The Optimist, By Sethster
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1973, a cold gloomy office, a desolate alley, the feeling of complete emptiness. I had regret in choosing the job of a detective, but I try to work the best I can. Business is slow, and clients hardly ever bring up any interesting cases. I can say that my life is pretty sad, but I somehow manage to live through it. My life broke down after my wife left me. But I manage. She took all my money before she left. But I manage. I forgot to tip the waiter on my last visit to the bistro. But I manage.
Monday
My first client of the day, a skinny man named George Thompson. His wife also had apparently went missing. He was acting hysterical, flaring his arms around, spouting words only a sailor should say. I got him to finally calm down and assured him that I would try my best to find his wife. He went home, and about 20 minutes after he called again. Apparently, his wife was simply out of town and no one had told him. If only finding my wife was that easy.
Tuesday
No clients today, so I went down to the bistro. I flagged down that waiter and paid him the tip I owed him. I decided to order some chicken soup. I must have waited forever, and when they finally did bring out my food, I wasn’t given chicken soup. I was given tomato soup instead. They know I absolutely hate tomato soup. I made sure not to leave a tip this time, but I slightly regretted it later. It wasn’t the waiter’s fault, it was the cook’s.
Wednesday
Two clients, both of which had property stolen from them by a masked thief in an alleyway. This was the most interesting case I had in years. I knew the pay with this case would be great, enough to probably get a better house. Sleeping in an office chair can really do a number on your back. I assured them I would track down this thief and return their stolen property.
Thursday
I was received an anonymous tip from an unknown caller. She had a feminine voice, one that sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place my finger on it. She had told me the thief I was looking for was going to strike again in the same alleyway tomorrow night. Something felt off about this call, but nonetheless I was determined to catch this thief.
Friday
It was nearing the time for the strike. I waited patiently, for what seemed like an hour. I was gonna leave, but right then I heard the rustling of trash cans. I pulled out my revolver, and carefully turned the corner. It was the thief! He wore complete black, so it was a bit hard for me to see him. I ran after him, through alleys, down streets, until I finally tackled him. But I was shocked, for this thief wasn’t male. This thief was female. Never in my life have I ever seen a female thief. Unexpected, if you will, like seeing tomato soup instead of chicken soup. She escaped my grasp, but instead of running away, she turned to me and spoke. “Hello David,” she said, her feminine voice sounding so familiar. “Don’t you remember me, David? I’m someone you should know very well.” As she spoke, she took off her glove, revealing a ring that brought back thousands of memories. It was my wife. I wanted to cry, knowing that for all these years looking for her, she turned up during the one moment he wasn’t. I cuffed her, trying my best to fight back the tears, and moved her to the cell in my office for questioning.
Saturday
I probably had a million questions to ask her, but the case comes first.
“Why did you steal from those two people?” I asked, hoping I could get the answers I needed. Her whispery voice always seemed to calm me down.
“David, ever since I left you and took your money, I was living the high life. I was filthy rich, buying whatever I could. But I realized that your money didn’t last, and I found myself broke like you are now. So I stole, selling the goods off for extra money. It didn’t do much, but atleast I could feed myself.”
“But you could’ve came back, I would’ve supported you the best I could.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
“Yes I could, I-”
“No, David. You couldn’t support me, even if you tried.”
I was about to cry again, when suddenly she pulled my face to hers and kissed me.
“David, you can’t support me because I don’t love you. I never did,” she whispered, her lips still locked onto mine.
Tears were running down my cheek at that point. After all those years she had lived with me, she had never even loved me in the first place. I tore my face away from hers, and with my back facing her, I made one final remark.
“Well, if you don’t love me, I don’t have any remorse in doing this.”
I immediately turned around, and with my gun in my hand, I took aim. As I looked at her now I realized what a mistake I made spending my life with her. Her face, now red with shock, looked like the disgusting tomato soup I was given at the bistro.
“David, I’m sorry! I do love you, just please don’t shoot me!” she squealed, tears running down her cheeks much like how I was a minute ago.
“Please, we both know that’s not true. All I want is the location of the stolen goods, and if you can do that, I’ll make sure your brain isn’t full of metal once this interrogation is over,” I replied, knowing that if I shot her, or if she was thrown in jail, it wouldn’t make any difference to me.
“David, I don’t know where it is, I promise!”
“That’s a lie, now where is it?”
“I said I don’t know!”
“Fine.” I opened the revolver chamber, showing her it was actually empty. I began loading bullets into the chamber, one by one, and took aim once again.
“Don’t make me do this, we both know there’s an easier way,” I said.
“I told you I don’t know where the stolen items are!” Her tears were pouring out like a waterfall, she knew I wasn’t messing around.
“I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” I firmly replied, and stuck the gun barrel to her head. Her eyes widened to a length I had never thought eyes could reach.
“Alright, Alright! I’ll tell you where the stolen items are!” she squealed, and with that, I marked the case closed. She was soon promptly arrested and the goods were recovered. I returned the stolen items to their owners, and I was paid for each one. At the end of the day, I ended two villains: a dirty criminal and a horrible wife.
Sunday
I layed in my bed, not sure what to think. Should I feel happy that I put a thief in jail? Should I feel sad that the thief was my wife? Should I feel angry because she betrayed me after all those years? I could decide on an emotion to stick with, so I decided to go to the beach. I’m going, even if it rains.
The End
