Continued from The Life of Jamison Penn (Part 2)
Jamison raised his head and began perusing the coffee shop with his eyes. He loved just letting his mind wonder as he looked around at the various customers. His eyes fell on the dark-haired man again, still preoccupied with his newspaper. Jamison sat there for a moment, then went back to his journal.
You know, there is this man I see every couple of weeks here at The Coffee Range, and he just arrived not too long ago. I don’t know why, but there always seems to be something peculiar about him. I mean, why do I always think there is something different about him, something I can’t quite put my finger on? I’m sure it’s nothing, but it’s just that every time I look at him, I get this feeling there is something unusual. I just wonder if he might be a…
A voice spoke just behind his left shoulder, ‘I think I am going to head out, Jamison.’
‘Huh.’ Jamison turned around to see the man. Immediately his face flushed, eyes widened and heart dropped into his stomach wondering if the man had read the words in his journal.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there,’ came the slightly awkward reply from Jamison as he slowly closed his journal.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean to scare ya,’ came the man’s response.
‘Ah, it’s ok,’ came the timid words from Jamison’s mouth. ‘Actually, how did you know my name?’
‘Well, the name, Jamison, is on your bag. So I thought that must be your name.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ came a forced laugh from Jamison. ‘So, what’s your name?’
‘Franklin. Franklin Moretti.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ Jamison said somewhat half-heartedly, not because his desire was to be rude to the man, but rather, he kept wondering if this man, Franklin, had seen the words he had just written in his journal.
‘You know,’ continued Franklin, ‘I am actually moving out towards this area in a few weeks. Just sold my house and wanted to move closer into the heart of the city. Do you live in midtown?’
‘Uh, yeah. I live not too far from here.’
‘Really? What street,’ Franklin prodded just a little?
‘Near Cleveland and McLean.’
‘Well, the house I’m moving into is close to Union and McLean. So it must be close to you.’
‘Yeah, it probably is,’ came another hesitant reply.
‘Ok, well, I’m heading out to the gym. Enjoy writing, or whatever you are doing.’
‘Thanks,’ Jamison replied.
As Franklin left The Coffee Range, Jamison slowly watched him out of the corner of his eye. He opened the driver-side door to the old, blue truck and slowly climbed in. He started the car and the white reverse lights immediately came on. The truck, then, jolted backwards out of the parking place.
Jamison turned his head slightly so he could better see the truck and its driver. As he did, Franklin also peered back into the coffee shop. Their eyes met once again. This time Jamison pulled his head back towards the newspaper on his table. Franklin gave a little half-smile while shaking his head, and, then, pulled forward leaving the parking lot of The Coffee Range.
Jamison reopened his journal and read back over what he had written before his conversation with Franklin. He picked up his pen and began writing once again.
That was an awkward exchange. Who is this man? I now know his name is Franklin, but I am even more convinced there is something unusual about him.
Just then, Jamison happened to look down at his bag. Upon quick observation, something immediately caught his eye. He picked up the bag and began examining the outside of it. After thoroughly inspecting both sides, Jamison noticed something that truly unsettled him – his name was nowhere written on the bag.
What? Then how did he know my name?
