The sun was sparkling, casting a warm shine over the building as understudies relaxed on the grass, chatting and snickering between work. Judy had just wrapped up from work and was making her way to the café where she and Tyrone regularly met for coffee. She was energized to see him, enthusiastic to share a clever story about a colleague they both disdained. As she drew closer to the café, she spotted Tyrone sitting at their regular table close to the window. But something was off. His pose was tense, his expression incoherent as he gazed down at his phone. Judy’s steps floundered for a minute, a sense of unease inching into her stomach, but she shook it off and pushed open the door. “Tyrone!” she called out with a grin, making her way over to him. “You won’t believe what happened at work today—” But before she could finish, Tyrone looked up, and the look in his eyes ceased her cold. It was a sight she had never seen before—cold, far off, almost… irate. “Tyrone?” Judy inquired, h
The cruel fluorescent lights of the office building shined as Judy stood within the passage, her hand balanced to knob on Tyrone's door. She faltered, her heart beating in her chest. It had been weeks since Tyrone had suddenly told her to remain away from him, and the torment of his dismissal still stung new in her mind. But she couldn't bear the quiet any longer. She needed answers. With a deep breath, Judy rapped her knuckles against the wood. There was a moment of quiet, at that point suppressed "Come in" from the other side. As she pushed open the door, Judy's eyes fell on Tyrone. He sat behind his facing study, facing against the city horizon unmistakable through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. The location of him made her heart skip a beat, just because it continuously had. Tyrone's face hardened as he recognized his guest. "Judy," he said, his voice cold and firm. "I thought I made myself clear. You shouldn't be here." Judy recoiled at his tone but stood her ground
The delicate lapping of waves against the shore and the stirring of palm fronds within the warm breeze were a world away from the hustle and haste of the city. Tyrone extended out on his shoreline lounger, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin and a sense of satisfaction he hadn't experienced in a long time. "Now this," he said, turning to Judy with a smile, "is what I call a vacation." Judy looked up from her book, her eyes twinkling behind her shades. "I need to admit, you were right about this place. It's completely overwhelming." They were on a little, elite island within the Caribbean, distant from the prying eyes of the media and the consistent requests of their trade realm. As Judy set her book aside and stood up, extending slowly, Tyrone couldn't help but appreciate her. The years had been kind to her, and the stress that had once lined her face had softened away within the tropical sun. "What do you say we take a walk along the shoreline?" Judy recommended, holding out
Judy never envisioned that her normal day would take a turn into a bad dream. It started like every other morning—bright and full of hope. The sun spilled through the sheer shades of her flat, casting delicate brilliant beams over the room. Judy yawned as she extended in bed, a grin playing on her lips as she thought of the day ahead. But that day, which had begun with such positive thinking, would before long turn into something dull and terrifying. It all started when Judy chose to talk a walk to the nearby market. She loved the market, with its bustling air, the merchants yelling out the freshness of their voice, and the cluster of colors from the flowers, natural products, and vegetables on show. It was a put of life and dynamic quality, a place where she may lose herself within the basic joy of picking out the ripest apples or the freshest bouquet of daisies. As she strolled through the market, she felt a sense of peace. It was a calm day—sunny but not as hot, with a delicate
Tyrone’s night had started like every other. He sat on the edge of his worn calfskin sofa, his eyes half-closed as the relieving murmur of a late-night jazz station filled the living room. The smooth notes of the saxophone floated through the air, blending with the fragrance of the coffee he’d brewed just minutes before. His wife, was out with friends for a little gathering. Tyrone hadn’t disapproved of staying home; in reality, he needed these calm minutes. Little did he know that the peace of the evening was about to be smashed. As he held his mug, the phone on the coffee table buzzed noisily, disturbing the tranquility of the room. Tyrone scowled, picking it up to check the caller ID. The number was new, but something around it made his heart skip a beat. He delayed for a moment some time recently replying. “Hello?” Tyrone’s profound voice carried an aura of caution. There was quiet on the other end of the line, as if it was a black out sound of breathing. Just as he was about to
Tyrone rested against the cold steel model of his car, the evening sun casting long shadows over the about forsaken stopping part. The weight of what he was almost to do sat overwhelming on his shoulders, squeezing down just like the thick warm mist that made the air nearly unbreathable. His dim eyes, which were always sharp and calculating, were presently filled with a blend of uneasiness and resolve. Inside, Matthew was holding up. For a long time, Tyrone and Matthew had been at each other’s throats, their contention carving a ridiculous way through their separate way of lives. What had begun as a little disagreement had spiralled into a quarrel that had lasted for months, both men more disconnected and solidified than ever before. But nowadays, Tyrone was about to do something that neither of them had ever considered. With a profound breath, he pushed off the car and walked toward Matthew's house. His strides resounded off the concrete, each one a reminder of how distant they had
Tyrone paced back and forward in his faintly lit living room, the pressure within the air thick sufficient to cut. The expensive, mahogany coffee table was secured with maps, scratch pad, and folded papers with quickly written notes—remnants of an unhinged, restless three days. His mind dashed with conceivable outcomes, each one darker than the final. Three days had passed since his spouse had been captured, and each hour felt like a lifetime. Matthew sat over from him on the couch, his eyes checking over a list of contacts on his phone. Matthew, the more explanatory of the two, was the one who kept Tyrone in check. But indeed Matthew was starting to feel the weight of the circumstance squeezing down on him. "We're running out of time," Tyrone murmured, his voice rough from fatigue. "We got to do something, Matt. We can't just sit here waiting for a supernatural occurrence." Matthew looked up, his usually calm blue eyes clouded with concern. "I know, Ty. But we need to be savvy abou
Tyrone looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly midnight. His wife was still kidnapped by obscure men a number of days back. He had called her phone a few times, but every time it went straight to voicemail. But the unease wouldn’t leave him. He picked up his phone once more and dialed her number. This time, it didn’t actually rang. It went straight to voicemail. “Babe, it’s me,” he said, attempting to keep his voice calm. “Just give me a call once you get this, okay? I’m beginning to get stressed. Love you.” He hung up and threw the phone onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. He walked over to the window and looked out at the city underneath. The roads were calm, and the lights from the buildings twinkled within the night. Ordinarily, the sight calmed him, but this evening, it as if, it made him feel more confined. Just as he was about to call her best friend to see if she knew where she was, his phone buzzed on the couch. He took it rapidly, trusting it was his w