II

Several days passed and the cameras could no longer find him. Interspersed with the search were various recaps that led up to this point. Speculation ran rampant as callers voiced their thoughts and concerns and gave their good wishes. Tabloids ran stories mixed in with the "Two Headed Elvis Love Child". Over all it was considered a good season finale.
The head of the network held a press conference where he declared on the behalf of the show that condolences were passed onto the friends and family of those lost. He expressed regret for the whole incidence and offered a helping hand in bringing justice. A phone call was all that was needed. And beneath the plastic smile and immobile hair you could almost see the wisps of thought that said 'next season will be even better.'
When the cameras turned off, he strode away. He was late for a meeting with the tech team. They had been trying to track Charlie via satellite for days now. The implant was malfunctioning and blipped only every so often, but was so sporatic that the findings had all been questionable. Until this morning at 10:13. A steady signal had come from just outside the southern border of the state. It was a good six hour drive without traffic. They waited for Gideon Trask to arrive to ok a team to go after him.
"Ok...what's the scoop?" said Gideon as he stepped into the room.
Loosening his tie he leaned in and looked at the monitor. "What's this? Who's he know here?" He tapped the glass.
When no answer came forth he stood up and looked around. "Who?" he repeated.
There was a rustling of papers as Trevor Milden stepped out of the shadows. "Noone that we know of. We'll have to do a double check later, but I'm pretty sure"
Trevor was a mealy little man. His hair was just a little too long his pants were just a little too short, no matter how tidy he made himself he still looked disheveled. He had taken a course in college on media journalism, which had been almost a case study of Gideon Trask. Applications from him began arriving several years ago. Originally he had dreamed high and sought one of the tv jobs. Fantasies of celebrityhood from exposure on the screen dwindled until he settled at the bottom in the mail room.
This year though, luck approached him. He had minored in psychology and had been analyzing Charlie for a season and a half. Everyone Charlie came in contact with was noted, every mannerism. On his off days he would try to talk to the camera crew and waited for Charlie to make an appearance so he could see what he was like off-camera. Mid-season, Charlie had vanished for the first time. They spent weeks airing re-runs and re-caps. One of the men on the team put a bullet in his head. And it's still there floating around in his coma somewhere. Trevor had been in the right place, at the right time, with the right information.
Promotion came with many more responsibilities. He was on call all the time. Today, he knew that he was going to take the brunt of this regardless of the fact it was beyond his control. A solution was needed, but none came, except....
"Bill disappeared late last night," he began.
"He's the one with the kid right?" came a voice from the corner.
The tech guy was answered by a silence that was like a backhand across his face. He bristled visibly for a moment then sheepishly turned back to his work.
"Anyway, he's right",continued Trevor."He does have a family, and at some point he has to return."
"We're assuming then that he's met Charlie somewhere to help him with whatever it he's doing," Gideon stated.
Nodding Trevor continued, "If we watch his house, we can grab him and get what we need from him."
"You think he'd turn over that easy?" asked Gideon,"He's one of his closest friends."
"But he has a weakness," answered Trevor, "His family."
Gideon snorted. Looking back at the screen again, he pondered his options. He needed Charlie back at all costs. The amount of money coming from and going into this project was astounding. He needed Charlie back to make sure there was a next season.
"Do it," Gideon walked out. Trevor followed. The rest of the men sighed and began arranging a team to wait at Bill's house.

I

Tension rippled through his shoulders down his back, like hundreds of tiny worms crawling just beneath the surface of the skin. Those closest shuffled aside. Those farthest from him leaned in. The stillness crackled loudly in mass anticipation which fed the moment several notches down the belt. Anger was firmly rooted in and yet he showed no other visible reaction. Everyone else stilled, waiting.
There are experiences in life that play varying tricks with time. Maybe you're terrified of heights and stupidly thought to overcome this fear by diving out of a plane. A ten second drop stretches eons into oblivion. Memory inches it a touch more each time. Usually though these moments are singular, affecting only one. Sometimes maybe a few. This however was a scale unknown before.
Day was just pulling it's fiery reds out of the sky. Cold, definately cold, was the unspoken consensus. The chill however, held very little sway. Many thought to step out of the rain, but noone moved. Noone whispered. Streetlights flickered into life unnoticed. Splashes rose from the concrete and asphalt. Small, moist, gusts of wind picked their way down the road, carefully avoiding the crowd surrounding the one house where one man hesitantly began walking towards the end of his life as he knew it.
The walkway ended in steps leading to a wooden door that was usually white, but tonight had a crimson splash that brought with it a note fastened down by a knife that he slowly reached for. He glanced around him at the throng gathered here waiting for this very moment and resented it more than he ever had before. What caught his attention was the barely audible silence that appears when everyone holds their breath at the same moment. Turning away and blocking it all from his mind he pulled the shiv from the door and grabbed the note. All it said was "I got em. I got em for ya Charlie."
A sob rose, from the back of the crowd, that released the well of emotion that had been waiting to burst open. The knife clattered at his feet and the note flitted away into a puddle. His head hung down and he waited for the punchline. The joke was on him.....because there was no joke. He knew with a certainty that his family was dead.

surplus surrealism

a blemish, cankor drifting
effluent flow gathering here
in justified killing
lecherous maggots
neuropathic orgasm
pleases quickly
rancid sensuality trailing upwards
venting within xenophobic yearnings