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 |  A Place for My Creations |
Silent Echoes Michael couldn't wait to get the day started. It was the same as everyday, but today he was flying his bird, the Boeing 787 Dreamliner wide-body aircraft Air France Airlines used for long haul flights. It had been a year since he had seen his Senorita Maria. He made sure that he kept in touch with her every week knowing this time would come—he was flying his passengers to Madrid. Climbing into his silver 2023 Peugeot 208, it was going to be a fabulous day, he just knew it. His minute-repeater watch began to chime, letting him know it was nine in the morning and he would arrive at the airport parking lot in manner of minutes. Maneuvering the car slowly, he was able to park in front of his favorite café, Le Café De Floré. There he would get his favorite Carmel Latté. He turned off the motor and closed his eyes. The rich aroma of expresso penetrated the car. Anticipation of the rich, strong expresso topped with a layer of frothy milk and a good dab of Carmel brought a grin to his face. It was now nine thirty, and he was well into his plans of two Lattes and reading the morning newspaper before his departure. Stepping out of the car at The De Gaulle Airport, he glanced up toward the sky. He felt his smile fade from his face, as he watched the dark clouds gathering ominously overhead. He shook at the chill that traveled up and then down again his spine. It is December twenty-fourth, it is suppose to be cold, he chuckled to himself and scurried into the cafe as the rain began to come down. Unbeknownst to him, a tempest was gathering not just in the skies, but within his own life as well. Michael stood inside the Cafe and scanned the room. "Ahh," he mumbled under his breath, as his eyes came to rest on a vacant booth in the far corner by the front window. He loved to watch the rain fall. He turned his head to his right and saw Rosie setting down a glazed donut and pouring coffee for an elderly man at the end of the counter. "Hi Rosie, my usual." She nodded and watched him take the seat in the corner booth. Within five minutes she had delivered his Carmel Latte and his newspaper. "Monsieur Banks?" Michael slowly folded down his newspaper, and looked up to meet the sound of the male's voice. Standing before him was a middle-aged, short, heavy-set man in a bespoke tailored suit. His face was round and his cheeks rosy. His greying hair circled his shiny scalp drenched with sweat. Closing his blue eyes he took a long drag from his Camel cigarette before withdrawing it from his pursed lips. "You have me at a disadvantage, Sir," Michael replied. "Monsieur Banks, he began. "I am Monsieur Serge Baitaille. I knew you father well and wish to express my condolences." Michael swiftly put the folded newspaper on the table. Motioning the gentleman to sit, he replied, "Thank you...I think, but he was killed two years ago." "Oui Monsieur, that is unfortunate." |
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