Cosy Prisons

Nick Keane finds his fiancee dead, with a gun in his hand & no memory of how it got there. He is forced to go on the run from a community where he is thought a murderer, and from supernatural forces, while trying to uncover the mystery behind his fiancee's tragic death.

Rain lashed hard on the windows as Nick contemplated the depths of his coffee mug. He was almost beginning to enjoy his regular afternoons in the little café, perhaps because, for an hour and a half a day, he could be normal.

He watched, bemused, as people jogged past the window, their heads bent against the rain. Every once in a while one of these people would notice the little café, stop, and push open the door to ‘be welcomed by a hot drink and a warm atmosphere’ as the sign in the window read.

The café, although successful, was never packed, and so Nick had plenty of room to be alone with his thoughts.

“Hi, Mr. Keane.” A waitress stood nervously by his table.

“Hey, Grace.”

She pushed the newspaper she’d been clutching towards him.

“I’ve finished with this, I thought you might like something to read.”

“Thanks very much.” Nick took the paper and glanced over the front page. When he looked up, Grace was still standing there. He gave her a friendly smile – she blushed and shuffled away.

“On September 26th, 2008, my brother was declared missing following the death of his fiancée.”

Nick recognised the voice and it tore his attention from the newspaper. He was now concentrating on the television in the corner, on which his brother’s face stared back at him.
“Nick is not wanted in connection with the murder, this is an appeal for his safe return…”

Nick looked around the café, suddenly paranoid that somebody might recognise him. When he looked back to the TV he hastily pulled up his hood, as he was now staring at a picture of himself on the screen.

His brother continued: “…Here is a recent photo of Nick. He’s five foot eight, has blonde hair and blue eyes. He was last seen wearing dark jeans…”

Nick was panicking now. The solace he had found in this small village was under threat.

“…So please, if anybody has any information as to Nicholai Keane’s whereabouts, however insignificant it may seem, please contact the missing persons helpline…”

Standing abruptly, Nick scrambled for the possessions he’d laid out on the table and left the café just in time to hear his brother’s closing sentence:

“ …And Nick, if you’re watching, we miss you.”

The End

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