The Overnight Train

[Syrena]

The Overnight Train

​

It was raining.


The yellow glow of streetlamps dulled in the watery mist, blurring into indistinct balls of color and casting odd shadows against the pale wallpaper in the office. Juliet Parker listened to the gentle pitter-patter of rain against the glass windows and carefully adjusted the penlight in her mouth. Mismatched shades of darkness dripped off the biometric safe.


Plastic coated wires leaked out of a gaping hole in the safe door, shinning brightly under the glare of the penlight. Juliet carefully refitted the individual wires into the fingerprint scanner. The scanner’s LED light flickered on with a sickly green spark once she attached the final wire.


She pushed the fingerprint scanner into the hole. The bulge of copper wires provided sharp resistance, but the scanner clicked perfectly into place. Juliet sighed around the penlight and stood. Her muscles cramped at the change in posture. She groaned and stretched halfheartedly, pulling the penlight out of her mouth.


Warm spittle dripped down the slim piece of metal circuitry and oozed over her gloved fingers. Juliet grimaced, clicking the light off and instinctively wiping her fingers clean on her pants. The black mesh fabric easily absorbed the excess moisture. She dropped the penlight into her bag and slung the thin strap over her shoulder.


Her tools clanged together. But the fabric and hum of the reception computer muffled the noise. She stepped into the hall and paused near the back door. The computer’s screensaver, a motley collection of floating bubbles, provided enough light to see the dismantled alarm box.


The thick, off-white plastic cover hung near the ground, swaying precariously, and left the wires and motherboard exposed. Juliet worked one of the motherboards free. She unhooked two of the wires. The green LED on the alarm stopped glowing. It blinked.


Juliet quickly inserted the original motherboard. The LED light blinked red once and resumed a steady green glow. But the pause in the alarm feedback was already devastating. In twenty-two minutes and thirteen seconds the police would be at the door, searching for signs of tampering. She reattached the off-white cover out of habit.

 

[Jason Winters]

"I hate rain..." thought Aaron Winters as his black 1967 Chevy Impala rolled into view of the sleepy lights of the next town. The tattered green sign said "Broadchurch". As his gas tank read empty, he was happy that he could give his car a rest. It was given to him by his father, Jason, back when he graduated high school. He rolled into a small, dirty gas station, just in view of the rocky cliffs that dropped almost vertically to the coast.


Stepping out of the car, he grabbed a nozzle, inserted it into the gas tank, and lit up a cigarette. A small, elderly man walked out to greet him.


"Evening, sir!" the man was kindly and naive, not knowing how much of a threat Aaron normally imposed upon people. Normally, no one would approach him, but instead of creating a facade, Aaron simply half-smiled at the old codger, using little effort to be pleasant.


The gas pump clicked, and Aaron finished up fueling by spilling gasoline on his jet-black leather shoes. He grimaced, shaking his foot feebly in an attempt to remove the gas. As he did this, several sirens wailed in the distance, the all-too-familiar sound of "veritas aequitas" coming to save the day from the nasty criminals of the night.


Aaron smirked, feeling blessed that it wasn't him they were coming for. Walking inside, he grabbed another pack of Silk Cuts and a bottle of Jameson. It was going to be a long night while waiting for his next meeting. His only clue as to where it would be was the name of a bar and a date, which was tomorrow. He paid the old man with a better attempt at a smile, and walked out to his car, the rain still pouring down.


He hoped to God that it would be worth it.

 

[Syrena]

The rain was cold. Brutal.


It soaked into the beige carpet. Juliet shivered and flicked the collar of her jacket up. Rainwater dripped down the slick leather and soaked the waistband of her pants. She checked her watch, cringed, and stepped into the alley.


The shop door banged shut behind her, slapping dirty water over her blue plastic shoe covers. She turned to pull a flimsy key out of the lock. The key stuck. Juliet felt the plastic starting to give and crack. She readjusted her grip and slowly wiggled the key loose. Wet grit clung to the plastic, and the serrated edges were no longer precise.


She pocketed the key, turning to face the alley.


Muddy puddles leaked over the concrete. Bits of rubbish floated haphazardly in some of the bigger puddles. Juliet hesitantly walked through the alley. Her plastic shoe covers squelched loudly. But the plastic kept the sludge from holding perfect footprints.


Juliet stumbled onto the sidewalk. She pulled the shoe covers off, flailing slightly. The slight heel of her shoes clicked against the cement. Mushy grime stretched across the plastic in uneven splotches. She turned the plastic covers inside out and balled them together.


She started toward the train station. The cold rain quickly seeped through her jacket and pants. Her flesh prickled, and her teeth chattered together. Juliet tossed the balled up plastic into a dumpster half a block from the station. The plastic ball landed between old Chinese takeout cartons and crumpled newspapers.


Juliet ducked into the train station. A blast of icy air smacked her in the face, drying the rainwater against her skin. She tucked her hands under her armpits, still shivering, and walked to a wooden bench near the tracks. Leftover rainwater dripped off her clothing and created several small puddles at her feet.


The train arrived a few minutes later and she slipped onboard. She collapsed into an unoccupied seat with an uncomfortable cushion. Juliet shifted moodily and eventually pressed her cheek against the glass window. She closed her eyes, waiting for the train to lurch forward, and woke up in Broadchurch.


Juliet hobbled off the train.


The sky was still dark grey. And it was still raining. She groaned and climbed into her car. The rainwater soaked into the leather seats. Using the rearview mirror, Juliet pinned her hair up and reluctantly turned the car on. She was already running late to her meeting.

 

[Jason Winters]

The cloudy sky hid the sunrise, but Aaron's watch didn't lie. He knew when the sun rose and set- it was all a part of his training. He rose, stumbled slightly, and looked over towards an empty bottle and overturned glass. He was a little drunk, but he could keep his composure until after his meeting. Grabbing his black trench coat and keys, he walked haphazardly to his car.


Arriving at the bar "The Backdoor Pub", Aaron stepped out of his car and sat on the bench outside. His key phrase was to ask if his "partner" wanted a smoke, and if he/she accepted, then he knew they were the wrong person.


The rain dissipated for a while, letting the streetlights cast a cool reflection on the pavement. Drunk after drunk walked into and out of the bar, heading home to sleep or heading from home to drink. He was surprised this town could even function, being that there were this many drinkers in Broadchurch. Then again, so was he.

 

[Syrena]

Juliet frowned and leaned against her leather upholstery. It was still damp with rainwater, but the heated leather felt good against her aching muscles. She sighed, desperate for a cigarette and a hot shower, and struggled upright.


The view outside her windshield was not impressive. Broadchurch was nice. Quaint. But the local pub—a favorite watering hole hidden in the residential area—looked shabby. Paint peeled off the sign in fat, long strips. Stylized graffiti decorated old, faded red bricks. And the last of the town drunks were stumbling into the street.


She pulled her keys out of the ignition, and checked her appearance in the rearview mirror. Her hair didn’t look bad pinned up in a messy bun and her clothes were mostly dry. But her lips looked chapped. Juliet leaned over and yanked open the compartment on the passenger side.


Her metallic case of cigarettes slipped off a stack of papers and hit the carpet. She snatched the case up, slipping it into her jacket, and pulled her wallet and lip-gloss free. The cherry-flavored gloss gave her face a little bit of color.


Juliet slammed the compartment shut and opened the door. The heavy downpour of rain had lessened to a drizzle. She flicked her jacket collar back up and ducked under the pub awning. The awning was fraying. She could see white colored threads fluttering in the slight wind.


She turned to consider the pub door and cringed. The smell of liquor was strong. Too strong. Juliet considered getting back in her car. A hot shower and an even hotter cup of coffee were more desirable. She bit her lip, and then opened the door.

 

[Jason Winters]

Aaron sat almost alone at the bar, apart from two other "patrons" that served as the bar's last call. He smirked as the two men leaned on each other on the way out of the bar. Suddenly, his mind stopped mid-thought and he almost stared at the figure walking in. Her hair was up in a tight bun, her overcoat matched her heels, and her eyes scanned the bar almost professionally. Her demeanor screamed of "agent", but Aaron knew better. This woman was his favorite kind of thief- a cat burglar.


Her slender frame, strong shoulders, and well-developed legs caught him off guard. He usually saw female burglars as contortionists, with no real muscle. But this woman... Aaron sat up in his chair, straightened his tie, and ran his fingers through his hair. Then, he blushed, realizing he was concerned about her opinion of him was, like this was some sort of date. He smiled to himself and watched the woman enter the bar though the corner of his drinking glass...

 

[Syrena]

“Well. Shit.”


Juliet needed a cigarette; a pungent hit of nicotine to ease the heady smell of liquor and body odor. Her hands itched. And her muscles jittered with restless need. She licked her lips impatiently. Her cherry lip gloss slid over her tongue. She cringed at the sudden sweetness and leaned against the bar. The surface was sticky with booze and disinfectant.


She lazily fished her cigarette case out of her jacket. The black leather peeled away from her light pink top. Juliet pulled a skinny cigarette out of her case and rolled it between her two fingers. She stuck it in her mouth, unlit, and chewed on the filter. Absently, she snapped the case shut. The metallic finish caught the low bar light and glinted off one of the drinking glasses.


Her reflection shimmered hazily on the glass, too. She lowered the case, letting it clatter against the sticky bar top, and reached over for a shot glass and a near empty bottle of whiskey. Juliet poured herself a shot, finally catching the bartender’s eye, and downed it. The whiskey burned its way down her throat. She swallowed. Hard. And order a cup of coffee.


“God. That was awful.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Juliet carefully hooked her leg around a bar stool and pulled. The wooden legs scratched loudly against the floor. She settled on top of the stool and stripped off her damp jacket. Her skin prickled with goose bumps. Juliet rubbed her hands over her arms and finally turned to face the only other person in the bar.


She looked him over. Slowly. Warily. “Please tell me you aren’t drunk.”

 

[Jason Winters]

"Only a little bit." Aaron extended his hand to his new partner. "Aaron Winters, nice to meet you."


His eyes scanned over her, every inch of her demeanor being analyzed. He never trusted anyone- but then again, he never had worked with a woman before.


"Cig?" he offered, already seeing the one between her lips.

 

[Syrena]

“Great.”


Juliet turned her shot glass upside down. The aftertaste of whiskey was still pungent in her mouth. She washed the taste out with coffee, rolling her cigarette between her fingers. She watched Aaron extend his hand, but hesitated before taking it. Her grip was loose and she pulled away quickly. “Juliet. And I can’t say it’s a pleasure.”


She reached for a matchbook. The match was flimsy. It took three tries to get the wood to light. Heat tickled her fingers as she held the match against her cigarette, inhaling. The end of her cigarette burned cherry red. Juliet shook the match and dropped it into the ashtray. She exhaled sharply and took another swig of her coffee.


“You aren’t wearing a wire, are you?” It was the wrong answer to the code. But caution was more important than key phrases.


Juliet settled her coffee cup on the chipped saucer and smiled at Aaron thinly. She plucked his drinking glass out of his hand and shifted on her stool to face the bartender. The cushion squeaked in protest. “We’re going to need another coffee and water. You can put it, and the whiskey, on his tab.”

 

[Jason Winters]

Aaron's brow furrowed, his favorite drink taken from him by this- this- newcomer. He sighed, his new vow of sobriety thrust upon him like an unwanted child, and he was the orphanage.


"I don't suppose that you're the one wearing the wire, eh?" he looked over at her, his eyes swollen and tired from a long night. He took a deep drag from his stogie, and placed it on the ashtray. Cracking his neck, he turned to face her.


"Look, lady, I'm just trying to be friendly, seeing as how we're both here for the same purpose. Now, if you want to be nice and properly shake my hand, I'd be more than happy to restart this conversation over again. If not, there's the door." He motioned vaguely with his hand towards the exit, wondering what her reaction would be.

 

[Syrena]

Juliet snorted. “Are you blind, too?”


She waited until the bartender turned away. Then, she slowly stood and tipped the remains of Aaron’s glass onto the floor. Amber liquid splashed against the wooden floor panels and puddled near her designer shoes. Pieces of grit and dust lifted off the floor and floated in the sticky puddle.


“I don’t get paid to be friendly.” She leaned forward and forcefully set the empty glass in front of Aaron. “Be thankful I’m not a whore here to service you.” Juliet sniffed and took a quick drag of her cigarette. “As if you could afford my services.”


The bartender returned and silently placed a fresh glass of water and a coffee with sugar and cream in between Juliet and Aaron. Condensation slicked the sides of the water glass.


Juliet exhaled grey smoke and rolled her cigarette between her fingers. The familiar, easy feel of the rolled paper between her fingers was comforting. She took another drag and stubbed her cigarette out. It smoldered and puffs of white smoke drifted up from the ashtray. “I very much doubt we’re here for the same purpose.”


“Unless, of course, you conduct business transactions sober.” She pulled her wallet out and slid a crisp bill under her coffee cup. “Until then.”

 

[Jason Winters]

Aaron shook his head, his brains swimming from the bottles he had consumed, and his cigarettes smoke dried his eyes. He wanted to apologize, to ask to start over and try and be more open about why he was doing what he was doing. But he had a reputation to uphold.


"Fine-" he slid a key onto the bar, overlaying a newly created facade for his partner.


"I've done some research on you, Juliet Parker. You have quite a reputation and skills I'm looking for. I apologize for my lack of professionalism, I've had a very long day from driving and I realize that I may not seem the best kind of person now, but I guarantee you that you want- this- job." He paused for effect.


"This intel is extremely valuable and can have us both set for a mighty long time- guaranteed. Your new M.O. is Ms. Melanie Baxter, the armed escort for my M.O., a Mr. John Trent, a C.D.C. case worker who is escorting our target, a Mr. Casey Stronberg. I have already intercept the real John Trent. We will be staying in the room he booked for them this weekend and we will not get separate rooms, so that we don't blow our precious cover. I'll see you back at the room, I'm going to finish my drink."


Aaron returned to his burned-out cigarette, scoffed, and grabbed a second one from his pack, finished with the conversation- for now.

 

[Syrena]

“God.” Juliet pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re a fucking prick.”


She watched Aaron lit a new cigarette. But she refused to touch the hotel key. Juliet curled her fingers into loose fists and breathed in the second hand smoke. Her patience was stretched painfully thin. She felt a headache building at the base of her skull. Everything ached.


“Valuable is subjective. And guarantees are useless.” She spit the words out. Irritation oozed out of her cool, dismissive tone. She pressed her hands against the counter and sucked in a deep breath. Slowly, she let it back out and silently counted to ten. “I won’t share a room with you. Nor will I unquestionably submit to your demands or schemes. If you want a submissive bitch to follow your lead, find someone else.”


Abruptly, she stepped away from the bar and bent to whisper in Aaron’s ear. She was close enough to feel the warm glow of his body heat against her damp clothes and the stink of old cigarette smoke and stale booze. “I need a good faith payment; a gesture of goodwill.”


She paused and wet her lips. “I have a house on the cliffs. If you take a shower and quit drinking, you can come over and we can discuss how this job will work. Together.” Juliet stepped away and picked up a pen and fresh matchbook from the bar. She neatly printed the house address and flicked the matchbook in Aaron’s direction.


“Of course, you’re more than welcome to find someone else for this venture.” She stepped away and headed toward the bar door. Cold rain greeted her as she pushed the door open. Juliet sighed let the door slam shut behind her.

 

[Jason Winters]

Aaron frowned, his partner walking out the door, and his reputation as an asshole still upheld. He should feel happy; he successfully alienated another partner, and he was able to get a little hammered on the side. However, he didn't feel good about it. And this was what was bothering him.


Perhaps it was time for a change?


He sighed, paid the bartender, and donned his coat as he hurried out behind Juliet.


"Wait a second!" he called.


"I'm sorry, OK? I have a reputation for being an asshole. Usually I would feel good about alienating a partner, so it wasn't hard to part ways with them. But I can see that's not going to work." he paused, realizing he had just spilled his guts to an almost complete stranger.


He continued, "My car's at the hotel, but I don't think I should drive. We have 72 hours before we need to make our pickup. So, it's safe to say we have some work to do. I'll get rid of the hotel reservations tomorrow. You have a shower up at this house of yours?"

 

[Syrena]

She slammed the car door and revved the engine. Heat blasted out of the air vents and washed over her. The scent from her Yankee Candle air freshener was thick and heavy in the heat. She could taste the sage and citrus against her tongue. Juliet let the warm air dry her face before cracking her window open.


Aaron looked soggy. The cold rain had dulled the alcoholic flush from his cheeks. But even the strong scent of her air freshener couldn’t hide the smell. She grimaced.


Juliet pulled the sun visor down. Her reflection gleamed in the small polished mirror attached to the leather flap. She pulled her strawberry lip-gloss out of the cup holder and applied a fresh coat. The faint strawberry scent mixed with the sage and citrus. Juliet sniffed and turned the fan down. The rush of warm air faded to a pleasant puff.


“I have no patience for drunks or assholes.” She pushed the sun visor up and dumped her lip-gloss back into the cup holder. “If you’re truly done with such antics,” she let out a long sigh. The set-up was still less than ideal. “Get in. I do have a guest bathroom. But.”


Juliet clicked the lock before Aaron could walk around her car and pull open the passenger door. “But,” she repeated with emphasis, “If you continue to sit in bars and think you can stagger back to whatever hole you crawled out of—we’re done.” She unlocked the car and shifted into reverse. “Your choice.”

 

[Jason Winters]

Aaron opened the passenger door and crawled in, his dignity now shattered, and his resolved crumbled. He was tired- tired of fighting, tired of drinking, even tired of smoking. He was tired of being an asshole and drinking every night. But he would never tell anyone why he did it- why he was an alcoholic asshole.

 

[Syrena]

She waited.


Aaron walked around the front of her car. Her headlights and the rain made his shadow stretch oddly across the cement walk. Juliet tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. The cherry wood felt warm against her fingers. He yanked open the passenger door without comment. Rainwater splattered the seat and dripped onto the rubber floor mat.


He collapsed into the bucket seat. The supple leather squished against his soggy clothes. Aaron slammed the door shut. Sharp vibrations shook her car. The smell of booze started to fester inside the confined space. Juliet turned the heat down again, and adjusted the air vents. It didn’t much good; the smell didn’t dissipate.


“Seatbelt.” She sighed, cracking a back window open, and backed out of her parking spot.


The car rolled smoothly back. Juliet switched gears and merged onto the paved, one-way street leading to the ocean view homes dotting the cliffs. She didn’t speak during the thirty-minute drive. Her radio remained stubbornly off, too. The whine of her windshield wipers and the low rumble of thunder filled the silence.


She pulled into a gravel driveway and opened the garage. The pale blue paint looked dull in the rain as the door obediently folded open. Her tires crunched loudly over the grit, spewing small rocks and pieces of dirt over the concrete garage flooring.


Juliet cut the engine. The warm breeze of heat faded and the cool dampness of the garage wrapped around her. She undid her seatbelt and pushed open the door. A fluorescent overhead light clicked on when Juliet stepped into the garage.


“I’ll make coffee.” She let herself into the house and tossed her car keys on a small wooden table near the door. The metal clicked nosily together and slid across the tabletop, stopping near the edge. Juliet slipped off her damp jacket, hung it on a wooden peg behind the door, and started to tinker with the Mr. Coffee.


She heard Aaron trudge up the two steps and come into her house. “There’s a guest room with a bathroom,” Juliet pointed her free hand in the direction of a wide hallway and measured out coffee with the other. She didn’t check to see if Aaron could see her. “Down the hall and to the right. I’m going to put this on and go upstairs to shower and change, too.”


Juliet worried her lip, screwing the top back on the coffee canister. “Then, I’ll come back and make lunch.” It was as close to an olive branch as she was willing to get.

 

[Jason Winters]

Aaron huffed, his mind spent from the cigarettes and booze swimming around in his head like a fish tank. He grunted a thank you and made his way to the guest bedroom. He peeled off his wet jacket and hung it limply on a nearby chair. Undoing his tie, he cracked his neck and opened the window, placing a fan by the dresser towards the window. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, letting the cool breeze glide over his rippling muscles. He looked down in disgust at the crisscrossing scars on his arms and torso.


"Never again..." he thought. He laid the white dress shirt, black dress pants, tie and socks on the bed, letting the damp night air dry off his articles. He stepped into the bathroom, a pleasant sight. The navy blue and white floor tiles accented the wallpaper, the object of attention being the tub. He turned the hot water on, letting it run, peeling off his boxers and stepping into the hot spray, washing off all the stink and regret of the day.

 

[Syrena]

The pipes groaned.


Juliet listened to the faint gurgles of water sloshing through the walls. It was a comforting noise that mixed well with the gentle pitter-patter of rain against her windows. She turned on the Mr. Coffee and carefully put the canister away, leaning heavily against the counter.


“God.” She whispered; her voice muted against the creamy kitchen walls.


Exhaustion tugged at her limbs. The adrenaline-induced stamina was gone. Juliet watched the rainfall from the kitchen window. Windex streaked the glass panes, and the splatters of rainwater made the old, green trees look blurry. She stifled a yawn and pushed away from the counter.


She tiptoed past the guestroom but the stairs creaked loudly under her feet. The faded, familiar smell of lilac and jasmine settled in her nose at the top of the landing. Juliet slipped into the master bedroom, locking the door. Her limbs ached as she shrugged out of her damp clothes. Goose flesh prickled her arms and legs. She rubbed her palms against her skin and a brief spark of warmth settled through her.


But it didn’t last. She trudged into the bathroom. The clean, sleek surfaces and fluffy towels greeted her. Juliet opened the frosted glass door to the shower and twisted the hot water on. A gush of cold water spat out of the showerhead and, then, warm water crept through the pipes. She stepped onto the cold tiles and shut the door behind her, letting the warm water wash away the grime of the bar and the slimy feel of cold rain and city smog.

 

[Jason Winters]

Aaron's tears fell as freely as the droplets from the shower head. The scars on his chest merely reminded him of what he had to go through in order to understand that he couldn't trust anyone. But he wanted to trust her....

 

[Syrena]

The hot spray of water soured into a lukewarm temperature. Juliet frowned and abruptly shut the water off. She leaned against the frosted glass and sank to the floor. Her wet hair dripped lazily onto the ceramic. She watched the beads of water slowly inch toward the drain as cool air cut through the dissipating steam.


Her wet skin prickled with goose flesh. She shivered involuntarily. The cooler temperature wasn’t refreshing. Grudgingly, Juliet climbed to her feet and wrapped a fluffy towel around her body. Her teeth chattered together as she stepped into the center of her bathroom, away from the lingering steam and toward the full-length mirror hanging on the opposite wall.


She studied her foggy reflection. Faint, dark smudges highlighted her eyes. Juliet swiped her hand across the mirror. Water and fog mixed together and distorted her image. She turned away and started to pull on a fresh set of underwear.


The clean underwear made her feel better. And she halfheartedly picked out a pair of jeans and a sweater. Dressed, and with her hair teased into a soggy French twist, Juliet turned to face the locked bedroom door. She glared at the plain wood, but dutifully undid the lock and started down the stairs.


Aaron wasn’t in the kitchen, and Juliet was ridiculously grateful.


She bent to rummage through one of the lower cabinets for a soup pan and a sandwich press. Idly, she set the pan on the oven and dumped the sandwich press on the countertop haphazardly. The kitchen appliances banged noisily against the granite.

 

[Jason Winters]

Aaron walked out to the kitchen slowly in a wife-beater and loose pair of shorts. His damp hair dipped in front of his eyes, and he kept trying to move it to the side, so as not to look like one of the inner-city kids that used to terrorize him at school every day. He quietly sat at the counter, breathing in the smells of the kitchen and the quiet scents of Juliet's shampoo.


"Well- I gotta say I dig the pad, Juliet. It's a compliment to your accomplishments. From what I read that wasn't covered in black ink, you pulled off some insane heists. That's- really cool. I can't really boast much- all I did was some money jobs- just simple smash and grabs. Except for this one casino in Las Vegas.... That one was nuts...!"


He paused, waiting for her reaction, hoping he could spark up some conversation with some compliments.


"The food smells great- what're you making?"

 

[Syrena]

She stood in front of the refrigerator. The cool air wafting out of the machine tickled her face and clung to her knit sweater. Juliet sighed. She rifled through the sparse contents littering the crisper drawers, absently drumming her fingers against a clear plastic shelf.


A handful of oranges loosely contained in red netting rolled slightly in response to the minor vibrations rippling over the shelf. Molding sour cream half-hidden in the back corner and a package of artisan cheese also rattled. She checked the date on the cheese. It was still good; the sell by date was still several days away.


Juliet took the cheese out of the refrigerator and slammed the doors shut. She checked the breadbasket on the counter. Yesterday’s loaf of French bread sat inside the basket. The brown paper wrapping crinkled loudly as she pulled the bread out, adding it to her collection of cheese and kitchen appliances.


She turned back to the refrigerator. The suction seal peeled away slowly as she yanked the door on the right forcefully open. Juliet pulled a plate of butter off the top shelf and closed the door. Then, she bent to open the freezer.


Frozen dinner entrées were neatly stacked on a wide shelf. The brand and meals names were prominently displayed in alphabetical order. She carefully transferred the single serving meals to the opposite side of the shelf. The icy cardboard containers scraped wearily against the shelf, revealing a Ziploc bag of tomato soup.


The soup was frozen at odd angles and sat haphazardly against the back wall. She fished the bag out, and then carefully replaced her frozen meals.


Juliet stood and unzipped the bag. She meticulously peeled the plastic off the frozen block of soup, coaxing the mass into her pot. The oddly shaped block of soup hit the bottom of the pan with a faint thud. Absently, she turned on the gas stove. Sickly colored flames licked the bottom on the stainless steel pot. The soup started to slowly melt; moisture sizzled against the steel pot.


She poked the thawing soup with a wooden spoon. The vicious sizzle of moisture intensified for a brief moment, then faded to a near-silent crackle. Satisfied, Juliet turned away and started to construct cheese sandwiches out of her meager pile of ingredients.


Aaron walked into the kitchen. His footsteps were soft, but the wooden floor creaked and groaned at unexpected intervals. Juliet turned slightly to look at him, placing the cheese sandwiches habitually onto the heated press. Butter simmered against the heated surface. She watched Aaron’s dark, wet hair drip down his face and splash the floor.


He consciously brushed his bangs to the side. Aaron looked horribly young—and lost—for a painful second. Juliet turned away. She stirred the soup distractedly. The oddly shaped block was gone, replaced with a hot, creamy liquid and chunks of juicy tomatoes.


Aaron started to talk, breaking the silence with a familiar ease. She let the words wash over her in a rambling haze and lifted the lid of the press to poke at the cheese sandwiches. The French bread was a deliciously golden brown and melted cheese seeped down the sides. She licked her lips, opening the cabinets to pull out a collection of plates and soup bowls.


“It’s my grandmother’s house.” Juliet placed the soup bowls on the pale yellow and blue plates. The china clinked together. “Everything in the house is hers…” She trailed off, casually looking out the kitchen window. It was still raining. And she could see the ocean twisting angrily in the wind. “It was a gift from my grandfather before he passed away. Now, I use it as a vacation spot. On occasion.”


She shrugged and arranged the cheese sandwiches neatly on the plates. The silence stretched; the conversation falling flat. But Aaron picked up the pieces. He strung a neat series of compliments together. Juliet vaguely wondered, again, if he was hiding a wire somewhere. His idle poking at her accomplishments made her bristle and very nearly preen.


He switched topics before Juliet could work up a satisfactory response.


“Tomato soup and grilled cheese. Nothing fancy.” She turned the heat down, and started to ladle soup into the bowls. “But hopefully edible. The Chinese place is closed on Mondays. So. This is it.” She paused, pursing her lips. “There’s silverware in that drawer.” She nodded in the appropriate direction grudgingly. “Set the table, would you.”

 

[Jason Winters]

Wordlessly, Jason got up from the table and opened the silverware drawer. "Wow," he thought, "Real freaking silver. She's got good taste, too."


He sat the forks on the left and the glasses on the right, like he was trained to do as a waiter for the small diner in his hometown. He remembered the old place fondly. It was where he learned that hard work pays off.


He opened his mouth and tasted the soup. Creamier than he expected and with just a hint of pepper to it.


"This is surprisingly good, seeing as it was frozen."


He sat silent for a moment, then scrunched up whatever emotional courage he had, and asked.


"Did you ever serve any time in the military? I did. Served four tours in Afghanistan with the Marine Corps. Our team was Delta Force, the best of the best, up there with Navy S.E.A.L.S. This one time, we were deep in enemy territory, and I got captured. They did this to me."


He lifted his shirt, showing the brunt of his scars. In the back of his mind, he said to himself he shouldn't be revealing all this personal information, but he didn't care. He wanted her to know; to understand him.

 

[Jason Winters]

Her laughed to himself, realizing the fact that he left his guard down, Apart from everything his training had told him. His brain was ignorant to the fact that that fact of the matter was, she was a woman. He wasn't antisemitic, he was raised to respect and protect all women. He had left his guard down because she was more soft than his other partners. The brunt of the men that stood alongside him in battle were brutes, grizzled old men that had no appreciation for the human language. His companions were either morons or blood-thirsty mercenaries. He had never known a woman's kindness, nor even the touch of a woman. His life was a fixture of battlements and explosive deaths.


He was so overdrawn to the fact that there was kindness and fairness in the world that he forgot his one precious mission: love. He wanted to affect the world on his own, and let the world become a place of love and peace. He looked at her and realized that he could truly love again.