A Serial Novel - Chapter 7: Caroline

I looked at myself in the mirror.  I smiled at myself.  It looked fake.  I smiled bigger.  Okay, now that was terrifying.  I smiled with my lips closed.  Now, I looked like I didn't have teeth.

Great!

I decided immediately: dating was hard.

I had already tried on 4 different dresses, and none of them looked right.  I had worn them all before, but today, none of them looked right.  I ended up with the blue dress I was wearing the day Clem asked to sit next to me while I read.  I must have been looking good for him to make the effort on that day.

I tried smiling again.  No good, still looked fake.

Why was I trying to date anyway?  It was just too dangerous.  I am not your typical girl, after all.  How would I keep Clem from finding out about what I really was?  How would I not...?

Knock, knock, knock!

I threw my hair up in a ponytail, and ran down stairs to answer the door.  I looked through the peephole.  It was George, Clem's friend from Chicago.  He had been very nice to me at the Flower Shop.  No reason not to answer the door.

I opened the door.  "Hi, George," I said.  "How are you?"

George smiled.  "I am well, Caroline.  I was wondering if you would like to come back to Chicago with Clem and I.  We're leaving in 30 minutes.  I think the boss would really like you.  Plus, you already know about the flower thing, so Clem wouldn't have to teach you.  So, whatdaya say?"

I thought about it.  Clem had told me nothing about going back to Chicago at 5.  Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to meet me at Marcie's at 6-ish.  "Um... George," I began, "Clem didn't tell me we were going to Chicago this morning at the coffee house.  When did this new arrangement come up?"

"Oh, at around 9:30," George answered honestly.  "I did not go to the coffee house today."

"I see," I answered, thinking about exactly what George had in mind if I said no.  "Why don't you come in?  I baked some cookies yesterday, and I bet you would love to have some before we all go to Chicago."  I opened the door wide.

"Oh, that sounds great!" George answered excitedly.  "I love cookies.  What kind did you make?"

"Chocolate chip," I answered, leading George to the kitchen.  "They were my uncle's favorite."

George stopped, and looked at his watch.  "It's 4:45, Caroline.  I think we have to go now.  I don't want the boss to be angry."  He grabbed my arm with his hand.

I took a deep breath.  "What happens if Clem or I say no?" I asked, quietly.

"Well," George continued honestly.  "Then I bring your bodies back to Chicago."

"That's what I thought," I responded, twisting in George's grip, and quickly breaking his arm.  George cried out in shock, but was quickly quiet, because I had a piano wire around his throat.  I looked at my watch.  George began twitching.  I grabbed his head in both hands, and twisted with exactly x pounds of pressure.

Snap!

George was dead.  I heard footsteps coming up the sidewalk to my front door.  Why had George touched me with his hands!?  I hid the piano wire, curled into a ball near the body, and began to cry.

It was Mr. Golden and Clem.  I continued crying, because it wasn't just Mr. Golden.  I really didn't want Clem's first impression of me to be...

Clem walked over to the body.  He checked for a pulse, and immediately noticed George's neck was broken.  Clem looked at Mr. Golden with a quizzical look, then he looked at me.

Mr. Golden smiled at Clem, and Clem said, with an air of surprise, "I'll go get my stuff," and walked back out to the car.

As soon as Clem was gone, I immediately stopped crying.  "So, how'd I do?" I asked Mr. Golden, not moving from my position on the floor.

Mr. Golden inspected the kill.  He smiled at me.  "Very clean," he said.  "Clem will have to remove the slight impressions on the wall from where you braced yourself for the use of the piano wire, but other than that, it is very clean.  Nice work, Waters."

I smiled back at him.  Mr. Golden was the only one who understood about the hands.  This was the first time it had been useful.  Perhaps with Clem in town, more trained killers would come to my doorstep.  That would be fun!  "Thank you, sir," I said.  "Does Clem know?"

Clem was in the doorway.  Shit!  He had a big black duffle bag, and was wearing latex gloves.  Maybe he and Mr. Golden had talked...

Mr. Golden smiled at me.  "Clem is very used to this sort of thing," he said, helping me stand.  "He used to perform this service all the time for George.  He is very good at it.  I am sorry we were late.  Clem was very nervous about your abilities, so I had him drink some tea before we arrived."

Clem immediately went to work, wrapping George in a bag, and carrying the body into the bathroom.  He closed the door behind him.

"I don't know how long he takes to clean," Mr. Golden said, thoughtfully.  "Perhaps we should call Marcie and cancel?  Then, we can go talk at my apartment.  I am certain there is much Clem would like explained after this being your first date."

Clem poked his head out of the bathroom.  He had a mask on, which he pushed up onto his forehead to talk.  "I won't be long," he said, "but I would like an explanation rather than more coffee, if that is okay with you, Caroline."

I nodded.  Clem looked at Mr. Golden, "Then, please, sir, call Marcie and give her our regrets."  He pulled the mask back down over his nose and mouth, and closed the door to the bathroom.

I handed Mr. Golden my cell phone, which he immediately dialed Marcie.  He told her he had fallen at work, and Clem and I were going to keep him company tonight and make sure he was all right.  I could hear the worry in Marcie's voice over the phone, as Mr. Golden reassured her he was fine.  I felt bad that he had to lie, but we really couldn't tell her what was actually going on.

Clem came out of the bathroom 20 minutes later.  He had his duffle bag, but no remnant of George, whatsoever.  "It's done," he said.  "May he rest in peace."

"Clem," Mr. Golden said, obviously impressed, "that was fast!  How...?"

"Various chemical compounds of my own design," Clem responded, taking off his gloves, and placing them in one of his jacket pockets.  "We can talk more about this over dinner.  Caroline, are you hurt in any way?"

This was a surprise for me.  I looked at Clem quizzically.  He was worried about me.  It was strange, but sweet, I suppose.  I assumed Mr. Golden had told him to get rid of the body as soon as they arrived, but I was not used to any man caring about how I was in earnest.

"I'm just fine," I replied.  "Do you need to clean the scuff marks off the walls, like Mr. Golden said?"

Clem looked embarrassed.  "Yes," he said sheepishly.  "I'll get right on that."  He removed a little spray bottle from his duffle bag, and quickly made my walls look like I had never used them to strangle a very tall man.  "All better," he said with a smile.  "Anything else, Mr. Golden?" he asked.

Mr. Golden opened the door to the bathroom, and realized that whatever chemicals Clem had used were now odorless.  I peeked in over his shoulder.  My bathroom had never been THAT clean, but I suppose that may be a benefit of having Clem around.  "It looks perfect, Clem," Mr. Golden said.  "Very nice job.  May we use your car to get back to my apartment?"

"Of course," Clem said.  "Caroline, do you need to change before we go?  Did you get any genetic material on your dress?"

I double blinked.  This had been Clem's job in Chicago.  He was completely unfazed by my being a killer.  This was... this was... AWESOME!

"I don't think so," I responded, trying to contain my excitement, "but this is only my second kill, so you may as well check before we go..."

Clem looked at me in the eyes, making sure I was okay with that proposition.  He put on a fresh pair of latex gloves, took out a funny pair of glasses, and began going over my dress and skin.  He only touched my dress, so it was okay.  Him being so very businesslike about it helped too.  My response to hands wasn't triggered, which was great, because I really liked Clem.  I didn't want to kill him.

When he was finished, he took off the funny glasses, and the latex gloves.  "You did a very nice job," he said.  "I only found a few hairs, which I can dissolve when I get rid of the gloves at home.  Clean kills like this are unusual for someone with such little experience."

"She's a natural!" Mr. Golden beamed.  "Let's go have dinner.  We can talk more freely in my apartment."

Clem put the funny glasses back in the duffle bag, and zipped the used gloves and hairs into a special baggie, which also went into the duffle bag.  He stood, duffle bag in hand, and offered me the other.  I looked at his hand like it was a piranha.

"I wouldn't do that," Mr. Golden said, taking Clem's empty hand.  "Let's go to my apartment.  Everything will be explained there."

Clem shrugged, and opened my front door for Mr. Golden and myself.  We all walked out to Clem's car, and Clem cleaned any evidence that George had come to my house as we left.  He opened the door to the back seat for Mr. Golden and I, closed the door after we entered, walked around the car, got into the driver's seat, closing the door behind him, and asked, "Where to?"

"My apartment is on 1st and Main," Mr. Golden said.  "Parking is around the back."

Clem nodded and began to drive.  I looked seriously at Mr. Golden.  "Is this what you meant by him being a good man?  That he can clean up after me?"

Mr. Golden laughed.  "That is part of it," he responded after he stopped laughing.  "The rest I suppose we will figure out at dinner."

Clem pulled into a parking place behind Mr. Golden's building.  Like everything in Nowhere, Mr. Golden's apartment complex was very small.  It was one building holding only 6 units.  Mr. Golden lived in the second floor unit on the corner of the building on First and Main.  I got out of the car, and ran up the steps, like I did most days, up to Mr. Golden's front door.  I looked at the peep hole, allowing it to perform its retinal scan to let me in, and the door unlocked, closing behind me.  I could hear Mr. Golden programming the scanner to accept Clem's scan out in the hall.  I walked into the sitting room, and sat in my favorite chair.  It was shaped like a C, and I could curl up into a ball in it, and feel like it was hugging me.  This was home.

Mr. Golden and Clem walked in the door a few minutes later.  Clem looked at me in my favorite chair, and then looked back at Mr. Golden.  Mr. Golden walked into the kitchen to make more tea.  Clem followed him, and asked loudly enough that I could hear him perfectly, "So she's your protege?  When did you plan on telling me that?"

"I thought this would be a lovely way for you to find out, Clem.  Plus, you have aced my assessment of you.  Who did you train with in Chicago?"

"Sensei Okamori."

"Excellent, he's one of ours," Mr. Golden said.  "That would be how your 'going straight' was possible.  I am certain Gen wanted you to join us, and put in for your transfer because you now had adequate experience."

"One of ours?" Clem asked, sounding perturbed.  "I, in earnest, wished to go straight.  I did not want to be pulled back into a life of crime in a little town like Nowhere.  After what happened in Chicago, I am quite finished."

"You performed admirably today.  Do you have any intention of exposing Caroline?" Mr. Golden asked with menace in his voice.

"No!" Clem exclaimed shocked at the suggestion.  "I would have had to kill George myself, had Caroline not finished him before I got there.  I just don't want to do this anymore."

"Tea?" Mr. Golden asked.

Clem took a deep breath loud enough for me to hear.

"Let's go sit in the sitting room with Caroline.  We will all be more comfortable in there, and we can have a nice talk so everything is explained," Mr. Golden said, leading Clem back into the sitting room.

Clem sat in the chair across from me.  He looked stiff, on edge, and uncomfortable.  I felt really bad.  He never looked like this in the coffee shop.

"Clem," I began.  "I'm really sorry I'm not normal."  I looked down into my lap.

I heard Clem sigh.  "Caroline, I'm just glad you're alive," he said quietly.  "I did not realize Mr. Golden was training you.  It makes it easier for you to understand my past this way."

"He didn't, at first," I began.  "My uncle... it was an accident."

"She will need your help to clean up that mess," Mr. Golden chipped in, sitting in the rocking chair across from the two of us.  "Right now, he's buried under the daisies."

"Was he the one who hurt you?" Clem asked.

"Yes," I said quietly, still not able to look him in the eyes.  "That's why I can't stand being touched by hands.  He used his hands to hurt me, so when anyone touches me with their hands... well..."

"She becomes the most efficient killing machine I have ever witnessed," Mr. Golden said.  "I started training her after the incident with her uncle.  I saw she was being abused, which is why I hired her at the flower shop.  I wanted to monitor the situation, and if necessary, step in myself.  I always told Caroline if she ever needed help, for any reason, to call me, and I would help without judgment.  Well, the call came, and when I arrived, Caroline's uncle was very dead.  I am not a cleaner, but an assassin, like Caroline, so your expertise will be most useful, if you choose to join us."

"I can help with that, once it's dark.  After that, I should probably move on.  I really don't want to be involved in crime anymore.  I like being alive," Clem said quietly.

"Well, it's not dark yet, and I know you are all hungry," Mr. Golden said, sounding extremely cheery.  "Caroline, shall we take the boy to New York for dinner?  Or Paris?  Or perhaps sushi, in Tokyo?  It's your second kill, and you did such a very nice job... Let's celebrate!"

"New York would be great!  We can show Clem the base there, and eat pizza!" I exclaimed.  "If Clem likes pizza..." I finished more unsure.

Clem shook his head for a minute.  "I like pizza, but how in the hell are we getting to New York before dark?"

"Like this," Mr. Golden said, accessing the panel for the time and place shifter on the wall.  He input the code for noon, today, New York City, Times Square, and pressed go.  The room shifted, and we were all sitting on the sidewalk, in the middle of Times Square, at noon.

A screenshot of a Caroline custom miniature from HeroForge.com

A Serial Novel - Chapter 6: Clem

I had read the morning news.  I had reorganized my desk 3 times.  I had checked my e-mail 14 times.  I had even drank the horrible bank coffee, against my best judgment.  Disgusting.

It was 9:30.  I had been at work for 30 minutes.

This was going to be a very long day.

I looked over at Clive.  He was daydreaming again.  Not doing anything in particular either, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.

I wasn't.

How had Caroline known, so quickly, that I was in love before?  Mr. Golden believed she was naive, and since he was the Mr. Golden, I could not see him being wrong about, well, anyone.

But, maybe... somehow... Caroline had slipped under his radar.  Maybe she was indeed that special.  Or he thought that because he was covering something up.  That was probably more likely.  He was the Mr. Golden, after all.  What was I, Clem, a mere mortal, compared to him?

I looked at my watch again: 9:34.  Damn it.

What could I do for 7.5 hours, when absolutely nothing was going on?

I had lunch at noon, of course, and that was always pleasant.  What about the rest of the time?

What was I going to...

"Good morning, Clem," a very low voice said happily.  It popped me out of my thoughts immediately.  George!  What was George doing in Nowhere?  I mean, what the hell was George doing in Nowhere?

I took a breath, then answered.  "Good morning, George.  Welcome to Nowhere Community Bank.  How may I assist you?"

George laughed.  Apparently, my "bank speak" was far too much for him to take, considering he knew exactly who I had been.  You see, George and I had been partners.  George made the mess, and I cleaned it up.  Simple.

Except for when it wasn't.  Except for when George pissed off the wrong guy, and since George had nobody and nothing he was attached to, the bastards came after me.  Since torturing me was as effective as punching cinder block with your bare hands, and hoping it will answer your questions, they killed her.  And they were right, that was torture, but I still didn't talk.  There was no reason to.  I was too busy making all of them dead.

Of the two of us, George was the blunt instrument.  I was precision.  George didn't think in his line of work.  He just acted.  He was extremely useful in this way.  He was 6'5", 280 pounds, and he could lift a car, on a good day.  (Lifting up your mark's car is a very good way to scare them, by the way.  Especially, while they are inside.)

Why George was here... it didn't make sense...

"We want you back, Clem," George said, smiling.  "I miss you.  I have gone through 4 cleaners since you left.  Incompetents... as you would always say.  I still don't know what that means.  Your funny way of talking and how good you were at cleaning up my messes... it hasn't been the same without you.  Plus, the boss wants you back."

"Can we please talk about this outside?" I asked.  "I have lunch at noon.  Can we talk then?"

"Sorry," George said.  "The boss said that he wanted me to be driving back by noon.  With you.  You understand.  We probably have a job tonight, and he wants us back before dark.  You know how he is..."

"No," I said, glaring at George.

George laughed.  "You must be joking, Clem!  I know the boss went soft after Sarah died.  Let you have this vacation in Nowhere.  Why in the hell you would come to this stupid little town...?  Anyway, you've had 6 months.  You should be over her by now, tough guy.  You certainly aren't crying at your desk, being useless..."

"The boss didn't 'let' me have anything, George," I growled.  "I made an ultimatum, and he took it.  End of story.  There was no expiration date on my quitting.  You.  Shouldn't.  Be.  Here."

"Well, the boss felt..."

"I don't give a shit about what the boss said, or felt, or anything.  I am done.  I've gone straight.  I don't do that anymore, George.  You will have to find someone else."

George looked at me for a minute.  I could tell he was hoping I would change my mind, just quit my job, and jump in his car with him to go back to Chicago.  George was simple, but he had always enjoyed my company, even when I was an ass.  The boss knew George wouldn't want to kill me, but he would, if he had to.  Sending George meant, whatever it was, was a big deal to the boss.  I just didn't care anymore.  I had gone straight.  I had a date tonight.  This could not have happened at a worse...

"Well, who are you, big guy?" Clive asked, walking out of his office.

"I'm George," George said.

I took in a sharp breath.  This could not end well.

"Hello, George.  My, you have a really strong handshake!  Are you a friend of Clem's?"

George thought for a while.  Clive looked at me, confused why it was taking so long.  I looked back at him and shrugged.

"I don't know," George finally answered.  "Clem and I used to work together.  I would like to be Clem's friend, but I don't think Clem has any friends."

"You used to work with Clem...?" Clive asked, starting to get the fact that this was not a good thing.

"Yes, I used to work with Clem.  Clem was really good at his job, and I would like him to come back to Chicago with me."

"Well, George," Clive began, "when did you want Clem to go back to Chicago with you?"

"Tonight," George answered, with a smile.  "We can listen to whichever radio station you want to in the car, Clem."

I did not want to have to kill George.  Even if George didn't understand it, we had been friends.  This was the price for going straight, I suppose...

"Clem can't go to Chicago tonight," Clive said.  "He has a date."

I froze.  If Clive had wanted to make things worse, he had just succeeded more than his wildest dreams.

George smiled.  "Then, she can come to Chicago with us.  Who is she?"

"Caroline Waters.  She works at The Golden Florist.  She's a real catch.  If Clem canceled on her, who knows when he would meet a girl like that again?"

I will not kill my boss.  I will not kill my boss.  I will not kill...

"Swell," George said.  "Well, I'll see you later, Clem.  Hopefully, before 5 p.m. tonight.  I'll be waiting for you."

George waved, and left the bank.  I knew exactly what that meant.

I looked at Clive.  I took a very deep breath.  "Clive, I am taking the rest of the day off," I informed him.

"What?" Clive exclaimed.  "Clem, it's 10 a.m.!  You can't just leave me to take care of the bank by myself!  Especially with creepy men from your former line of work coming here..."

I grabbed Clive by the collar and lifted him off the ground.  Clive's eyes bulged, and he looked absolutely terrified.  I thought better of it, and set him down gently.  I took another breath.  "Do you like Caroline?" I asked, in a low whisper.

"Yes," Clive said, "but you're terrifying me, Clem!  What the hell is going on?"

I smirked.  He was getting the picture.  "Do you like Caroline... alive?" I asked.

"What!?"  Clive shrieked.  "What the hell do you mean?"

"You just killed her," I said, glaring at Clive.  "You told a paid killer who he needs to torture and kill to get me to go back to Chicago.  I have to go fix it.  Now.  I hope you're happy."

Clive turned sheet white.  "Clem," he began, then stopped, then started again.  "I'm really sorry.  If you can come back by Friday, I'd appreciate it."

I scowled at Clive.

"Or why don't you just take the time you need...?" Clive squeaked.

I smiled.  "I'll let you know if I can return to work.  Thank you for understanding," I growled, and strode out of the bank.

I had gone straight, but I hadn't gone stupid.  I still had all of my supplies in the basement.  I walked home in as nonchalant fashion as I could muster, until I reached the front door of my house.  Then, I ran down into the basement, and took inventory of my supplies.  It was all here.  Caroline was currently safe at The Golden Florist with Mr. Golden.  Her being at work was the best place for her.  I needed to calm down, clear my head, stop seeing images across my vision of Sarah's body, and eat lunch.

Yes, I can eat lunch with death surrounding me.  How else would I have eaten three squares a day, in my old line of work?

I put all of my supplies that I could possibly need in a black duffle bag, and put it next to me at my kitchen table.  Then, I began putting together a sandwich, and tea.

Sarah...

I plunged the kitchen knife into the cutting board.

No, stop.  She's dead.  You love her.  You will always love her.  But... she's dead.  Thinking about her, now, will make you, and potentially Caroline as well, very dead.  You don't know what the fuck is on the other side.  You may or may not see her again.  Not worth dying now.

I couldn't eat yet.  I hadn't done this since Sarah died.  That was the problem.  I needed to talk to...

My phone began to ring.  It was Mr. Golden.  I answered immediately.  "Hello," I answered.

"Clem," Mr. Golden said, recognizing my voice.  "I would like to have tea with you at my shop after work today.  Would you be available?"

"Yes," I responded.  "I had intended to go on a date with Caroline at 6, but..."

"George is here, buying flowers from Caroline.  I don't think it will be a problem, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.  I will see you at 4:30, then?"

"Yes, I will be there."

"And Clem?"

"Yes?"

"Please bring one of your sandwiches with you.  That was just delicious yesterday."

"Will do," I said.  "Thank you, Mr. Golden."

"No problem, young man.  I hope you have a nice day off."

Shit.  If Mr. Golden had seen me go home from work, George had too.  This was not good.

I began preparing my home for war.  Everything I didn't want destroyed got stored in the basement or storage shed.  I put the panel I had made to conceal the door to my office into effect.  Then, I got to work on my tools.  Everything had to be cleaned, checked, and organized before something like this.  I did not want to go into battle, reach for a knife, and it not be there.

As I finished, I looked up at the clock.  2:30.  How in the hell did time go so fast when I had so much more to do?  I ran back into the kitchen, and ate my sandwich quickly.  It was delicious, I am sure, on an ordinary day, but for me, at that moment, it tasted like saw dust.  I drank a large glass of water, then another one.  I took a breath.

Sarah...

Damn it.

I took a deep breath.

Sarah... Sarah... Sarah...

I took another deep breath.

Sarah... Sarah... Sarah... Sarah... Sarah...

It was time for a shower.

I walked calmly into my bathroom, and undressed.  I looked in my medicine cabinet.  I had drugs to make this stop, but none of them would work today.  I could not be foggy and kill George.  I closed the medicine cabinet and looked at myself in the mirror.

I had aged.  Lines had appeared on my face where they were not there before.  I had a few gray hairs sprinkled randomly through my jet black hair.  I was only 32, but the man staring back at me could have been much, much older.

I sighed, and stepped into the shower.  I turned on the water, ice cold.  I needed to clear my head.  I walked into the shower, and sat on the floor, letting the cold water fall on my head.  I pulled my knees to my chest, and waiting for my breathing to return to its measured pace.  I was trained for just about anything.  I just needed to remember which part of that training I needed today.

I remembered...

Sensei always said, "One must be the mountain, not the wind.  You are constant, you are eternal, you allow the wind to move around you, and strike when it is most advantageous.  The winds of change do not affect you because you know what you are: nothing."

My breathing became measured.  The water did not feel so cold.  I tipped my head back and let the water flow down my face.  I felt like myself again.

I stood, and washed myself thoroughly.  I was my actions.  I was responsive.  I was ready.  I stepped out of the shower, and looked into the mirror again.  I smiled, slicked my hair back, so it would be out of the way, and smiled at myself again.

I was ready.

I dressed in my suit for exactly this purpose.  It looked like a suit I would wear to the bank, but it wasn't.  Unlike typical men's attire, this suit was made to move effortlessly with anything I threw at it.  The vest had a Kevlar lining.  On the inner side, there were numerous hooks and loops to attach whatever arsenal I saw as necessary.

I was ready.

I looked at the time.  4:00.  Time to go meet Mr. Golden.

I strode outside to the garage behind my house, opened the door, walked inside and took the cover off of my car.  It was an old, perfectly maintained Lincoln Town Car, in black, of course.  I threw my duffle on the passenger's seat, and drove over to The Golden Florist.

I walked inside.  4:15.  I was early.  Mr. Golden was working on closing up shop.  "Clem," he said, smiling.  "Please take a seat in my office."

Then I noticed it: Caroline was not here.

"Where is Caroline?" I asked, suddenly worried.

"She went home early today.  She wanted to get ready for her big date with you.  She will be just fine.  Please, have a seat inside my office.  I will be with you presently."

I did as I was told, and tried to sit in Mr. Golden's office.  This was Mr. Golden, after all.  He must know something about Caroline I don't.  I couldn't sit though, I was too nervous about what a killer like George would do to Caroline.  I paced.

"Clem," Mr. Golden said in the doorway.  "I meant everything I said over the phone.  I'd like to have tea with you.  Did you bring a sandwich for me?"

I looked at the ceiling and sighed.  "I apologize, Mr. Golden.  I completely forgot," I said.

Mr. Golden flipped around the open sign on his front door, and walked into the office with me, closing the door.  "I meant, did you bring the necessary items to clean up after a murder?" he asked.

I blinked twice.  "Yes, of course," I responded.  "They are in the passenger seat of my car, just outside."

"Excellent," Mr. Golden, responded with a smile.  "Let us have tea.  I can tell from your state of mind that instead of killing George, who is indeed your friend, it would be best to clean up the mess.  You require a refresher course before you are a killer again, after your episode with Sarah, I believe it was?"

I winced.

"Yes, that was the proper name.  George mentioned her to Caroline while they were shopping earlier.  He bought a massive bouquet, with surprisingly impressive taste for his thinking style.  Did you teach him the language of flowers?"

"Yes," I said quietly.  "It was necessary to send messages in Chicago."

"Quite.  The bouquet was half apology, half death.  I assume he means to put it on Caroline's dead body.  Unfortunately, George may be quite disappointed, if that is what he intends to do..."

"Why?" I asked.  "George is a formidable opponent.  Furthermore, he's huge.  How could Caroline be a match for..."

Mr. Golden smiled, and handed me a cup of tea.  "Finish your tea, young man," he ordered calmly.

I sipped my tea.  It was extremely good.  "Green tea?" I asked, surprised by his choice.

Mr. Golden sat at his desk, across from me, took a long sniff of his tea, before drinking a small sip.  "It is from China.  One of my wife's favorite varieties.  I have not had it in a long time.  I figured you would understand the significance of my sharing it with you."

I smiled at him.  "I am honored, sir," I responded, taking another sip of tea.

"I understand you are extremely skilled at your job.  George spoke very highly of you.  For a man of his skills, and typical vocabulary, it sounded like he took the time to memorize larger words to describe you, because he was so very impressed.  I am sorry that he chose to come to Nowhere.  I am certain you feel the same."

"Yes, I do," I responded, and continued, "but Mr. Golden, why are we not going to Caroline's aid immediately?"

Mr. Golden smiled, and refilled my cup.  "Finish your tea, young man," he said.

A Serial Novel - Chapter 5: Marcie

"Hello, I'm Marcie.  I'm not sure I've seen you around town before...?  Yes, it's 6 a.m. and I just opened my shop.  I can tell you're not a morning person... Would you like a cup of coffee?  It's a $1.20.  $3 for a unlimited cup.  If you're going to be here a while, the $3 option is far more economical.  It's good coffee, made fresh by me this morning.  If you don't like it, well, I own the only restaurant in town, so you'd have to go home and make some yourself."

Ding, ding, ding!

"Two more customers?  Well, I guess it's going to be a busy morning.  Here's your coffee.  I hope you like it.  It'll be a $1.20."

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Dorian!  Mrs. Dorian, isn't that a lovely flower in your hair!  I bet it's from The Golden Florist.  Mr. Golden really does have the best blooms.  What'll it be this morning?"

"A black coffee for me, and a cappuccino for the Mrs.," Mr. Dorian barked.

"I'll have it up in a jiffy!"

Ding, ding, ding!

"Mr. Finch," I purred, handing Mr. and Mrs. Dorian their drinks, "you never come in this early.  What brings you to the coffee shop?"

"I'm here to see Clem get turned down," Mr. Finch said, hitting the bar.  "I'd like a Chocolate Covered Cherry Frappuccino."

"Clem get turned down?" I asked, wondering how Mr. Finch knew Clem was probably asking out Caroline again today.  "I spoke with Mr. Golden yesterday, and I really don't think Clem is going to..."

Ding, ding, ding!  Ding, ding, ding!  Ding, ding, ding!

"Marcie!"  "Marcie!"  "Marcie!"  "Marcie!"

I got my step stool, climbed up onto the bar, and whistled as loudly as I could.  The entire town had crammed itself into my coffee shop, excepting Mr. Golden, who apparently was busy opening his own business.  "If everyone could please form an orderly line out the front door, I will serve each of you as quickly as I can.  If you are just here to ogle what happens with Clem and Caroline, I ask that you leave, or neither of them will be able to have a coffee before they go to work without being very late."

Slowly, half of the potential customers shuffled out of the shop, and retreated just far enough to peer in the windows.  I'm a gossip, but this really shows how little happens in this town.  Nothing happens in Nowhere.  Clem was in for an unpleasant surprise, because he usually liked his espressos in a very particular way: alone.

I saw Clem walking up the street.  Caroline hadn't arrived yet for her cappuccino.  He took one look at the crowd, chuckled, and walked inside unfazed.  "Good morning, Marcie," he said.  "I'd like the usual, please."

"Clem," I asked in a stage whisper, "are you going to ask out Caroline today?"

Clem looked at his watch.  "Probably not," he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear.  "She's not here."

There was an audible sigh all around.  The fun they had hoped to watch was not happening.  As quickly as they had arrived, everyone walked off to whatever they were usually doing on a Wednesday morning.

Clive Finch stood up with his Chocolate Covered Cherry Frappuccino, now to go, and barked at Clem, "Don't be late this morning," and walked out.

Clem chuckled again.  He looked at me, straight in the eyes.  His ice blue eyes, sparkling with his amusement of the whole situation.  "Marcie," he asked, "are the people of this town really that bored?"

I thought for a moment, and responded, "Yes, Clem, they truly are."

Clem laughed.  "This never would have happened in Chicago," he said.  "A guy asking a girl out was so normal, that was boring.  Plus, she already said no, Marcie.  It would be in bad taste for me to ask her again."

"Then, why are you here, Clem?" I asked, putting his espressos in front of him.

He shot one back, then smiled.  "Because I'm here every morning, Marcie."

It was true.  Clem did come see me every morning for his 3 espressos.  That had nothing to do with a girl.

Clem shot back the other two espressos, and turned to leave.

"Going so soon?" I asked, surprised he wasn't taking his time like usual and reading something on his phone.

"Yes," Clem said, looking at his watch, "Tell Caroline hello, if she stops by."  He stood up to leave.

Just then, Caroline walked into the shop.  She looked particularly beautiful.  I think she was even wearing a new dress.  She stopped right in front of Clem, and said, "Hello, Clem.  Thank you for letting me finish my book yesterday.  That was very nice."  Then, before he could respond, she walked past him, gave me the exact change for a cappuccino, and sat in her usual spot by the window.

Clem froze.  He looked at his watch three times, but still didn't move.  I started chuckling.  The most put together man in town had no idea what to do with Caroline.  I found it: adorable.  I finished making the cappuccino for Caroline, and whispered, "Clem!"

Clem looked up at me.

"Take this to Caroline," I said, trying to be helpful.

Clem thought for a moment, and then took the cappuccino from me.  He set it down in front of Caroline, and then turned to go.

"Wait," Caroline said, putting a hand on his jacket sleeve.  "You only want to talk to me on Tuesdays?"

Clem turned to look at Caroline.  She looked up at him, taking the first sip of her cappuccino.  "Not necessarily,"  Clem said, quietly.  "I have heard so much gossip yesterday and today, I don't want to assume anything.  I'm more than happy to leave you to your book, if that's what you want."

Caroline smiled up at him with a big grin.  "What book?" she asked.

Clem looked at Caroline carefully.  She had not brought a book today.  She had been wanting to talk, perhaps to him.  He contemplated something for a moment, then asked, "May I sit?" pointing to the chair on the other side of the table.

"Sure," Caroline said, taking another sip from her cappuccino.

Clem sat down across from Caroline.  His phone was in his pocket.  He had nothing to drink.  He just sat, looking like he owned the place, gazing at Caroline.  Finally, he smiled, and asked, "Would you like to go out sometime?"

Caroline double blinked, then smiled.  "Yes," she said, "but I don't know where we'd go.  Nowhere really doesn't have anywhere to go out."

"I thought we'd come here, for dinner," Clem said.

Caroline thought for a moment, then began, "Mr. Golden, my boss, says you're a good man.  He told me he had lunch with you yesterday.  Mr. Golden doesn't say anyone is a good man.  What makes you special?"

Clem looked down for a moment.  A sad smile crossed his face, then he answered, "I don't take anything for granted."

Caroline stopped smiling.  She looked Clem straight in the eyes.  "I'm sorry," she said, looking away.  "You must have loved her very much."

"I did," Clem said quietly, looking down into his lap.

"Where is she now?" Caroline asked.

"She's dead," Clem answered, coldly.

Caroline thought for a moment, was about to say something, then thought a bit longer.  Finally, she began, "Clem, I will never be her.  I already know that from the little living I have done.  I'm too eccentric to replace anyone else, in any position, romantic or otherwise.  So, if you want to go out with me, you will have to be ready for something new.  Are you ready for something new?"

Clem looked up with a big smile.  "Very ready," he said.

"Great!" Caroline exclaimed, also smiling widely.  "So, I'll see you here tonight, then?  6-ish?"

Clem smiled back.  "Okay," he said.

"Yay!" I exclaimed, then immediately covered my mouth.  Both Caroline and Clem laughed.

"Are you willing to be open that late tonight, Marcie?" Clem asked, looking at me.

"Yes, of course," I answered, giddy with excitement.

"Great," Clem said, resuming his stony demeanor.  "I will see both of you at 6."  He turned and walked out the door towards the bank.

Caroline hopped up from her chair and jumped up and down.  "I have a date!" she exclaimed.  "Marcie, what do you wear on a date?" she asked me.

"Um..." I said.  "I think Clem will probably wear a suit, because I have not seen him wear anything else, so a dress would be appropriate."

"I have a few of those!" Caroline exclaimed, clapping her hands.  "I need to get to work now!  Thanks, Marcie!"

Caroline rushed out the front door of the shop towards The Golden Florist.

I smiled.  Young love was so cute.

"Do you need anything else?  Just the two cups of coffee, then?  That will be $2.40.  Thank you.  Have a nice day!"

A screenshot of a Marcie custom miniature from HeroForge.com

A Serial Novel - Chapter 4: Clem

"Clive Finch is a pig," I thought, walking home for lunch.

I'm truly happy to have such an easy job at the bank.  Seriously.  I am paid extraordinarily well to work two days a week.  It makes it easy to stay straight.  Plus, most people in this town are complete marks like Clive Finch, or nice enough in their own right.

That's when I heard the footsteps.  I was being followed.  Short.  Man, definitely male.  Confident male, but stooped, so old, very old.  Why would an old man be following me home for lunch?

I stopped and turned around abruptly, squared off my posture, and crossed my arms across my chest, just in case.  I had met geriatric assassins before.  They were nothing to trifle with.  50 plus years of killing made one quite efficient at one's job.  It's doesn't take strength to kill, just savvy and an advantage.  An older, more experienced killer only kills when s/he has that advantage.  Even at my comparatively youthful vantage point, I knew exactly how dangerous that much experience could be.

It was Mr. Golden, the florist.  He stopped two yards from me.  I dropped my stance.  He was armed, but not in a way that he was coming to kill me.  "Mr. Oyster," he began, "I am happy to find you are not yet hard of hearing."

I smiled in response.

"I was wondering if I could speak with you about my employee, Caroline.  Perhaps over tea?  Are you taking your lunch break now?" he asked.

"Well, that is exceedingly polite," I thought, "and considering she has been hurt, I like the fact that her boss is looking out for her.  I'll see where this goes."

"Do you like turkey on rye?" I asked.

"Hmm?" Mr. Golden said in response, perhaps not understanding or being hard of hearing himself.

"Turkey on rye.  It's what I'm having for lunch.  I'd be happy to make up another sandwich for you, if you'd like to join me."

"Did you buy the turkey from the butcher, or did you buy it in one of those disgusting little baggies that sits in the water and preservatives until you eat it?" Mr. Golden asked.

I smirked.  Mr. Golden liked good food.  "I roasted the turkey this past weekend, and sliced the breasts up myself for sandwiches this week.  I find it's fresher that way."

"I would be happy to enjoy such a sandwich," Mr. Golden replied, walking towards me.  "I hope your house is not too far from here.  I'm not a young man anymore, Mr. Oyster."

"It's not far," I said.  "I can run ahead and get my car, if it would be more comfortable for you.  I just prefer to walk.  It's a beautiful day."

"I don't mind walking," Mr. Golden said.  "I just worry I will slow a young man like you down."

I smiled at him.  "Everything has been slower since I moved here," I said.  "I think it's healthier."  I began walking at exactly the pace he had been walking behind me.

Mr. Golden noticed immediately, smiled, and remarked, "What brought you to Nowhere, Mr. Oyster?"

"You may call me, Clem, Mr. Golden," I said.  "I wanted a fresh start.  I was in a rough line of work in Chicago.  I was fortunate enough to get out when I did, and I don't want to waste my chances at a quiet, normal life."

Mr. Golden laughed.  "No life is quiet or normal, kid," he said.  "If your life here so far has been either, count your blessings.  It won't last, especially if you are interested in Caroline."

"I am," I responded without hesitation, "but I am not certain she is interested in me.  My intention was to get to know her better over several mornings, probably for at least a month or more, just sitting next to her while she read.  It is very rare to meet an honest girl."

Mr. Golden cocked an eyebrow at me, "Do you have any further intentions?" he asked, almost with a threat under his breath.

"Not at this time," I responded openly.  "If she's not interested, I'm not either.  I like girls who like me, Mr. Golden.  There is no reason chasing a girl who doesn't want to be caught.  I like my life here.  I'm happy by myself.  No reason to change anything for someone who would only be trouble."

"Were you ever married, Clem?" Mr. Golden asked, as I walked up the steps to unlock the front door.

"No," I said.  I hesitated.  I really didn't want to talk about her.  I was honest: we weren't married.  I just wished we had been.  I unlocked the door, and held it open for Mr. Golden to pass through.

"So, you bought my old house," Mr. Golden said, walking into the living room.  "Seems you have kept the place up beautifully.  Do you have a maid service that comes by?"

"No," I said.  "I'm a bachelor.  I have lots of time on my hands.  I'll go start fixing the sandwiches now so we both get back to work by 1."

Mr. Golden followed me into the kitchen, and sat in one of the chairs I had at my breakfast table.  He was silent while I got out the turkey, rye, mustard and mayonnaise for the sandwiches.  I chopped up the turkey into smaller pieces, and assembled the sandwiches quickly.  I felt Mr. Golden watching me.  "Work in a kitchen?" he asked, as I brought him his sandwich.

"No," I said.  "I just like good food.  It's hard to have good food in a small town, if you don't make it yourself."

"I'm happy to see someone is using the kitchen.  Jeannie could work miracles in here, little kitchen that it is.  I sold the house after she died, and moved into an apartment.  Easier to have a smaller place to care for by myself.  I could use any advice you may have for keeping my new place clean though.  You seem to have it down to a science.  After fifty years of someone taking care if you in that way, it's hard to change.  I could use all the help I can get."

"I'd be happy to help," I said earnestly.  "How long has she been gone?"

"Four years.  She died just after my 80th birthday.  There was no pain," Mr. Golden said with a quiet smile.

I stood, realizing I had forgotten the tea.  "I forgot the tea," I muttered.  "Would you prefer hot or iced?"

"What is the house blend?  Is it usually served hot or iced?" Mr. Golden asked with a wry smile.

"I usually have black iced tea with my lunch," I said quietly.  I immediately liked Mr. Golden.  That put me on edge.  I did not want to reveal something that would cause me to have to leave Nowhere, especially when I had the potential of making a new friend.

"Then, that's what I'd like," Mr. Golden said, taking a large bite out of his sandwich, then continued, after swallowing, "Clem, this is really good!"

"I'm glad you enjoy it," I said, returning to the table with the tea.  "It's one of my favorite sandwiches."  I took a swig of iced tea.  I was nervous.  Damn it!  I wasn't ready to have something to lose, again.

"Clem," Mr. Golden said gently.  I looked him straight in the eyes.  He returned my gaze.  "Man to man, are you ready to start dating after whatever you have been through?  I don't need to know what it was, but at my age, it is easy to see when someone else is hurting."

I chuckled, looking away.  "I must have been fooling myself then," I said, with a smirk. "I thought I was hiding it pretty well."

"My concerns only reflect my relationship with Caroline," Mr. Golden continued.  "While your sandwich is delicious, you have treated me with respect, and I could see the two of us getting along quite well, you are not yet a friend of mine, and I am here to make sure it's not just a situation where Caroline will be set up for a fall.  I don't want her hurt, because you're not ready to start dating."

I sighed, and looked out the window.  I could see her in the garden.  She would have loved it here.  Then, my daydream changed, and it was Caroline in the garden.  Maybe I was ready, maybe I wasn't, but in any case, you don't meet an honest girl every day.  "That's why I don't have any intentions, and I'm just going to see her, if she wants to be seen, tomorrow morning, while drinking my espresso," I said, continuing to gaze out the window.

"If your past finds its way here," Mr. Golden said darkly, "will you be able to protect her?"

I quickly turned to face him.  "Yes," I said, looking at him directly without blinking.

Mr. Golden smiled.  "Do you have paper and a pen, young man?" he asked.

"I'll be right back," I said, walking over to my office and picking up a piece of letterhead and a pen.  I walked back to the breakfast table, and handed the pad and pen to Mr. Golden.

Mr. Golden accepted both, and began writing.  "This is my phone number at my shop, and at my home," he said, writing both down in beautiful script.  "Phone at any hour if your past comes to Nowhere."

I looked at Mr. Golden, hard.  I had not told him anything about my past.  He was armed, and he wasn't afraid of me, but he was also 84 years old.  I needed clarification on what type of help he was offering.  "If my past comes for Caroline, or for any reason my past comes to town?" I asked.

Mr. Golden smiled.  Suddenly, he wasn't stooped anymore, and he looked 30 years younger.  "Young man," he said, "how do you think I kept my wife safe for 50 years in my line of work?"  Then, he readjusted his posture to look 84 again.  "Call, for any reason at all," he finished with a big smile.  "Especially if you have left over turkey!"

I gulped.  I was speaking to The Mr. Golden, not A Mr. Golden.  I had heard stories about him for years!  This man was a legend!  There was so much I wanted to talk to him about... in a field I was no longer in... because I had gone straight... Damn it!  I regained my composure and asked, as politely as I could, "Mr. Golden, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you.  You have been an idol of mine, for years.  Since I now know you have no illusions about my former line of work, are you positive you are all right with the prospect of my dating your Caroline?"

"Yes," Mr. Golden responded, finishing his iced tea.  "I'm an old man now, Clem.  I love to reminisce.  If we both didn't have to get back to work, I would happily answer any questions you may have.  However, that will have to wait for another time.  I trust you with Caroline, because I can see that you are genuinely interested in her, and you have loved and lost once before.  I do not think, after that experience, you are a man to take anyone else's heart lightly."

"No, sir, I'm not," I said, looking deep into his eyes.

"Fantastic," responded Mr. Golden, standing up.  "Then, I have good news for you, Clem: Caroline is very interested in you.  I think you should ask her out tomorrow, for dinner perhaps, at Marcie's.  It's not as slow as you intended, but I think you missed her skipping into work today."

"I did, sir.  I was a bit preoccupied with my own thoughts."

"Very well, then," Mr. Golden responded.  "It was a pleasure having lunch with you, Mr. Oyster.  Let me know when you would like to come over for tea, and to talk about cleaning."

"Yes, sir," I said, standing up quickly, and walking ahead of him to get the front door.

Mr. Golden walked out and down the steps, his stoop back, and his former practiced pace.  "And Clem?" he said, just as I was about to close the door.

"Yes?" I asked.

"It can be done," he said with a wink, and walked back to work.

I smiled.  That was the best news I could have asked for.

A screenshot of a Clem custom miniature from HeroForge.com

A Serial Novel - Chapter 3: Clive Finch

Clem was not himself.

Only I would notice such a thing.  I see Clem five days a week.  I'm his boss, Clive Finch, branch supervisor of Nowhere Bank.  Nice meeting you.  Do you have an account with Nowhere Bank?  We're currently offering a ... Sorry, sometimes I bring my work into more situations than necessary.  My girlfriend has yelled at me for celebrating the past quarter in the bedroom.  Personal weakness, but I love my job.  I have always enjoyed working with figures, so when my grandfather retired and asked me to take over the business, I jumped at the chance.

I hired Clem about a month ago.  He had a rough track record, but he told me exactly what he was coming to Nowhere for: a fresh start.  He proved himself by showing me 14 different ways that I could help my business be more productive.  I ignored all of them, but hired him on the spot.  Such innovation could be useful if something were to go wrong.

Clem was on time, every morning, and wearing a suit that was far too formal for this town.  It brought in more ladies to open accounts, so I didn't actually mind, but I did tease him about it on a fairly regular basis.  The best part is, other than when he asked me for the job, he barely says more than a word or two, all day long.  It's great!  I have peace and quiet to daydream, unless we have customers, and on Tuesday, that generally meant tons of peace and quiet.

Except today.  Today, it was not quiet, which is why I knew, Clem was not himself.

Clem was whistling.

It let it go for about an hour.  He whistled in tune, and in a way it was a nice change to the typical quiet.  However, after the fifth repeat of "Raindrops Are Fallin' On My Head," I cleared my throat.

Clem stopped immediately.  "Yes?" he asked.

"Clem, why are you whistling?" I asked.

"I hadn't realized I was.  I can stop if it was bothering you," Clem responded.

"It wasn't bothering me at all.  You whistle quite well.  I was wondering why you were whistling.  You are usually silent."

"It's been a good day," Clem said.

"Anything happen of note?" I asked, hoping he might just give me a straight answer.

"I met an honest girl," Clem said.

"In town?" I scoffed, with a laugh.  "What's her name?  I've dated most of them, and none of them have been honest.  Most, in addition to dating me, have husbands at home.  Meaning: not honest."

"Oh, she doesn't have a husband," Clem responded, smiling.

"You like this girl!  Cool as a cucumber Clem likes someone!  This is hilarious!  Seriously, man, what's her name?  I am going to laugh hysterically at the look on your face when I tell you her husband's name."

"Caroline," Clem said, looking me straight in the eyes.  I stopped.  That look was the one thing Clem did from his past that always stopped me dead in my tracks.  There was still something dangerous lurking inside that beautiful suit of his.

"Caroline, who works at The Golden Florist?" I asked.

"Yes," Clem said.  "Is there something wrong with her?"

"No, nothing.  She turned me down flat.  She's not married," I said, a bit sheepishly.

Clem chuckled under his breath, then fell silent again.

"What are you laughing for?" I asked, slightly offended.

"It means I'm right, Clive.  It means she's honest.  Do you have any idea how long it has been since I met an honest girl?"

I stopped.  "So she turned you down too?" I asked.

"Of course, she did," Clem answered.  "She has taste.  I happen to like that in a woman."

"So what are you going to do?  You obviously like her.  Otherwise, you wouldn't be whistling.  Are you going to ask her out again?"

"No," Clem said, resolutely, "I'm going to see her tomorrow morning, just like she said."

I laughed.  "Letting a girl call the shots, huh?  What are you, a pussy?"

"No," Clem said, with a smile that was scarier than his glare.  "I'm a man who wants a woman who is happy.  Happy women are a joy to be around.  Generally, if you listen when a woman talks, then try to give her what she asks for, she is more likely to be happy.  If she asks for more than I want to give, I just say no, and I'm equally honest with her.  It keeps things simple."

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it.  I had no smart retort to respond to that.  I decided then and there: I had hired a reincarnation of James Bond.  Clem knew women.  I immediately began thinking about how many women Clem could have, at one time.  Of course, in my thinking this, I was playing the role of Clem.  It was a happy thought.

"I'm going to take lunch," Clem said, putting his jacket back on and buttoning the top button.

I looked down at the clock on my desk.  It was noon.  Wow, time had flown by.  "You go ahead.  I'll see you around 1."

Clem nodded, and took off out the front door to walk home.  Clem generally went home for lunch, because it was so close.  Plus, he said the walking was good for him with a desk job.  I watched him walk around the corner.  Then, I watched Mr. Golden put a closed sign on the door of his shop and also walked around the corner.  I laughed.

Gossip travels fast in a small town.  Clem was in for a not so simple time.

A screenshot of a Clive Finch custom miniature from HeroForge.com

A Serial Novel - Chapter 2: Mr. Golden

It was a typical Tuesday.  I had enough orders to keep me busy for birthdays and anniversaries that getting into my shop a few minutes early made sense.  No reason for me to stay home anyway, with the wife gone and all.  I was busy finishing up the bouquet for Mr. Finch's latest squeeze, when I looked up at the clock.  It was five past nine.

Caroline was late.

Caroline was never late.

I finished tying the bow on the bouquet and put it in a pail of water.  I went to the front door of my shop, and there was Caroline, skipping up the road with a giant grin on her face.  No book in front of her nose.  No timid steps.  She was skipping.

I quickly walked back to my desk, and busied myself with the next bouquet on my list of things to do: an apology bouquet from Mr. Dorian to Mrs. Dorian, apparently, for being an ass, and quite a large one.  A dozen roses, mixed in with the most expensive flowers in my shop suggested such.

Caroline burst in the door, jangling the bell wildly.  "Mr. Golden!" she exclaimed.  "I think there's a boy who likes me!"

I blinked twice at her.  This was not typical Caroline behavior.  I hired Caroline because she was a quiet little thing, and had extreme attention to detail.  Not to mention, whenever she was working, sales from any of the men in Nowhere skyrocketed.  Something about having a pretty little thing straightening flowers meant men bought flowers.  After I regained my composure from her outburst, I asked, "Is he a good boy?"

Caroline thought for a moment.  "I don't know," she said, "but he listened to me when I said I wanted to finish my book, instead of talk to him.  That means something, right?"

I thought for a moment.  Caroline, with her bright eyes and youth, was pretty naive in the ways of the world, and extremely naive in the ways of men.  She hadn't ever talked about a boy, and she had worked for me for over four years now.  I didn't want to crush her hopes, as she had not had as many suitors as would befit a pretty girl like her.  However, I also did not want her being taken advantage of.  "It means he might be a good listener," I responded, cautiously.

"Well, I told him I would see him tomorrow morning at the coffee shop, because, well, he's there every morning.  He's the one who drinks all the espressos and hardly says a word to Marcie.  The fact that he even said a few sentences to me was impressive.  His name is Clem.  Do you know him?  Has he ever bought flowers here?"

I thought for a moment, and slowly opened my record book.  I'm 84 years old, far too old to be learning new-fangled technology in a little town like this.  I have this copy of my records, a copy in my office, and a copy at home, just in case.  I looked back two months: no record of a Clem.  "How long has he lived here, Caroline?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," Caroline responded, honest as always.  "He started coming to the coffee shop every morning about 3 months ago.  Never spoke to anyone but Marcie until this morning.  I'm also positive he was late for work, later than me anyway.  Sorry about that, Mr. Golden.  You can dock me if you'd like..."

"It's no problem, Caroline," I said with a little smile.  "It is good to see you so excited about something.  I just hope it will not compromise your work today..."

"It won't.  I promise," Caroline responded, sounding much more like herself.

"Good," I said.  "Now, please begin the morning tidying up.  Even though we're just a small town florist, we need to look respectable: cleanliness is godliness."

Caroline smiled back at me.  "Of course, Mr. Golden."  She turned away to go to the closet to find a broom and dust pan.

"I'll just make a few phone calls, dear," I said, turning to my address book,  "It's rather important for me to know if this Clem is a good boy."

Caroline smiled at me.  "Thanks, Mr. Golden," she said.  "It's nice to know that someone is looking out for me."

"By the way, Caroline," I asked, before picking up the phone to call the coffee shop, "how is your uncle?"

"Oh, he's doing swell," Caroline said, a dark look crossing her face.  "I think his daisies will be prize-winning this year."

"Fantastic," I responded, ignoring her expression.  "Well, please tell him that if he could send you with some for the shop, it would be most appreciated."

"Of course," Caroline responded.  "I'd be happy to."

After a few rings, Marcie picked up the phone.  "Hello, Marcie," I said into the receiver, "this is Frances.  Caroline came in here this morning happy as a lark.  She was skipping in fact.  She tells me she met a boy at the coffee house this morning.  He sat next to her while she was reading her book.  His name is... Clark?"

"Clem," Marcie corrected me.  "His name is Clem.  Frances, I was bad this morning.  I was playing matchmaker again.  Your pretty little Caroline and Clem would make such a cute couple."

"What do you know about Clem?" I asked, trying not to sound stern.

"He's a banker.  Clive Finch hired him about a month ago.  He came in that afternoon for an espresso to celebrate.  Told me he was moving into town, and asked if there were any nice houses he could buy.  Not rent, Frances, buy.  I think he's loaded.  The banking job could just be a front.  I know he's single.  He doesn't wear a wedding ring, and in this town, a girlfriend, mistress or wife would be obvious.  I mean, he could be divorced, or a widower, but I doubt it somehow.  He seems like a man who could use a woman in his life, not one who ever had one."

"Do you think he would treat Caroline well?  I mean, her uncle has been sick for months.  No one has seen him around town.  She's probably horribly lonely, and could use a friend, but if he's a banker, and works for Clive Finch... I'm not sure he'd be a good influence on Caroline."

"Have you met Clem?" Marcie asked me.

"No," I said surprised by her question, "and he has never purchased flowers here.  I just finished checking."

"Further proof he's single," Marcie said.  "You know Caroline better than anyone.  Wouldn't it be nice to see her happy for a change?  If it doesn't last, this is a small town.  He'll leave rather than deal with our gossip!"

I thought about that for a second.  It was true.  Moving into a small town, by choice, and choosing to date someone in the town was risky in and of itself.  My wife had been from a few towns over, just for that very reason.  However, Caroline was happy, and I had no doubt that Marcie was right about the gossip.  "All right," I said, "I'll let Caroline know what she hasn't already overheard from our call.  Apparently, she was extremely impressed by Clem, because he let her finish her book."

"I hope Clem understood that," Marcie said.  "He told me she had said, 'No.'"

"I'll make sure to relate that to Caroline," I said.  "If she's truly interested in Clem, she may have to work on being more direct in her methods of communication."

Marcie laughed.  "Good luck with that, Frances!  The girl has said two words to me since she started coming in here alone.  How's her uncle doing?  Any better?"

"Gardening, apparently," I said, smiling at the thought of the daisies I would get soon.  "Hopefully, we'll see him around town soon.  Well, Marcie, I need to let you go before I forget all the things I need to tell Caroline.  Have a good day," I finished, hanging up the phone.

"Well," Caroline asked, pausing in her sweeping, "is he a good boy?"

"No," I said, resolutely, "but if you like him, you may find out he's a good man."

Caroline dropped the broom, jumped up and down twice and clapped her hands.  Then, she looked down, and saw she had spilled the dust from the dustpan all over the floor.  "Sorry!" she exclaimed, and began to clean it up.

I smiled, and returned to work on Mr. Dorian's apology bouquet.

A screenshot of a Mr. Golden custom miniature from HeroForge.com

A Serial Novel - Chapter 1: Clem

Chapter 1: Clem

Hi.  I'm Clem, Clem Francis Oyster.  Yes, that makes my initials C.F.O.  You could say my parents had high hopes for me.

They're dead.

I'm currently working as a banker, which fits in an ironic way.  I'm not the Chief Financial Officer of the bank, but it's straight work that I'm good at.  Boring as hell, but I can deal.  This position is better for my health, if you know what I mean.

In my former line of work, my life expectancy was always: yesterday.  It made life more interesting, because it could end at any moment, but when it became routine, I knew I had to get out.  Fast.  So, I did the impossible, and I got out.  And yes, I'd have to kill you if I told you how I did it, and that would really ruin my chances of staying straight, so knock it off, will ya?

As I was saying, I'm now working as a banker in a small town in Illinois, just far enough from Chicago that I won't run into my old colleagues unless they come looking for trouble.

Which small town?  Nosy, aren't we?  That's how you get your nose cut off, putting it in places it doesn't belong.  It's small, and nothing happens here.  Now, go play Google Maps roulette and do the work if you actually want to find me, wise guy.

For convenience, let's just say I live in Nowhere, Illinois.  It's a one stop light town with a bank, a post office, a pharmacy, a florist, and a coffee shop.  That's it.  You can see the whole thing in two minutes, or driving through, if the light is green, miss the whole thing.  That's why it's perfect for me.  It's quiet, and no one comes here, unless they have family here, or they themselves lived here at one time.  If my old colleagues came to find me, it would have to be intentional.  There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to draw them here for any other reason.

Or so I thought...

I live in a bungalow, two blocks from Main Street.  It's a little gray house with five rooms: a kitchen, a bathroom, a living room, an office, and a bedroom upstairs.  It also has a basement.  It's perfect for a bachelor like me, and like everything in my life now, I keep it completely clean.  With five rooms, it's pretty easy to do, which suits me just fine.

The bank is on Main Street, and previously living in Chicago, it made no sense to me not to walk to work.  Every morning, after waking up, and eating some breakfast, I walk over to the coffee shop to order three espressos, before walking over to the bank across the street.  There was no reason for this morning to be any different.  It was a typical Tuesday.

Nothing happens for a banker on Tuesday in a small town.  Frankly, if I were running things, we'd be open Thursday (for those who get their pay checks early), Friday (for almost everybody), and Saturday (for those who worked late, or forgot to get to the bank after work on Friday).  That's it.  For the other days, I'd have an ATM.  Easy.  But that's not how it works in Nowhere, so I happily smiled and accepted my 40 hour a week position.  I figured it was good for my recovery, and keeping my trap shut was a well learned skill I had no intention of forgetting.

Well, it was supposed to be a typical Tuesday, but it wasn't.  I walked into the coffee shop and said, "Hi," to Marcie, the owner, sitting myself at the bar.

"Good mornin', Clem," Marcie said with her sly smile.  "Will it be the usual?"

"Yes, ma'am," I responded, taking my phone from my jacket pocket, and looking for any interesting stories in the news.

"I don't know how you stomach this on an empty stomach, Clem," Marcie said,

"I don't," I said, looking up from my phone with a small smile.

"An early riser, huh?" Marcie continued, watching the espressos shoot out of the machine into three shot glasses.  "I don't know how a catch like you, moved into a small town like this, and is single.  Clem, do you just not get out much?"

"Not really," I responded honestly.

"I see," Marcie said.  "Well, you should change that.  You're a banker now.  Bringing in good money like that, you could have any girl in this town that you wanted.  Take Caroline over there.  She works at the flower shop around the corner.  Prettiest little thing.  I have no idea why she's single either.  But God works in mysterious ways..."

I looked over at the girl sitting in the corner of the coffee shop, reading a book.  She looked like sunshine.  No, she was sunshine.  All sunshine, and rainbows, and probably glitter.  About 5' 10", blue eyes, freckles, and strawberry blond hair.  She wore a dress that matched the color of her eyes, and would never be seen anywhere in Chicago.  She was sunshine for my cloudy day, and I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

"Clem," Marcie said, standing at the counter with my espressos.  "Clem," she tried again when I didn't answer or turn towards her.  "Clem!" she said slightly sharply, which caused me to turn, my elbow knocking one of the shot glasses filled with espresso on the floor.

"Aw... I'm so sorry, Marcie," I cursed.  "Can I buy another one?  Where's your rag?  I'll help clean this up."

Marcie laughed.  "If you ask that nice girl out, all four espressos are on the house," she said, smirking.

I looked at Marcie wide eyed for a moment, and decided she was serious.  I nodded, stood, took a deep breath and walked over to Caroline.  "Hi," I said.  "Would you like company with your cappuccino?"

Caroline looked up from her book.  I could tell she was looking over me carefully.  This girl had been hurt, badly.  I suddenly started thinking of what I would want to do to someone who had hurt a girl like this, and then realized I had gone straight, and if I did those things, I would never be able to spend time with her.  A girl like her didn't have a boyfriend in prison, or my former line of work.  A girl like her...

"No," Caroline said.  "Thank you for asking, but I'm really enjoying my book.  I only have 15 more pages, and I'd really like to finish it before my shift starts at the flower shop."  She then looked back down at her book, and it was as if I hadn't said a word.

But she had given me a gift: she was honest.  Completely honest, in fact.  A quality I rarely found, in anyone.  I knew immediately I had to get to know this girl better.  "I don't expect you to talk," I tried again.  "Is this chair free?"

"Sure," she said, this time not looking up.  I sat in the chair across from her, pulled my phone back out, and finished reading the news story on increased crime in Chicago. Marcie brought me my espressos and mouthed, "Well?"  I shook my head, she mouthed, "Sorry," and returned to the counter.

Twenty minutes later, Caroline looked up from her book.  "Well, that was disappointing," she said, and began readying to leave.

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

"The ending," Caroline explained.  "Totally not worth it.  It was just another happy ending that is totally unrealistic, to tell you the truth.  People are happy, but nothing is perfect.  Perfect really doesn't exist, even in nature.  Beauty exists.  Harmony exists, in singular moments.  But perfect?  That's for the birds!  What's your name anyway?"

"I'm Clem," I said.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Clem," Caroline said, placing money on the table to pay Marcie.  "I have to get to work."

I smiled.  Yes, I would definitely see her tomorrow.  Suddenly, there was something happening in Nowhere.

Chapter 2: Mr. Golden