Walking With Larceny

The second hand raced around the clock, as one crisp page turned after the other. Able intertwined his fingers as his thumbs chased after the other, his eyes frolicked around the room, and his leg bounced on the opposite side of the desk.

   Caine glanced up from the papers.

   “S-sorry.” Able said. Caine reclined in the roller chair and let out a deep caffeinated sigh before plopping the papers on his desk. “Well, sir?” Able asked. Caine removed his glasses and rested his hand on his temple.

   “You’re improving kid, but…”

   “Yeah?”

   “It’s mediocre, lackluster, and predictable. You’re trying to force people to be sad. Watching someone you don’t know die isn’t a tear jerker. It’s been done. Wanna know what makes people cry?” Caine leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk.

   Able nodded.

   “Courage! Someone doing something neither me or you would have the balls to do!”

   Able picked up the paper off the desk. He chewed the corner of his mouth and gazed at the papers in his lap. Caine shooed him away before returning his gaze to his computer.

   An unspeakable force stopped able at the door. He removed his hand from the cold knob and dropped it to his side.

   “Sir.” He said. Caine looked up from his computer. “If I can win this competition, I get ten thousand dollars. I can help my family, maybe even publish a few books.”

   “Able, I-”

   “I know your my mentor, not a teacher, but can you please tell me what I’m doing wrong? Sir, I need this!” Able clinched his shirt in his fist.

   Caine pinched his glabella and rubbed his face. He looked down at Able’s tattered jeans and worn out converse. He gestured with his head for him to come to the desk. Able thanked him repeatedly as he sat the papers on the desk.

   Caine told Able he’d mark up the story, not with corrections, but criticism. He told him to pick it up 8 am sharp. Able left with the corners of his mouth nearly touching his ears. He ran into the secretary as she entered the room.

   Caine shook his head before throwing the papers on the desk. He put on his glasses and rested his head in his hand. He stared at the blank document as the cursor blinked. He tapped his finger on the desk, looking back and forward at his secretary, Doris, and the screen.

   “I take it you’re not here to make a lunch run.”

   “Publication is waiting to hear back from you, sir.” Doris said. Caine threw his hand. “Sir, they need your new project, stat.” Caine looked around the room at all his writing awards, honorary plaques, and movie posters.

   “What shall I tell them? I know writers suffer from writers block from time to time…” Caine looked down at Able’s papers as Doris continued. “Also, I-”

   “Tell them to give me a week.” Caine picked up Able’s story. “I’ve got something…unique.”

   Two months passed. Able rushed to his computer and logged on to the National Writers Blog. He took a deep breath before going to the homepage. Eric Matthew’s. Winner of prompt #395. 

   Able reclined in his chair and looked up at the popcorn ceiling. He pulled his lank hair back when he received an email notification . It was from the blog. The email stated that he’d been disqualified from the competition due to plagiarism of a book called, Whisper From the Willows.

   When he searched the book, it was under the author name, Caine Stratus. Able’s eyes widened as his breath staggered. He jumped to his feet and grabbed his coat.

   “Abuela, vuelvo eseguida!” Able rushed out of the apartment and road his bike through the rain until he reached Caine’s office. Doris informed him that Caine was on a book tour until the following week.

   Able returned home. He watched online as the book was praised. Five star reviews, New York Times best seller, and a soon to be live adaptation.

   Able’s face grew slim, his eyes swelled from the constant tears, and he didn’t bother leaving his room.

   He watched countless interviews as Caine explained the inspiration behind the book. He eventually punched a hole through the screen.

   Two weeks passed and Caine returned to Manhattan. He heard commotion outside of his office door as Doris tried to stop someone from entering. Able barged into the office. Doris covered her nose with her clipboard.

   “Ugh! I’ll call security sir-”

   “No!” she stopped in her tracks. “No. He’s welcome here. Uh, cancel my, uh-uh.” Eyes sunken, Able stared at him with his fists clenched. Caine waved Doris off.

   He offered Able a seat and asked if he could get him anything to drink. Able sat, blinked slowly, and sniffed.

   “Why?” Able asked.

   “Why?” Caine shook his head. He rubbed his face, cracked his neck, and put his hands together. “Look, I know what this looks like, but I-I couldn’t find my inspiration for months! So I-I-I, drew inspiration from your work.   

   “You copied it! Word for word!” Able slammed his hand on the desk.

   “There were, minor changes, but I digress. Look…this is the business; you have a great idea, you keep it to yourself.” Caine said. Able scrunched his flakey lips.

   “I NEEDED, that money!” Caine reached into his wallet.

   “Want money?” he pulled out five hundred dollars. “Here, take it. More where that came from.” He extended the money over the table and gestured for Able to take it.

   Able stood to his feet and walked to the door. 

   “Looked up to you. Hope it was with it.” Able left.

   On his way home, Able stopped at a convenient store to buy a beer. He drank to the point he couldn’t stay balanced on his bike. As the storm got worse, he took shelter in an abandoned building.

   Able sobbed as he climbed the stairs of the building. He turned the bottle up to it’s last drop. When he made it to the roof, he walked over to the ledge. The lights below where a blur as they flickered.

   Muffled screams and car horns came from below as his foot wobbled to the edge.

   “Sorry, Abuela.” He took another step where gravity took hold.

   A knock at Caine's door. He told Doris to enter as he signed copies of his book for a charity raffle. Doris stuck her head in the door with crazed eyes.

   “Uh, sir. We have GUESTS!” she said.

   “Doris, no more pictures, I-” two police officers entered behind her. Caine removed his glasses and stood behind his desk. He thanked Doris and excused her from the office. 

   Caine asked the officers if he could help them. They said they were working on a case. Sweat raced from Caine’s neck and soaked his collar.

   “Young man, by the name of Able Ramirez, jumped off an abandoned building on 3rd street. Last place he came was here before heading to a convenient store. Any information is appreciated.” The officer said.

   Caine stammered and fidgeted with his tie.

   “I-I was his, mentor. He came to me seeking advice for his writing and he left. Seemed flustered.” The police officers thanked Caine for his time and asked for photos and autographs.

   A week passed. Caine attended Able’s funeral. As the body was being carried out, Caine approached Able’s grandmother to give his condolences. She gave him a stern glare.

   “He is free now, but your suffering has only begun.” She said. Caine felt a weight on his shoulders as he watched her exit the church.

   Days later, Caine was giving a talk at a convention center. He answered several questions from the crowd concerning the book, and career advice. He pointed to one young man in a tattered hoodie.

   When the young man pulled the hoodie from his head, he had the face of Able with a grotesque gash in his head that leaked red over his face.

   “Why did you take my story? Why did you rob me of a future?” he asked.

   “WHAT?! I thought!” Caine wiped his eyes rapidly.

   “I asked what inspired the story.” It was a young man, blond hair, in a suit. The crowd looked concerned. Caine crossed his legs and rubbed his neck before letting out a faint chuckle, expressing the importance of a good night’s rest.

   Caine saw Able again in the bathroom mirror, as a bartender, in the middle of the lake as he fished, in the back seat of his car. Even as one of the waiters at a restaurant.

   His wife touched his hand.

   “Darling, your sweating bullets. Are you ill?” Caine placed his vascular hand over hers.

   “I...” he blew. “I’m fine, Margaret. Really. Just, the movie premiere tomorrow.”

   Margaret said he needed rest and called for the check. When the two got home, Caine tried relaxing by watching TV, but nearly every show would have an unexpected guest star named Able Ramirez. Margaret called from the top of the stairs.

   Dressed in lingerie, she coaxed him with her finger. Caine smiled from ear to ear.

   “That’s how we ending the night?” Caine asked. Margaret ran into the bed room. Caine ran after her up the stairs. When he arrived to the bedroom, he kissed her on the neck and chest before he threw her to the bed.

   Caine pulled his shirt over his head. When his vision returned he saw Able sitting on the edge of the bed.

   “Agh!” 

   “What?!” Margaret looked down at her attire. Caine rubbed the sweat from his brow and caught his breath. He turned out the light and got in bed.

   “I can’t, tonight.” He said. Margaret sighed, grabbed a pillow and walked out of the room.

   The following day, Caine’s hands trembled as he tried tying his tie. Margaret assisted him, and rubbed the orange hairs from his shoulder. He apologized for their uneventful night. She kissed him on the cheek and said they’d have more opportunities.

   The couple arrived at the red carpet event for the movie. Cameras flashed as the two exited the limousine. With every blinding glare, Caine would see his face. The gash, the blood, the sunken eyes. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ME! 

   He held Margaret’s hand tight as the two pressed on.

   Caine was stopped for an interview. He and his wife were complimented on their attire. Everything was going smoothly until…

   “How did you come up with such a concept? I know you must’ve answered this question a million times…” the world went silent. Able stood in the crowd as Caine’s surroundings went void.

   “I didn’t write it. It was all you, Able, and I’m sorry.” Caine said.

   “I beg your pardon?” the reporter asked. Caine took the mic from her and looked into the camera.

   “I didn’t write this story! I’m a fraud! It was my apprentice. Able Ramirez! I stole it! I’m the reason he killed himself, because I wanted to save my lousy career!” Caine looked into the crowd. Able returned to his gleeful self and vanished like Autumn leaves.