowed into a sob. Then it broke into laughter. Like a maniac she laughed. Tears and laughter trading places back and forth like a loop.

By the time her home had slipped entirely from dusk to night, she was standing over the bathroom sink, splashing cold water over her face before she headed out.

She slid her wet umbrella into the crowded stand. Water dripped from the tip, feeding the puddle below.

Then she slid the door open and stepped into the izakaya with a smile on her face. Her mood entirely at odds with the gloomy chatter of the rest of the place.

She took a seat and ordered a cold pint of ale with tebasaki chicken wings. The owner took a double look. "So you don't mind having greasy fingers today?"

She nodded to confirm her order.

"Beer for everyone, please. They're on me!" Momo added cheerfully.

Heads turned in her direction. The regulars stared, wondering if they'd heard her right. None of them had ever seen her like that.

Seated at his usual corner, Old Kenji set down his ceramic cup. He who was the living relic that outlived half the grudges in this town. He who had watched the town's drama play out like a miniature diorama from a distance.

"Well, look at that." A knowing grin spread across his face. "Raising a pint the second your rival popped their clogs."

Then he leaned in. "Careful, Momo. People might start thinking you pulled the trigger."

She let out a light chuckle.

"Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to be glad about?" she continued in her singsong voice, as if the sentiment itself deserved a string of celebratory fireworks.

Old Kenji caught every word.

Daily - INKTOBER - Prompts for Freewriters

©Britt H.

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