J. Robert Kinney - Splintered State

Franklin Holt gathered his things from the corner booth where hed spread out in The Last Drop, a quaint caf and coffee shop. It was his favorite escape from the hustle and bustle of the city.

He double-clicked the icon to power off his laptop, then shuffled his papers and notebooks into a leather shoulder bag, the one luxury he allowed himself. As he waited for the old machine to power off, he allowed his eyes to roam and his mind to wander.

This booth was Franklins usual evening position; hed been occupying this same seat, bent over his keyboard with a hot cup of coffee, three to four times a week for years. Over that time, hed memorized every detail of the shop, gotten to know the name and order of every regular and even a few irregulars.

This shop had become a place of familiarity and of comfort. A safe haven. This was where he came when he needed to unwind, to retreat from society. More importantly though, at least in the eyes of the public, he had completed Helios Rising in this exact seat.

His first book, a loosely autobiographical work penned under a pseudonym for his protection, had begun as a coping mechanism suggested by his psychiatrist, then became a pleasant hobby, and finally morphed into something more when the therapist read a few pages and was impressed enough to show a literary agent friend.

Helios Rising had not gone so mainstream that tourists made the pilgrimage to see the famous corner chair in this tucked-away caf, but once in a while, the occasional fan would wander in and want to meet the great Franklin Holt. Or rather Gus Marley, as he was known in the publishing world. Helios Rising had shocked everyone by peaking at number six on nationwide bestseller lists only a couple months ago and Franklins publisher was already hounding him to hurry on a sequel.

Franklin told him hed consider it, but the truth was hed already been thinking about the possibility. He wasnt ready to leave his characters behind; theyd become like family members and abandoning them seemed impossible.

His laptop finished booting down and the screen went black, so Franklin snapped it closed, loaded the device into his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the exit. He paused to say goodbye to the young barista hed gotten to know. And to drop a small tip in the jar. She studied at the local college and could use the extra couple dollars.

He stepped outside and took a deep breath. The air weighed heavy and damp in his lungs. A faint mist still hung around after the storms that afternoon. It wasnt yet dusk, but you wouldnt know it from the lack of sunlight. A gloomy pall enveloped the city, making Franklins dreary week just a bit drearier.

Franklin turned left and headed for the metro station, a block and a half from the caf. His limp always felt more pronounced in cold or wet weather; he presumed it had something to do with the change in air pressure affecting the old injury.

He trudged along the sidewalk, his walk heavy, but his eyes vigilantly eying each passer-by from head-to-toe. A habit from his old life, he took notice of everyone and everything around him.

Crowds unnerved him. Too much could go wrong. Too much unseen.

But as was common, everyone around him was immersed in their own lives, heads down, ear buds in, eyes locked on their phones. They were oblivious, to him and to everyone else. The logical result of the self-actualization hogwash peddled nowadays, or so his father claimed; by pursuing self-fulfillment and do what makes you happy, people retreat into an egocentric shell where they became too wrapped up in their own neuroses and pleasures to notice, or care about, anyone else.

It probably wasnt good for society. But for Franklin, it suited him just fine. No one noticed him and he preferred it that way.

He paused as he passed Julius Scissor, eyeing the half-dozen patrons receiving haircuts, dyes, and perms. Valentines Day was fast approaching and everyone wanted to look their best for their loved ones. He felt lucky to not have to deal with that. Not anymore, anyway.

His own image, reflected in the plate glass windows of the shop, caught his attention for a moment and he flinched.

A man he hardly recognized stared back through sunken eyes, slate-gray like gun metal, dark and striking. Close-cropped brown hair, receding too fast for a man in his early thirties, and a scraggly beard hed been neglecting to shave, framed an oblong face. There was no joy in his features anymore.

Franklin raised a hand and caressed his cheekbone, just below his right eye. The scar tissue there was still raised and probably always would be, the skin a lighter color, tracing across his cheekbone all the way to his ear. It made him look hardscary evenespecially to children.

Seems right . If they knew the things Ive done, fear would be the appropriate response.

His pseudonym might be mildly famous, beloved by a moderate-sized cadre of fans for his writing, but it was no wonder he was alone. His fingertips rose and fell as he grazed the scar. At one time, that sensation wouldve sent shudders down his spine, but now he just sighed. His gaze moved downward, eyeing the shirt hanging loosely on his thin frame. It was dangerously worn in places, holes waiting to open.

Franklin turned to the street, but something else in the reflection caught his eye.

Across the street. A man. A man who shouldnt be there. He spun around to get a more direct look, but there was no one there.

His eyes flicked back and forth, scanning the people walking past, but he didnt recognize anyone. It couldnt be. Not after all this time. His mind must be playing tricks on him. A chill coalesced in the pit of his stomach.

Probably just the weatherI hope.

Franklin shook his head to clear those thoughts, then picked up his pace, and a couple minutes later he boarded an escalator and descended below ground. After a short wait, he boarded a metro car bound for outside the district.

***

Franklin arrived home forty-five minutes later. His fourth-floor apartment wasnt much to brag about, but he didnt need much. Didnt want much. He wedged the key into the lock and, after a jiggle, he managed to pop the mechanism and the door swung inward.

He entered and closed the door behind him, shutting off the outside world with a satisfying thunk as the deadbolt clicked into place. Silence, he sighed.