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The Samaritan

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Posted

From The Desk of:

Natalie Blake

Chicago Sun Times

City Desk

To whom it may concern, in the event of my Death or Disappearance.

"I guess my story begins six months ago. Everyone knows the events to which I am referring, and it is a matter of public record, but for posterity's sake I will address the incident anyway.

July 15th 1995

I remember my fathers words as I stepped out the door.

"You'll never make it out there girl, you're to weak and stupid! The World's gonna eat you alive!"

"I turned back and saw my Mama standing behind him, she had tears in her eyes but a big smile across her face, I was getting out but she never could.

I did everything I could to prove daddy wrong. I got a job waiting tables to pay bills while I went to night school, got my GED and eventually made it into Brown on a creative writing scholarship.

After school I found it hard to get my foot in the door anywhere, but a chance meeting with Sun Times Owner William Campbell was all I needed.

"I like your stuff kid, it's got unique perspective. The problem is the Newspaper game is going the way of the Dinosaurs. If you don't mind working Mailroom for a while there's a chance you could move up...hell I did."

That's all it took. I met him on a Friday and by Monday I was working for the Chicago Sun Times.

I worked the Mailroom for three months before my break came. The Food Critic came down with a bad case of the flu and they needed someone to cover. I tossed my hat in the ring and was chosen. After a few issues my short lived career was over. Until one day I was called into Managing Editor Bill Frick's office.

"You know why your here kid?" he asked me.

"No sir." I said shaking in my boots.

"Here, read this." he said sliding me a letter.

"To whom it may concern, I am writing to inquire about the Food Critic Natalie Blake. I was saddened to see that her column was gone and that the original Food critic had returned. Ms.us Blake's writing had soul...it had heart it was as almost you could taste the food as she discribed it."

"What is this?" I asked

"It's a fan letter kid, do you know the last time any reporter here got a fan letter?" he asked me

"No." I said

"Me neither, that's how long it's been." he said a smirk on his face.

"All this excitement over one letter?" I asked.

"One, try thousands." he said lifting a sack from behind his desk.

"I work in the Mailroom how come I never saw this?" she asked.

"I told Saul (Mailroom supervisor) to keep it low key until we were sure it wasn't a fluke."

My heart was pounding, I could see spots. I knew the words he was gonna say next as if I could see the future.

"Grab yourself an open desk kid."

I can't remember what happened next but I was later told I let out a shreak that could break glass.

They started me off slowly, the odd human interest piece or a review of the local Cat Show. In time I discovered that my little fanbase was growing. And soon My assignments were getting more high profile, the Human Trafficking on the Docks that was mine, selling substandard Hotdogs at Shay Stadium also mine.

That brings us to Six months ago, and the evening on December 15th 2010.

It had snowed earlier in the day and I was walking to my car in the Parking Garage. As I stepped I heard the fresh powder crunch beneath my heels. I made my way up to where my car was parked and could feel eyes on me.

The next thing I knew was I was looking up at a man. His face was dirty as was his clothes. He put his hand over my mouth and told me to shut up.

He produced a knife and began to cut the heam of my skirt, all the while he muttered "You're gonna enjoy this Bitch".

I couldn't help but flash back to Daddy and his Prophetic warning. He sliced my underwear away and unzipped his pants and undid his belt.

"HELP!" I shouted taking a chance someone would hear.

I could see the anger in his eyes as if I had broken a sacred commandment. He held the knife high above his head and I closed my eyes waiting for the end.

That's when I felt it, a fine mist. As it splashed against my face I could smell the copper.

"Funny I don't feel any pain." I said thinking he had sliced me.

I opened my eyes and saw that the knife was still hanging in the air, but the expression on his face had changed, rage had given way to surprise and it took me a minute to figure out why. Sticking out from right above his left breast was a six inch blade.

The blade then vanished and my attacked collapsed dead.

I stayed there on the cold concrete floor to terrified to move. It seemed like hours but it was more likely minutes before my mysterious savior returned.

"You don't have to be afraid Ms. Blake, he's dead and can't hurt you."

A strong hand emerged from the darkness and helped me up. He opened up my passenger side door and helped me into the seat. He was trying really hard to avoid the light but every so often I caught glimpses of him. His hair was light brown, he had a very modest beard almost like a fairy tale limberjack and his eyes were the deepest blue you could ever know.

"Do you have a cell phone?" he asked.

I tried to speak but the words to express my thoughts were lost.

He looked at the cell as if he had never used one and cautiously dialed 911.

"Can you send police the the Parking Garage of the Chicago Sun Times there's been an attempted rape."

"Attempted sir?" the operator asked.

"Yes I stopped him before he could hurt her."

"And how did you stop him sir?" she asked.

"I killed him." he said. "The victims name is Natalie Blake and her attacker is some punk named Tommy Snales."

"And who are you sir?" she asked.

He hung up and gently handed the phone to me.

"They'll be here soon Natalie." he said placing his large hand over mine.

I watched my Lumberjack...Jack as I came to call him walk away a large Katana slung across his back.

I followed him until he vanished in the dark shadow. My attention then fell on the Wolf who attacked me. He looked so helpless lying there, a large pool of Blood radiating out from beneath him.

The telltale chirp of police sirens began to echo through the concrete caverns as the Police made there way up to me.

I must've blacked out because I woke in the ER. The Doctors told me I had a slight concussion and minor scratches from when he was cutting my clothes but beside that I was fine.

The police came in and asked me about my Jack, I told them his height, build, hair color and eye color and even gave a description to a sketch artist.

My heart skipped a beat as he turned the sketch showing my Jack.

Looking back at my behavior I feel really embarrassed, I was giddy as a school girl over a killer, sure he saved my life but he still killed a man.

I took a Month's paid leave and had manditory meetings with a support group for sexual assault victims.

A month later It was 2011 and I was ready to get back to work.

Everything was great, my colleagues threw me a welcome back party and I quickly fell back into my old life.

Then the dreams started. Not dreams of the attack, dreams of Jack. Every night I could see his piercing blue eyes looking down at me, I could feel his rugged bear paw hands clasping mine and his musky sent wafting in my nose.

Desperate for answers I logged onto Craigs list and posted a short message:

"December 15th, you saved my life. Your dark blue eyes haunt my dreams, please I need to know who you are.

NatBlake80@ChiSun.com

In the days that followed I recieved almost 80 E-Mails as one would assume, 99% of them were perverts but in all the clutter the header "Samaritan" stood out to me.

"I couldn't help but notice your post, and I think I have some information on your "Samaritan". I'll talk but not over the phone. My Address is 912 Lafyette Street Gainsville Georgia, my name is Robert Jones."

I left work early and jumped into the car. The drive was long but my resolve guided me all the way to Georgia.

I pulled up to the house and knoecked on the deep green door. After a minute the door opened revealing an elderly African American man.

"Mr. Robert Jackson?" I asked

"Ms. Natalie Blake, I recognize you from your Wikipedia page please come in." he said.

I walked inside and sat down in a very comfortable lounge chair.

"Can I get you something, my wife Emma makes the best Lemonade."

"Oh I'd love some thanks." I said.

As he walked into the kitchen I caught a glimpse of a framed photo, it was black and white and had a younger Robert standing hand in hand with a caucasian woman.

"Is this your wife?" I asked.

"Yep that's my Emma, the love of my life." he said emerging with a tray with two tall glasses.

"That's partly the reason I asked you here." he said.

"Now most folks in this area are too young to remember those times. Time when if a lynch mob come for ya it's time to run or get dead."

"It was Spring 1957, Emma and I eloped in secret abd drove up to Connecticut to get married. We come back a few days later and at first everything was fine until Emma's brother Randy discovers that photo. Now white folks didn't take to kindly to a nigger marrying a white woman. They came for me in the night, knocked me upside the head with a pipe and dragged me to a wziting truck. As Emma begged her brother to stop I could heart my heart pounding as I began to Pray."

My mouth was dry as Robert conveyed his tale, I took a quick sip and he continued.

"After a while we stopped in a clearing, a big old peach tree stood lonesome atop a hill as Randy and his friends tossed a rope across an upper branch.

"You gonna die Nigger!" Randy said spitting in my face.

"We gonna make this Coon swing!" one of his cohorts shouted.

"They made me stand in the flat bed and I tried to swallow against the tight Rope vut couldn't. I looked up at the stars as I thought of Emma and then the engine roared. I fell off and the nuse tightened, I tried to gasp for breath but I felt my mind slipping away. In the Haze I could see Randy and his Possie laughing as I slipped away.

The next thing I knew I was on the ground, an echo ripping through the valley. Randy and his boys kooked in the darkness for the origin of the shot but couldn't see anything. Then I sat there stunned as one by one they collapsed to the ground, gaping bullet holes in their chests.

"Are you alright?" A voice asked from the dark.

"I looked up and saw a white man starring back at me. He pulled the nuse from around my neck and helped he up.

"Sorry I'm so late Robert, I got lost." he said.

"You might not wanna hang around for much longer Robert, I'll take care of things here." he said.

"I made my way back home to Emma, told her my amazing tale and we left that very night to stay with friends up north."

I placed the now empty glass on the table. "That's an amazing story Robert but what does it have to do with me, the man who rescued me was in his early 30's." I said

"Are you sure about that." he said standing.

He spoke as we walked to a hall closet. "In my younger days before arthritis, I painted. After one sleepless night I painted this, I call it "Samaritan". He removed a dingy white sheet revealing a very lifelike painting.

"That's him!" I said dumbstruck.

"Eerie isn't it?" he asked. "He seems to appear to people in danger, kills their attackers and slips away just as quickly.

"What do you mean by that, there have been others?" I asked.

"Stories and Folklore going back almost 200 years. A Girl in Salem was saved by an oddly dressed man with a club, he killed her attackers and vanished. In 1942 a Jewish man hiding from Nazi's was almost killed if not for the man. After stabbing the Officers with an odd sword he helped the man escape and find his family. These are only a few of the recorded sightings." he said handing me the Folder.

"Whenever there's someone at death's door, he saves the day, the Samaritan."

I placed the file in my purse and wished Robert a good day. Back in my car I marveled at the investigative work Robert started, I arrived hoping for answers but only had more questions and I felt great.

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Posted

Great story! You should post a sequel :zelda:

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Posted

Great story! You should post a sequel :zelda:

Thanks for the Kudos. This is only the first chapter, Natalie will discover more about the "Samaritan" and she will even discover who or what he is.

Who do you think he is?

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Posted

I think the Samaritan is the literary personification of my penis. I hope it puppys her in the end.

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Posted

I think The Samaritan is like a covert angel, and Natalie discovered it in the end when she sees his wings...

This could be an alternative end.

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Posted

As I pulled away from Robert's house I could feel my heart thumping in my chest. "Could it really have been the same man" I wondered. The painting matched the police sketch exactly, right down to his greying beard a red flannel shirt.

I could feel the file burning a hole in my purse and pulling to the shoulder I reached in and opened it. Inside was an assortment of old newspaper clippings going back to the early 1800's, a collection of "ghost" stories and angel encounters all with an eerily familiar plot someone's life was in imminent danger and then he came and saved them. It wasn't just attacks either, it was accidents, deadly weather, environmental disasters. The more I read the more I began to believe, believe in my own guardian angel.

I made it back to Chicago in record time, it helps that you drive all night to get there. I was sitting on the biggest story ever and I couldn't write it I mean who would (even you reading this letter probably doesn't). Anyway, I figured if an amature investigator like Robert could get this far, the surely a person with my resources could find much more information about my mysterious Flannel Savior.

It didn't take long to discover a startling bit of information. in 1912, a man named Simon Bently was leaving his native London to meet his fiance in New York, but when he was due to leave a most unkempt man with a beard assaulted him and stole his ticket. His anger at the man later turned to praise as the ship he was to sail on, the Titanic sank.

I read the account and something puzzled me, "Why on a ship full of doomed souls does he save one man?" I wondered.

That night I had a dream, I was floating in a dark void. Some kind of limbo. The Darkness began to bubble and inky black tendrels began to inch towards me. As they drew closer a glimmering blade shot from the darkness and sliced them apart. As the black forms fell away I could see my hero emerging from behind them. "You shouldn't be looking for me." a deep voice said.

"Why?" I asked.

"It's dangerous, please let me go.

His words haunted me as I woke up, could that have been real or just a product of a sleep deprived woman?

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