The Morning After

Charlie awoke the morning after equally as sore as his wife would feel when she finally woke, too. It was a Saturday morning, but it felt like they had been out all night. In all actuality, they had had a busy night. First, with Charlie disappearing, then with all that vampire-oriented sex. The resulting, softer sex session was a nice, compassionate romp in the sack, very rejuvenating to a couple who had been worried about each of the other’s fidelity.

It was with thankfulness that Charlie rose out of bed and headed down the stairs to start the coffee for the morning. Saturday meant it was their ‘chill day’ – their one day a week to spend total, uninhibited time together doing whatever they wanted that didn’t involve work. That could be painting the living room, or shopping, or hiking, or rock climbing. They probably wouldn’t opt for the last two, seeing as they were very, very tender, and some of the monkeys had still not been found. More importantly, the vicious monkeys were the ones that were still missing.

But, Charlie could at least go for shopping or even watching movies all day. Sunday was that time to watch football – either old games or new ones. They had some deep rivalries against each other, and usually made bets over the football, holding (or withholding) sexual treats as the rewards. Needless to say, their weekends were always interesting, and Charlie could head to the office Monday, with plenty to say.

As Charlie stood, leaning against the kitchen counter, gratefully inhaling the fumes of caffeinated beverage wafting through the air, he heard a faint knock at the door. He stood up, unsure if he had imagined it, but again he heard a brief rap to the door. Sighing, he made his way through the living room, double checking to make sure that certain objects such as sex toys from the previous night’s playing had not made it downstairs and into the living room. Charlie opened the door to a not so unfamiliar scene - a jogger stood panting before him.

“Hey dude…” The jogger apologized, by way of greeting. “I’m about to be sick…I just…can I use your bathroom? I have to pee so bad and I didn’t want to do it in the bushes in daylight…you know?”

“Absolutely.” Charlie ushered the young man in. He was dripping in sweat, clad in the ever-embarrassing gym shorts and otherwise bare chested. “Come on in, I’ll show it to you.”

“Thanks so much.” The jogger said again, and jogged in place as Charlie ushered him into the door and made his way upstairs with the man following behind him. Charlie pointed the way to the bathroom and waited for the door to close before he rushed into his bedroom to wake his beautiful, calm and peaceful wife.

“Baby? Thomas is here again. I’m sorry. I wish they would keep better hold of him.”

“Shit. Why us?”

“It must be our house just attracts the crazies.”

“I blame you, you know.” Angela grumbled as she rolled out of bed, pulling on her bathrobe. “Ugh. I feel hung over, almost.”

“Can you call the ward? I’ll get him under control.” Charlie asked as he made his way out of the bedroom and back outside the bathroom door to await the ‘crazy’.

Thomas was, though not frequently, more often than not a visitor to Charlie and Angela’s home. Thomas had been a career thief when he was younger, so good that he had never even gotten caught. But, once, when he was picking pockets, the resulting cop chase had led him to be struck by a car and suffer a brain injury. The man began arriving at their home with the exact same cover story every few months. Thomas had lost his short term memory – he spent most of his time in the minimum security psych ward in the nearby hospital. When he would manage to escape, he would somehow find himself a pair of running shorts and masquerade as a jogger in some of the better neighborhoods of Sedona.

He would usually end up at Charlie and Angela’s with some version of the exact same story. He was going to be sick, or he had to pee, or he would deliberately cut himself. He would always emerge from the bathroom with the exact same intention – he would lurk around upstairs and try to steal as much as he could. The first time, he had actually managed to find their jewelry. The second time, obviously, they had wised up, and by the third time, they were veterans. All it would take was a knife and a little show of dominance, and Thomas would immediately apologize and wait calmly for the cops to get there. It was a good thing he wasn’t a fighter.

Charlie returned from his bedroom just as Thomas was slinking out of the bathroom. Charlie was standing in front of him, barring the way more effectively than a stone in front of a cave door.

“Why don’t you come with me downstairs and wait for the cops, Thomas?”

“What do you mean?” This was the classic question from the man – he would always play innocent until Charlie would relate to him that he knew everything, he was a cop, and his cop friends were on the way. Thomas would first retaliate, saying that he was doing nothing wrong, and Charlie would say he was on the top ten list – flattering, of course. The next fifteen minutes were spent holding the man downstairs where he couldn’t swipe anything. The ambulance usually came for the man, along with a cop car or two to make him feel better.

Thomas had gone from being a feared villain to the village idiot in a matter of months after his accident. In a way, it almost made Charlie feel bad for him – but, they had never actually found Angela’s jewelry the first time Thomas had stolen from their house.

“I know who you are. You don’t have to pretend. I’ve seen your record. The cops are on the way.” Charlie said, cutting to the chase.

“Oh.” Thomas said, stunned. “Damn.”

“Want some coffee while we wait?” Charlie asked him as he led him downstairs. “You might as well be comfortable.”

“Why are you so nice?” Thomas asked him suddenly, a hint of clarity coming into his eyes. Charlie looked at him sadly.

“Your name is Thomas Madison-Huxley. You’re a grade A thief, with one problem. The last time you were chased by the cops – well, not the last, but a time a few years ago – you got hit by a car.”

“I remember being chased.” Thomas acknowledged. “But that couldn’t have been more than a few weeks ago.”

“It was four years ago. You suffered a brain injury.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Look.” Charlie handed Thomas the newspaper. “Sorry, dude.” Charlie said as Thomas looked, crestfallen.

“Oh. So what kind of brain injury?”

“Short term memory storage. You don’t do it – at all.”

“How many times have I…?” Thomas looked at him, blushing. A thief with a conscience – how ironic.

“This is twelve or thirteen.” Charlie said. The sick man at least deserved the truth.

“…Oh. Dude. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. To be honest, you brighten up my day.” Charlie decided it was safe to put the knife away. The man was coherent – he just wasn’t going to remember a damn thing.

“Well, that’s good. I guess. Where do I live?”

“St. Joseph’s Psych Ward.”

“Do I break out a lot?”

“Obviously.”

“Well, that’s cool, at least.” Thomas said. “Can they do anything for me?”

“I think they give you Jell-O daily.” Charlie offered by way of apology.

“That’s not what I meant. My memory. Can I get it back?”

“I don’t know.” Charlie admitted. “I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, I’m sorry for…yeah.”

“No problem.” Charlie said as the door bell rang, announcing the arrival of the psych ward, cops, and ambulance.

“That would be your ride.”

“Well…nice meeting you.” Thomas winked at him. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again. You seem like a nice guy. It was an honor to try to rob you.”

“It’s always a pleasure.” Charlie said, opening the door to an influx of cops and the classic white-coats associated with mental wards. Charlie held out his hands, as if to hold them off. “It’s a good day today, guys. No need for the escort. Right, Thomas?”

“Um… Yeah?”

The main doctor who had rushed in the door and was immediately by Thomas’ side looked up gratefully.

“I’m glad you’re so…understanding to his condition. The entire staff is. Thank you again and again.” The man greeted Thomas with a nod of his head. “Come on. Its bingo day.”

“Seriously? Can’t we get some ice cream or something.”

“There’s ice cream every day, just for you.” The doctor told him, smiling in that way of speaking to a child. Charlie swallowed his small amount of anger – thief though he may be, Thomas should be treated like a man when he had the knowledge of one, albeit a strange or not entirely legal minded one. Charlie showed them out as Angela walked downstairs, clad in little more than some slippers and her bathrobe.

“Hey, sexy mama.” Charlie cooed at her, shutting the door with a resounding boom. “Want some coffee?”

“I was thinking of something a little more…filling.” Angela answered him, sidling over to her husband with the grace of a cat in heat. “A little more…hot.”

Charlie gulped, his already sore and bruised body aching in memory, but aching for more. He could see it was going to be a long morning.

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