Whiteout

The rain came down as if lead. The entire downtown landscape was getting drenched, including Tobias Miller. The exception to this weather was the man in the black wool coat and black fedora, he was dry. They spoke over the thuds of water, almost screaming. No one heard them though, no one else was so foolish as to be outside.

“So, it’s done?”

“Never even happened.”

“Where is Nate Waters?”

“In you’re wrong headed memory only.”

“So if I look in the white pages I won’t find him.”

“You’ll find three but you’re man isn’t one of them.”

Tobias stared at the dour long face. He was trying to remember ever inch and contour as he was sure he was looking at the world’s most powerful man.

“How did you do it?”

“Your’s is not to question how, but to pay me and mine and hope no one ever thinks to do the same to you.”

With that the black coat tturned and walked towards the west. It was all together unsettling as he disappeared five feet from Toby. Toby left for his warm house, where his wife and son waited for him.

Tobias checked the obituaries, the rotary club and the county records, there was no Nathaniel Waters. His hated enemy had never even been born. Elias and Mary Waters had only three sons, and none went to Northwest where they beat up a little pipsqueak named Toby. None became Harvard schooled lawyers. None ever left the city they were born in. /most importantly, no one ever seduced Toby’s wife away from him. Toby thought he’d be happy but all he had was guilt.

Luckily, there is a plan in place to take care of such lingering feeling. In his motel room at the edge of town, the man in the black hat looks over the script and is currently revising. At the table next to the window, the typewriter sits. A little jar sits on his nightstand next to him. Slowly, he unscrews the lid and dots the page with splotches of white. Toby’s guilt disappears.

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