Portal of Fire

By Anand Meshram

Jack Lucas, a twenty-nine-year-old American software engineer, is a short-tempered, highly intricate, and unpredictable guy. He leads a perfunctory life and avoids emotional contact with everyone around him.

But deep down inside, Jack keeps a burning secret that struggles to get out. No one knows the reason for his irrational anger and Jack is not one to talk about it.

His routinely unexciting life begins to change when he is visited by his grandmotherwho died a year ago.

She comes bearing news for him; they all are going to die is the first of them. She reveals the existence of the afterworld which runs with special sets of rules and curious cases of life-forms, defying all the believed concepts of the universe.

After learning about the dark future that awaits his family, Jack reluctantly follows his Granny through a secret medium, the Portal of Fire, and gets transported into the afterworld.

Together with an old and cynical 17th-century British named Christopher, a loud-mouthed Hungarian lady called Mirriam, and Granny, Jack travels through the bizarre world, encountering ghoulish creatures and overwhelming forces, in an attempt to break the code of death.

Can Jack succeed in his mission and bring change to the system of mortality? Find out in the breathtaking pages of Portal of Fire.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 17, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462844173

Anand Meshram

Anand Meshram is one of the billion faces in south-east crowd who was, during his childhood, forbidden to connect with art. But after completing the higher studies and bankrupting an animation industry, he rediscovered himself as a writer.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

THE REVERIE

A black Mercedes took a fast turn across the way to the Wilkinson bridge, hanging by thick cables stretched within the massive masts over the agitated surface of Joanna pond.

Twenty-eight years of juvenility seemed on its last legs in the man driving the car, whose handsomely carved face was drowned in limp expression.

He was Jack Lucas.

With a nasty look, he twisted the wheel and overtook an annoying, slowly trundling cream colored car.

The cool wind was desperately struggling to soothe him, but was getting rudely blocked against the closed window glasses. The perfunctory red light across a traffic signal brought out an annoyed sigh and made him skid to a lazy halt behind the yellow line imprinted on the road.

He hadn’t realized that the twilight had dimmed, and cars around were already lit up on front and rear sides. He glanced out.

It was about night, and shops along the road were already gleaming with fancy, colored lights.

He lazily switched the lights’ on and sneaked a peek at his wrist-watch. It was 7:35 p.m.

He was late again.

How much time does someone waste in something as useless as a traffic signal? he whined in his restless, querulous mind. There shouldn’t be any halts at traffic-signals, had you cared to listen to Jack’s mind: There had to be bridges everywhere.

He grew restless and adjusted the rear-view mirror above his head.

Man, she won’t stop today, he cast a sympathetic glance at his black eyes in the mirror, before adjusting it to the proper rear view.

Over the last few week-ends, he had missed several dates with Debby, his girl-friend. And now, he was heading toward her, on the verge of sitting face to face, about to feel the things he didn’t want to.

Patience, he sighed.

The signal turned green. He shifted gears and got the car rolling.

It’s never too late, great men say, he thought inadvertently giving a second thought to splitting up with her.

The mobile phone rang.

Debby, he felt the coldness on the mobile screen.

He quickly silenced the phone and threw it on the side-seat, looking convinced, at least for a moment. But with a wheeze, he grabbed the phone, typed and sent to her five minutes, and threw it back.

I mean why not? Everybody gets over in time. She will too, another thought ragingly pounded in his always busy mind. He tried to count the reasons why he should or shouldn’t dump her, but in a moment, broke into a grin.

The last time he spoke out this secret desire to his only friend, Eric, who had rolled over, laughing, Oh Jack, you really are a wonderful talker, ain’t you? Big head, big mouth, big words . . . You’ve grown into a big man now.

With a long breath, he grew serious again. New wrinkles above his bolt-like brows, disclosed another striking feature about his face.

Let this decision be spontaneous, with a slight nod, he closed his eyes to this arguable thought. Just minutes were left for him to disregard the idea and grow casual, if he didn’t want to end up speaking out his mind mistakenly. He wasn’t ready to be single again, yet.

Outside the glassy walls of the gleaming coffee-shop, Jack pulled his car in parking lot.

There she was, his girl-friend Debby, in her mid-twenties, thin, beautiful, and blonde. She was lounging right next to a wall, over a steaming coffee mug with brown eyes.

Jack forced a grin and witnessed nothing more than her poodle-like long face.

With a gulp and heavy steps, he fidgeted over to her, wishing the way could have been longer, better yet not there at all.

Swallow everything she says, man. Swallow and apologize, he told himself many times while slinking toward her. You ain’t ready, are you? Not yet ready to face it any differently . . .

He made a lunge and managed to paste a kiss on her sleek cheek, before plumping down besides her giving her a dumb smile. Suddenly, he realized the need to look bushed and became grave at once.

Hi, he said gently. "You’re looking nice and . . . . different."

He surely had observed a change in her looks, but couldn’t figure out what they were, and in time. A while passed of her expectation.

With a grunt, she rolled her eyes away, outside the glinting glassy wall, placing her finely outlined lips gently on the mug.

How are you? he vaguely croaked.

She glared at him, watching him trying hard to pick out the yet undiscovered change in the sharp, bitchy features of her face.

What do you care? she sighed, settling the mug gently on the table.

"I was busy . . . Don’t pretend like you don’t know. I kept telling you all the time . . . in replies."

Replies . . . ? What replies? she hissed. When was the last time you picked up my call and told me so?

Every single fucking time . . .

"You know, I don’t need to come to what you proudly call a date and have a fight over what you did or didn’t do to make me feel stupid."

The man wouldn’t let me catch my breath, Debby, my boss Parker . . . Didn’t I tell you like, a thousand times?

And how did you tell me Mr. Jack Lucas . . . face-to-face, phone, mail, message, telepathy? What fucking way did you adopt to tell me, do you remember?

I . . . I . . . Jack stammered.

You mistakenly picked up my call last night when I called you from another number . . .

Hey . . . Come on, Jack sighed, turning red. Now you’re just being mad. How come you even think I could do something like that?

"I know so, Jack."

Come on baby, you know I was busy. Wouldn’t do that to you.

I don’t know, Jack. I don’t think I know you . . . at least now.

Hey . . . I . . . I’m sorry if you’re . . .

"Nooo . . . no, no, no . . . Please don’t be, she spat at him. I don’t want any more of your favors. I can’t live under their immense weight, and why? Why at all be sorry today, Jack? You literally showed up today, didn’t you?"

Come on . . . Jack was hardly audible in his low-pitched explanation. There was too much of a workload, baby, you know, banging my head over the past few weeks. I told you, it was going to stay this way for another, like a . . . month.

With utter disbelief, she gave a gentle shake of her head and looked away.

Yeah yeah, do it. Your godly answer for everything! Shake your little head and look away. That even gets better with time, you know, really amusing!

Jack spat at once and stopped, gaping at her face. She was stunned.

I . . . I can’t believe you, she hardly spoke.

Jack loathed this gesture when girls would seek his apology. He had hoped that she wouldn’t give him a hard time for her own sake, but after almost losing his cool, took a while to understand her righteous madness at him.

All right, just calm down, Jack sounded lenient, more to himself than to her. He had realized that he needed to cling to her for a little longer than planned earlier.

What you’ll have? I’m hungry, he quickly added when a waitress appeared next to them, carrying a notepad, pen, and a dim smile, looking uncertain if it was a good time to take their order.

*     *     *

After what passed like an iffy era, Jack exercised all his wonderful talking skills, and enjoyed an overdue victory over her. He had successfully swayed his girl-friend over a long, desultory conversation, and concurrently retained his cool.

He watched her beaming and vague face, as her lips opened and closed continually. She obviously had plenty to talk about.

. . . and Pa wants you to join us in that ceremony.

Jack’s face lengthened.

"A religious ceremony . . . ?"

For us, Jack, not for you. You don’t have to worship or anything; no one will ask you to, she replied, sliding away the silky blonde hair off her forehead with her finger, clearing up the view of warm exchange of looks between the pairs of eyes, sharp-black ones at one side and bitchy-brown at another, fumes in between.

What is it then?

Just a routine get-together, you know, Pa wishes to see you.

Why?

Jack . . . ? she drawled, he just wants to see you; what’s wrong in that?

That’s what I’m asking, Debby, what’s wrong? Why would the old man wish to see me?

Oh God, Jack, it’s nothing wrong . . . she sighed. Well, I’ve been talking about you around him lately. So I guess he wonders what crook I’m going out with nowadays.

"Why?"

Why . . . ? It is . . . pretty natural, Jack, and sweet, don’t you think? A little protectiveness adds glow to the relationship, doesn’t it?

Jack gaped at her.

Well, I like little glint of possessiveness, Mr. Jack Lucas. I wish you’d understand what is pretty healthy for the relationship to blossom.

Jack preferred silence, and even restrained his cough.

So anyway, I was saying that since there is this function at home, and so Pa thought it might be a good time to see you there, that’s it. I knew you’d find glitches among the goodness, and I don’t know now why at all I’m still inviting you, when I know that you’d discover a hundred thousand reasons not to turn up.

Social gatherings . . . , Debby, you know I hate them. Why’d you still ask me each time? To make me feel guilty about it?

I’m trying to cope with you, Jack, and the situation I fall into consequently. I’m trying hard to stand up in society, trying to fit into it. And along with your number of hatreds, where do you think we might end up? I won’t like to be called the ‘scum’ of the society. I can’t grow old having negative influence on kids around.

Whoa . . . You’ve got a whole lot of future plans under your pillow, a severe faced Jack spat.

If with a reckless atheist like you, one would need to. The whole world might seem annoying to you, but not to me. So tell me, are you coming or not?

Jack frowned over her doggedness, but softened with a nod. Hmm . . . Let’s see.

It’s on this Wednesday.

Hmm, he held his breath, stretching his body lazily. And what else, your grace, any more commands?

With a gentle shake of her head, she beamed at him. She was at once mollified by his words, which were certainly not vivid or poetic in any possible way. The secret was if one would decide just to agree, she was easy prey. But Jack was a person of discrepancies, and their togetherness was still a mystery to many, well, at least to Eric, who would simply define it as a "wildly evolved concept of opposite attracts."

Jack stealthily gasped, feeling undesirable warmth in the way she was looking at him. Was she happy or not? And for an unknown reason; Jack felt like scratching himself to bleed. From his sudden discomfort, he broke the silence of love, a lopsided one.

"Okay, that’s it . . . Let’s go . . ."

Within a blink of an eye, her face turned grayish, and elongated.

. . . Er . . . To some other place . . . the words slid out of Jack’s mouth on their own before he stopped and gasped.

But it was too late and to his horror, she had broken out into a smile. His words had worked like a charm and he felt the loss of self-respect. He turned his head away, hiding the comprehension of the consequences of his sudden stupid idea.

He was really hoping to rest his bones tonight, watch a slow movie on the television, and eventually fall peacefully asleep. He had only today, the Sunday, to serenely lie down after such a hectic week.

But she had sprung to her feet already, putting the purse around her arms, which eventually swung down her shoulder even more annoyingly.

With a stupid simper, Jack slowly rose, keeping his hand behind, which had formed a gun and was shooting at his head.

*     *     *

The midnight was sluggishly drowning with coldness, and chilling winds were blowing into his ears, as Jack yawned in his speeding car along Babel Street. He was finally going home after a long time, of which not every moment he had enjoyed much in particular.

They had a thorough kiss in the parking lot, after a candle-lit dinner in a shimmering restaurant. Needless to say, it was only Debby who was aroused, panting, My apartment . . . ?

But Jack had turned her down after a sudden halt.

Debby, I’m exhausted . . . Er . . .

She had nothing to say, but to show her blushed face turning yellow.

With a swirling mind, Jack had lolled back in his car after bidding goodnight to the chunks of his girl-friend and what was remaining, cramped in her car.

His mind was in turmoil. It’s all right . . . , Maybe the time will change, and I’ll feel ready again . . .  , But she deserves better, man, Remember everything she’s done for me in the past . . . , Who knows . . . ?, What does that make me . . . ?

All the moments he had been with Debby, he had felt absolutely nothing. It was this dead feeling that he had never liked when being with her, this numb emptiness. He hadn’t felt anything about her lately, and the outing with her was nothing more to him than probably from a sense of duty or gratitude to her.

He stopped the car across a huge rusty iron gate and stepped out.

It was his home, the biggest villa in Babel Street. He opened the old-styled, manually operable gate and drove inside.

It was a chilling pathway on which he drove in further, surrounded by misty woods of the garden on both the sides. Usually, it was echoing with the shrill noise of crickets.

He turned off the engine next to a couple of sleek cars.

The garage shade was covering only a tiny section of the huge grounds that spread around his ancient house. The gigantic walls had cracks in them, and the color was worn-out. The garden was enormous and a total mess. Long trees had grown up with weeds all around; the lawn hadn’t been mowed for ages; neither were the flower plants trimmed nor the rose bushes pruned. At once, it gave the view of a jungle.

Jack idly belled the door.

A lady opened it in a jiffy.

My mother in bed, Mrs. Pollock? he asked, moving in.

She was a middle-aged, plump lady with noteworthy mild eyes. She was the maid in the old villa.

Yes she is now, Jack. But along with her this time around, your father waited for you at dinner for quite a while. She said, latching the door behind him.

What are you talking about?

Your father, Jack . . . He had joined her at the table.

Dad . . . ? You gotta be kidding me.

She sighed as her reply to his raised brows.

Why didn’t anyone call me? Why didn’t you call me? Jack blurted out, plunging on the couch, next to the ashen fireplace.

He wouldn’t let me. He said you needed to understand.

Did he say that?

Precisely, she said, observing his frown. By the way, am I wrong to assume you’ve dined out?

He gave a lame look.

Goodnight, Jack, she said and disappeared into the kitchen, probably to dump the food in the bin.

Jack sighed and strolled to his bedroom, upstairs.

Besides acting as a maid and a butler, Mrs. Pollock was also a caretaker of Jack’s mother, who was mentally ill, a paranoid schizophrenic. Dementia-praecox was the precise word doctors had chosen to dub her illness with.

Usually, Jack would get back home quite late from office, which was considered one of the reputed software-development industries in the town of Stunlaw, Rhode Island. He was appointed there to lead a team.

More often than not, Jack would never get to see his family during weekdays. He was used to dining alone during nights and going back to office early in the morning. So the only days Jack could be found dining and spending time with his mother were the Sundays, but Jack had missed even this rare occasion.

Mama must have had asked a lot about me at the dining table, he guessed. And he must have grown even more hopeless.

His father, Leonard Lucas, was renowned and respected writer in the city, who liked to stay hidden in the study-room for most of his time. He was a pretty sturdy man and Jack hadn’t enjoyed a particularly good relation with him.

The first thing I’ll do in the morning is go and see mama, he promised himself as he pulled out his shoes and socks. He changed to pajamas and crawled into bed, feeling desperate, yet lousy, to put up the blame on someone for enjoying a night of guiltless sleep.

If only Debby didn’t make her face like she did . . . he clenched his teeth, watching the ancient fan leisurely whirling over his head.

She is one great pain in the ass. I’ll decide about her later on . . . was the last thought that coursed through his mind before he fell asleep.

*     *     *

It was a sunny day. Jack was heading along the pathway to his home, surrounded by long maple and oak trees of the garden where birds were happily singing over the branches. His black hairs flailed against the mild wind when he strutted back to the frontyard lawn, feeling blissful about something he wouldn’t remember.

Over the grassland, his mother was gently swishing on the big swing with Lisa, his pregnant sister. Both were chuckling and giggling like little girls. His father, lounged next to them on a chair, was gazing at both of them with the rarest of his smile.

An unusual innocence and mild happiness were blooming in the air through which Jack strolled on and joined the swing.

His mother was looking highly content. She laughed her heart out when Jack joined the fun and played with Lisa’s big belly.

She swatted his hand away, which broadened the smile on his father’s face.

Jack was happy. The satisfied smiles on his parents’ faces and the warm look in Lisa’s eyes were bewitching and just too wonderful to miss.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, dark gray clouds gathered in the sky, and at once, it started raining heavily with thunder and lightning.

They all panicked and ran for cover and toward their house.

But the main door was locked and wouldn’t open.

With ear-cracking noises, lightning began to strike upon the nearby trees.

Jack, even through his sudden run, turned to see his father creeping slowly behind him, helping Lisa walk, who was pregnant and finding it difficult to move quickly. His mother was shuddering in the rain and naively trying to protect and cover Lisa with her bare hands.

His father threw a dark, piercing glance at him, drooping with hopelessness over his irresponsibility.

Oh God, how could have I forgotten her? Jack gibbered and sprinted over to them.

Like you always do . . . his father replied instantaneously. Now open the goddamn door, will you?

They were shivering in the cold rain, and Lisa was weeping in fear. His mentally-ill mother was whining over Lisa’s panic, still trying to put up a useless shield with her bare hands against the heavy drops thrashing Lisa.

Jack darted to the main door and tried to open it, but it didn’t.

Wait, there is a back door, he shouted and ran around, looking out for the doors by the wall, trying to pull out every door he found. The violent wind kept pushing him off his feet.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarg!"

He heard a faint scream that was almost drowned in the thunder. He turned to witness Lisa, who was already screaming with labor pains.

"What the fuck is happening . . . ?"

Jack was stunned, watching the vicious winds thrashing his family. His mother cried in panic while his father rigorously heaved Lisa up in his arms.

Craaaaaaam . . .

A thunderbolt struck the swing with a piercing noise, and left him paralyzed.

"Come on, Jack . . . !" his father screamed, unable to carry Lisa anymore.

Jack was frozen, idiotically watching them crying and screaming for his help.

"Jack . . . help, son!!!"

CRRRAAAAAAAAAM!!

An irregular arrow of red bolt, before blinding him, struck his family directly, leaving only fumes and charred flesh behind.

Huh?

Jack gasped and opened his eyes in bed, and watched the dark ceiling and the gently revolving fan above him. His heart was pounding heavily.

It took a while for him to figure out that he had been having a nightmare.

Pheeew! he sighed and wiped the sweat off his face.

After a while, he was snoozing again.

*     *     *

The sun, apart from following its job to shine brightly in the sky the next morning, brought with it the weekday’s routine for Jack. He showered, swung the orange-colored closet open, and out of the heap inside, pulled out the best possible combination of shirt and tie. Within moments, he was moving down the stairs, holding a bag.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Pollock was leisurely slicing the bread on the wooden counter, probably to sprinkle the crumbs in the soup for his mother.

Good morning, Mrs. Pollock, he greeted, comfortably sinking onto a dining chair.

Good morning, Jack! Just a minute, she said and sped up chopping.

Well, I was hoping that if you could serve me faster, I can see my mother after breakfast, said Jack, clattering the spoon restlessly on the plate. Something to make up for last night.

That’s really nice Jack, she replied tonelessly.

Jack looked at his watch. Five more minutes and his plans would go awry.

Suddenly, she whisked over and dished up the plate.

What’s up with your eyes . . . ? remarked Jack, dragging the plate closer. Didn’t you sleep well?

The redness of Mrs. Pollock’s eyes had caught Jack’s attention. She wasn’t looking cheerful either.

Not pretty well, she said, steadying herself, but I’m all right.

Jack cut the egg on his plate and put it in his mouth, all the while gazing at her.

Do you really wish to meet your mother at this hour, Jack?

That’s what I was thinking but I’m behind schedule.

I think you should, Jack, said Mrs. Pollock, darkly, and kept him guessing until he finished breakfast and followed her upstairs to his mother’s bedroom.

Jack had never preferred to see his mother before setting off to the office. He had his reasons and now he was regretting about lamely following the maid. He kept looking at his watch, hoping he wouldn’t be held up further.

Quietly, Mrs. Pollock opened the door and led him in.

His mother, Mrs. Lucas, was reclined on the bed, looking dully out of the window.

She was rather more emaciated and limp from the one Jack had seen in his dream. She was around sixty, wore a soft white gown, and looked gentle yet pitiful. Her eyes were unusually tender and compassionate, and seemed to be always in search of something.

Mrs. Lucas, look who’s here.

Unmoved by her words, she didn’t even blink her eyes.

Ma, called Jack and lolled on the bed next to her.

She slowly craned her head, and fixed her dreamy eyes at him.

For moments, she carried a slight look of recognition in her red watery eyes.

Mama . . . In fear, Jack grabbed her hand and smiled.

This moment was easily the scariest and most difficult for Jack – to stand up before her eyes, fearing that one day they wouldn’t recognize him.

Mama, said Jack again. His mouth had fallen dry.

Both stared at each other in utter silence, with every second Jack’s heart sinking further and further.

Jack

Mrs. Lucas uttered with a dim smile.

Mama! Jack sighed and with a sore gulp, felt an immense relief filling his heart. He gently kissed her hand, feeling a twinge of sympathy deep in his heart.

Smiling faintly at him, his mother wouldn’t take her eyes off him until a couple of tears twinkled and slithered down her cheeks.

He rubbed her cold hand, trying not to fall apart or get teary eyed so early in the morning.

Ma, I’m sorry I couldn’t turn up last night, he said, trying not to sound choked.

My son . . . She smiled brightly.

Both were lost in gazing at each other until Mrs. Pollock coughed and broke the silence.

Well, she couldn’t sleep last night, Jack. She kept looking out of the window the whole night. Didn’t you, Mrs. Lucas?

Jack raised his eyebrows at that comment.

Why mama . . . , why didn’t you sleep well last night?

Slowly her smile faded, and her wet eyes turned dreamy again. She glanced at the window and uttered-

She was there.

She keeps saying that, Mrs. Pollock remarked.

Jack looked out of the window with her.

Who was there, mama?

She was there, she repeated, looking lost and dreamier than ever.

Observing her for a moment, Jack hoped to deduce something.

Who’d you see, Ma?

She . . . was there.

For moments, Jack gazed at the window.

No, there was no one, mama, he said firmly. Now I want you to take a nap while I’m here for you. He turned and asked the maid: Has she taken her breakfast?

Yes, before you finished yours.

Nice, mama . . . have a sleep now, said Jack warmly, gently sliding her hand inside the blanket.

His mother clutched his hand.

She was there . . .

Who? Who was there, mama?

With a lost and dreamy gaze in her big sparkling eyes, she pressed his hand and slowly muttered-

She was there, son, your grandma.

CHAPTER TWO

SINFUL MEMOIRS

Jack parked his car in the parking lot beneath a tall glassy building, feeling eerie all the way through.

It had been a long time since his mother had hallucinations after being treated in St. Muriel’s Mental Hospital for eight months. She had started fantasizing again.

However, before her treatment, she used to see a whole lot of weird things in the big old villa they lived in, including a teenage boy and a girl. Jack was told by his aunt Amy, who once visited her in the home, that his mother was found to be chatting with imaginary people all day through, always complaining to them about the immeasurable size of the house she lived in.

They hadn’t taken it seriously, until one day, she had set her room on fire, slowly but menacingly muttering, Now you won’t get bigger day by day!

Jack couldn’t forget that night easily.

He used to live in the city and hadn’t met her for quite a while. He was wildly drunk when his father had emerged by the doorstep of his filthy apartment, looking sweaty and tired. After a long search, he had finally found Jack’s room among hundreds. Jack was with a woman, a hooker, who was dragging Jack to his room.

Mr. Lucas had brought the bad news to his son.

At the time, Jack used to blame his father for not taking good care of her. Jack had even confronted him at the hospital over abandoning her, calling him a self-obsessed old fool in front of his many admirers crowded in the hospital.

Later, he was told by doctors that the imaginary people his mother used to hallucinate about were actually his teenage self and his sister Lisa.

She was so alone at home that her mind had eventually developed the myth that her son and daughter had never grown up or deserted her.

After months of treatment and shock therapies, they had brought Mrs. Lucas home and appointed Mrs. Pollock as her caretaker.

Jack had realized that his mother had turned schizophrenic because she had been awfully alone in the old villa for months. That was the time when the father-son relationship had turned sour, finger-pointing and acrimonious arguments.

Eventually, Jack had to accept the fact that he had also contributed to his mother’s misery. However, strangely for the first time, after a long time of being at peace, Mrs. Lucas had actually had a hallucination of a dead person, his grandmother.

I hope she’s not getting worse, Jack thought, lamely strolling to his cubicle.

Dude, Eric, his colleague and only friend, waved at him. Jack was about to sit down when Eric had spotted him.

You don’t look so good, what’s wrong? Eric asked.

Nothing . . .

Whose face got you wrinkled on such a fine morning?

I think it’s my mother’s, Jack replied plainly.

Eric shot him a dark look.

Why? Why did you see her?

"Why? I’m sorry, is that your question?" Jack frowned.

You know what I mean, Eric paused to breathe deeply, and looked away. See man, we’ve had this talk before, haven’t we? And the inference is still the same. If you wanna last through the long days, maybe you shouldn’t see her in mornings. Perhaps, it is not wise to meet her before you turn up here in office.

Jack was looking at the computer screen.

You said so in the past, didn’t you? Eric asked, So why’d you think this morning was special?

We didn’t dine together last night. So I had to see her, Jack answered doggedly.

"But why do so in the morning, pal? Why the early freaking morning?" Eric sounded the way he always did, which made Jack feel carefree, unemotional, and strangely a little better.

Eric was damn right. He was never in his best of the moods whenever he had done that, and hence Jack had promised to himself a few months ago not to visit her before heading to the office.

And why didn’t you have dinner with your family? Eric continued sharply. Hung out with Debby, didn’t you?

Yeah.

"Come on man . . . , why can’t you just say no to her? snarled Eric, It’s an easy fucking fact, even dumb morons get it right, but you. The only times you have dinner with your family are the freaking Sundays. You could hang out with her on Saturdays or any other freaking time, can’t you? If you tell her properly, why won’t she understand? And dude, would you kindly explain to me now, why’d you go to see her at all? I thought you’d dumped her already . . . ?"

Jack nodded without taking in much of his rant. Perhaps, it wasn’t a good time to tell Eric what truly had happened there, and about the dinner, whose idea was it anyway?

Tell me . . . You weren’t receiving her farting calls . . . You weren’t replying to her wacky e-mails . . . You were totally forbidden by me of replying to her fucking messages on your cell-phone. You hadn’t had any of her shit during the last many weeks, had you? So what was the occasion yesterday? Didn’t like being at peace?

Jack just kept nodding for the next few minutes, gazing at the computer screen and working. He had begun the day.

*     *     *

Jack was working alone in the cubicle. There had been several hours passed since the conversation with Eric that had had ended up with Eric snapping about his continual nodding. Fucking douche-bag! were the final words