FlashNano 6 - The Tower

 

FlashNano 6 The landscape might be urban, but the tower that rose up out of the trees overnight was not.

Tom asked the taxi to stop in front of the Geneva Four Seasons hotel. It was a small city on a huge lake and surrounded by mountains. Unlike many cities, there were no skyscrapers. Buildings were at the most six stories, but most of them were two to four.

He had been a student years ago at the University of Geneva when he had been thirty years younger and about 50 pounds lighter.

From his hotel window he saw the Jet d’Eau. How many times had he walked along the quay holding Elodie’s hand? A woman who looked like her back then crossed the street.

Probably she wouldn’t look like that today.

Probably she was heavy, had cut her long brown hair.

She was his first big love, and when she left him for a man who had finished uni and was well established, the cliché nearly dying of a broken heart applied. His heart had mended so long ago there weren’t any scars left.

Exhausted from the ten-hour flight he fell into bed still dressed.

A noise woke him. Although it was two in the morning, he left the hotel, turned his back on the lake and walked toward the park. It was cold. He wished he had put on his scarf.

At the park, where they used to watch dogs and children play, he stopped and stared. A multi-story building stood in the middle. It was like the apartment building where he lived in Chicago. Walking to the front door, he read the names on the bells.

Could it be?

Did Elodie Savary really live there now? He pressed the buzzer and when he heard a sleepy voice he said, “It’s Tom White, from your past.”

The elevator ride to the 12^th floor took like what seemed forever and the piped-in music was an old Claude François song that they once danced to.

Elodie stood outside an open apartment door. She had not aged that much but her hair was cut and gelled into spikes. “It took you long enough to find me,” she said.

What was that noise?

It sounded like a soft snore. A dog, his dog lay across the bottom of the bed.

“Where was he?

“Elodie?” She wasn’t in his hotel room. He wasn’t in his hotel room either.

His wife of fifteen years came back into the room from her normal middle of the night toilet run.

“Who’s Elodie?” Emma was not a jealous wife, but when he called out other women’s names in his sleep, she did ask about them.

He told her about the lake, The Four Seasons hotel, the Jet d’Eau, the Geneva Park, the building and his old friend.”

“The one that broke your heart when you were at uni?” she asked.

He nodded. He definitely wasn’t at the Four Seasons. He was in his own bedroom. His clothes were draped on the chair. It needed a new slipcover. Change was on top of his dresser.

Emma climbed into bed. “Must have a brain drain dream.”

Tom thought she was right and rolled over and went back to sleep.