I Am the Messenger

I'm tempted to read what's on the card, but I manage to watch the rest of the movie just holding it.

I watch the movie.

I watch Audrey and enjoy the moment, or at least what's left of it.

In my hand, I can almost feel the pulse of the heart card as it sits there and waits.

part four: The Music of Hearts

There's music in my head, and it's the color of red and black.

It's the morning after.

The morning after the Ace of Hearts.

I feel it like a hangover.

After making sure Bernie was okay (we left him asleep in the projection room), we walked back up onto Bell Street and into the night. It was warm and humid, and the only person around was a young man facing the other way. He was sitting on an old, scabby bench.

At first, I was lost in the thoughts of all that had happened, and when I turned around to see him again, he was gone.

He'd vanished.

Audrey's voice asked a question, but I didn't hear it. It was on the periphery of the wide blast of noise inside my ears. At first I wondered what it was, but then, without question, I was sure. It was red hearts and black words. Beating.

The sound of hearts.

Without question, I knew that the young man back there was the one sent to the theater.

Maybe he could have led me to the person sending the cards.

Maybe many things.

As we walked on, the giant noise inside my ears subsided. Footsteps and Audrey's voice became clear again.

Now it's morning and I hear that sound again.

The card is on the floor.

The Doorman lies next to it.

I shut my eyes, but everything's red and black.

This is the last card, I tell myself, but I roll over into sleep again, despite the music of hearts beating in my bed.

I dream of running.

In a car.

With the Doorman in the front seat.

That probably comes from smelling him next to my bed.

It's a beautiful dream, like the end of an American movie, where the protagonist and his girl drive off into the rest of the world.

Except I drive alone.

No girl.