Marie’s cab was downstairs, so Gabe accompanied her down and returned to tell him the members of the press had grown in number. Neil quickly arranged with the doorman to leave the building unseen, via a basement exit. The streets were wet for it had rained and it was 7:00 PM dark. Walking a block or two from the building he managed to find a cab. When he emerged from the cab at West End Avenue, he immediately saw Devin. Gabe had called him out of concern with his first visit home. Freddie greeted him solemnly and they went in and up by the elevator. He walked towards the apartment door with the strolling pace he’d used hundreds of times, put the key in the tumbler, unlocking the door. “Devin, I’ve got to go this alone. Please wait here.” Devin nodded, then leaned against the wall.” He threw the light switch on and walked in, closing the door behind him. “The alarm didn’t go off,” he thought. “It hadn’t been reset. Everything is spotless,” he noted as he looked about. He had a cleaning service in to remove all evidence of the horror; nothing that would initiate unwanted memories. “If only the same could be done with the mind.” He wanted to hear Esther’s voice calling out his name and telling him, “Dinner in fifteen minutes.” There was only silence. He walked into the library and opened the window, sensing staleness and the need to refresh. Even the sounds from the street below were muted. He walked over to the piano and looked at the sheet music indicating the last piece his mother had played. It was a Brahms waltz. The melody went leisurely through his mind and made him smile. He then walked the long hallway to his room. There he found his cello resting beside his old Morris chair. Now it all became painful. He picked up th... ... middle of paper ... ...spected there was a financial advantage in equalizing the inheritance. Your mother suspected it was meant to put us at odds with each other. She told me that she feared that your knowledge of the money could unravel you decisions with regard to your life choices. She had promised me that she would tell you on your twenty-fifth birthday.” “Son, this Will is unchangeable,” added Mr. Kaplan. Esther Outwater told me that you were adopted, though that appears to be a fabrication. However, she gave me your fingerprints; she furnished your DNA, photos and a copy of your signature so that any challenges regarding you as the inheritor of this estate, would be incontestable.” After a significant pause, he added, “Your natural parents will probably sue for this money. I believe it might be fair to negotiate a settlement.” “Let them have it all I don’t give a damn about it.”
Several days later during an interview with the State Police Willoughby provided more details about his conversation with Gabe. According to Willoughby, he was present when Gabe received a phone call from his mother
After finally finishing the paperwork, Brian walked to his apartment building on 4th street. Exhausted, Brian walked through the sliding glass doors of his apartment building and scurried towards the elevator,
Fourteen years later, twenty-three-year-old Jane was selling furniture at the Sitka market. Jane was on her way to go take out money from the local bank, on arrival she gave her name and soon discovered her parents had kept a safe deposit box. She was granted permission to look at its content. When she opened it papers tumbled out and landed on her feet. One stood out from the rest. It was the original deed to her parents
In my essay I have chosen the essay “ black men and public space” by Brent Staples, and “ on seeing England for the first time” by Jamaica Kincaid . In Staples essay he shows us what does it mean to be a black man who walks in the night, living between people “ white people” who sees a criminal or a “mugger” when they look at him , because of the color of his skin that makes him stranger . And Kincaid explains how she felt as a stranger in her home town as well as in England when she went there . And both of Staples and Kincaid share the feeling of the fear, different types of fear ,as they both been through racism from people around them in different ways , in one hand Kincaid had the fear of losing her identity , and her culture identity and thus losing herself , while Staples had the fear of facing others fears of him, and both never did any harm to white people but they been suffering from white people and under they control and under their judgement .
The next morning I woke up, dress up and drove the car to the building. I have driven about 24 hours I finally went to the basement of the
He was reluctant to do so but knowing he might get out he listened. As soon as he covered his face the door blew of the hinges and broke the window throwing glass everywhere. When he uncovered his eyes he saw nothing but smoke, after it cleared he could clearly see written on the wall outside "welcome to The Game". He thought this was all a nightmare trying to wake up he only ended up hurting himself from all of the pinches. After working his way through the hallways following the arrows, he got to the front door. He knew it would be locked but tried anyway and to his surprise it moved, but only an inch or so. Chained from the other side the door wouldn't come
“It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mourning notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro, down its whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the glittering circlet.
When he arrived at the home the servant who took his hoarse and directed him to the room that Mr. Usher was in greeted him. Inside the house was also very ornate, but it to had also been left alone for to long. The entire house had a gloomy atmosphere that would put a chill down most people’s spines. When he entered the room his friend was staying in he was warmly welcomed. He could not believe the changes that his dear childhood friend had endured.
Her family life is depicted with contradictions of order and chaos, love and animosity, conventionality and avant-garde. Although the underlying story of her father’s dark secret was troubling, it lends itself to a better understanding of the family dynamics and what was normal for her family. The author doesn’t seem to suggest that her father’s behavior was acceptable or even tolerable. However, the ending of this excerpt leaves the reader with an undeniable sense that the author felt a connection to her father even if it wasn’t one that was desirable. This is best understood with her reaction to his suicide when she states, “But his absence resonated retroactively, echoing back through all the time I knew him. Maybe it was the converse of the way amputees feel pain in a missing limb.” (pg. 399)
It was a dark cold night in December. Opening the door to their house, the den sat quiet as usual, but something else was different. Walking to the living room, I did not hear a voice that always greeted me with joy. There was no room for joy, or laughter anymore. When I sat down, my Pa Pa’s bed sat across from me. I could see the bones through his skin, the bagginess of his white t-shirt, and the sadness that rest in his eyes. On his lips, a smile no longer lived. “Hi Pa Pa”, I say as I walked over to k...
This issue of money all began when Mr. Jennings, being the gullible person he was, hired a land surveyor, not a lawyer to write his will. The sneaky land developer intentionally made John’s grandfathers’ will to be extremely vague and ill written. Mr. Jennings real wishes were obscured and open to interpretation.
“Miku-Chan, did you know that a new noble family has transferred to our town? Let us greet them,” Lily, a close friend of mine who was raised together since my childhood, asked.
Mrs. Mallard’s repressed married life is a secret that she keeps to herself. She is not open and honest with her sister Josephine who has shown nothing but concern. This is clearly evident in the great care that her sister and husband’s friend Richard show to break the news of her husband’s tragic death as gently as they can. They think that she is so much in love with him that hearing the news of his death would aggravate her poor heart condition and lead to death. Little do they know that she did not love him dearly at all and in fact took the news in a very positive way, opening her arms to welcome a new life without her husband. This can be seen in the fact that when she storms into her room and her focus shifts drastically from that of her husband’s death to nature that is symbolic of new life and possibilities awaiting her. Her senses came to life; they come alive to the beauty in the nature. Her eyes could reach the vastness of the sky; she could smell the delicious breath of rain in the air; and ears became attentive to a song f...
I wearily drag myself away from the silken violet comforter and slump out into the living room. The green and red print of our family’s southwestern style couch streaks boldly against the deep blues of the opposing sitting chairs, calling me to it. Of course I oblige the billowy haven, roughly plopping down and curling into the cushions, ignoring the faint smell of smoke that clings to the fabric. My focus fades in and out for a while, allowing my mind to relax and unwind from any treacherous dreams of the pervious night, until I hear the telltale creak of door hinges. My eyes flutter lightly open to see my Father dressed in smart brown slacks and a deep earthy t-shirt, his graying hair and beard neatly comber into order. He places his appointment book and hair products in a bag near the door signaling the rapid approaching time of departure. Soon he is parading out the door with ever-fading whispers of ‘I love you kid,’ and ‘be good.’
She slammed the door behind her. Her face was hot as she grabbed her new perfume and flung it forcefully against the wall. That was the perfume that he had bought for her. She didn't want it anymore. His voice coaxed from the other side of the door. She shouted at him to get away. Throwing herself on the bed and covering her face with one of his shirts, she cried. His voice coaxed constantly, saying Carol, let me in. Let me explain.' She shouted out no!' Then cried some more. Time passed with each sob she made. When she caught herself, there was no sound on the other side of the door. A long silence stood between her and the door. Maybe she had been too hard on him, she thought. Maybe he really had a good explanation. She hesitated before she walked toward the door and twisted the handle. Her heart was crying out to her at this moment. He wasn't there. She called out his name. "Thomas!" Her cries were interrupted by the revving of an engine in the garage. She made it to the window in time to see his Volvo back out the yard. "Thomas! Thomas....wait!" Her cries vanished into thin air as the Volvo disappeared around the bend. Carol grew really angry all of a sudden. How could he leave? He'll sleep on the couch when he gets back. Those were her thoughts.