Fallen Fellowship

CW: This story contains murder

Pointing out: The first line, also the line "Eisman entered finance about the same time I left," are both the first lines of the two books "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy," by John Le Carre, and "The Big Short," by Micheal Lewis. This story was written in response from my Creative Writing class I take at school, which asked to write a story using the first line with a book of your choice. I included those two lines for my story.

“The truth is, if old Major Dover hadn’t dropped dead at Taunton raccs,” I said to the woman across from me, “Jim would never have come to Thursgood’s at all.”

Silence somehow found its way in every corner of the room again. One moment it was interjected by words forming at the second a new thought came, the next it was creeping up your spine, crawling and finding every missing space until it reached the drum of your ear.

I scowled at the one-way mirror. It was easier to glare at a surface that pretended not to see me. I stuck with the idea that whoever lies on the other side could deal with the brunt of it. I didn’t dare meet her eyes– because God knows what’ll happen when she burns a hole through me.

“And where did Eisman come in during all this?” The woman asked me.

I smiled delicately. “Ruddy Eisman, oh, Mr. Eisman,” I shake my head slowly, “everybody always thought he was so powerful, that if you spoke about him carelessly, he’d crush you under a fistful of truth. But the real truth is, the man only spoke with a loud voice and big words. He left the rest of the imagination for everyone else to follow.”

No comment on my statement. Silence. It returned deliberately this time. Absolute silence.

“Eisman entered finance about the time I exited it.” I said to finally defeat the awkwardness.

“When Jim murdered Eisman, what were yours and the others' reactions?”

I swallowed, having to think back on the night that Eisman innocently invited me and a few others, including Jim, was execrable.

“We were all horrified.” I said blandly. It was true, and there wasn’t much more to it.

“Dover, when he died, Eisman wrote about him before the report went public, it was published to the Dashers Ledger. They seemed to be very close. What did you initially think Eisman would feel after the murder of Dover?”

Hell if I know, I thought.

“Eisman was fond of Dover. Very. You could almost think they were romantic– if you weren’t squinting too hard.” I joked. My response lingered in the air, giving it time to soak into realization that Eisman and Dover went deeper than just business partners. “When Eisman spoke at the Global Stakeholders Forum, and when he was talking about the fall of a partnership– before Dover’s report was public, he said something unusual.” I stated.

“And that is?”

I hesitated before pausing time.

It didn’t stop so much as it was misplaced itself. I get up from the chair and pace around the room for a moment. I always hated how stiff the air got– not like tension, but just pure stillness. Like every particle around you had stopped and didn’t dare move, even when you glided through them.

Motion was left unfinished– creases in the air where movement once intended to go had stopped right before it could finalize. Sound thins to a pressure behind my ears, and light forgets how to arrive anywhere else. I was now rewinding time.

The world tightens. Effects return to their causes with visible reluctance, as though reality resents being corrected. Heat withdraws, footsteps climb back into bodies and souls mold back to the mind. Memory proceeded into sensation as time reset back to where I told it to.

8:49pm, July 21, 2004

The night's air was quieter than I had remembered. Instead of howling it whistled a sweet tune that sounded as if carried through every fold of the earth.

I stood in the room that only had a few select members in it– Ruddy Eisman, Tony Weaver, Michelle Williamson, Jim Walter, Mitchell Stewart, Adam Courtly, and I.

Laughter bellowed from area to area, and chatter was surrounding the room. Eisman took a sip from his glass. “I better get on that balcony before you killjoys prod and ruin it for me,” Eisman said with a guffaw.

We all nodded, a few following up with a hearty laugh, and returned down to the main locale.

The night air was still whispering from time to time, humming the gentle breeze that ruffled through Eisman’s hair as he stepped out onto the balcony.

People below were still chatting, but most quieted seeing him perched above with a face you can’t ignore. Determined, dedicated– but I saw past it. I saw past the smugness, and I saw that he was hiding something.

“Tonights pursuit doesn’t just consist of this party of folks,” he began with a shout to make sure everyone was paying him attention, “it means more than just the fellowship, more than just the gazes and the mind. It means the consideration you all dragged up from the first foot you placed off the side of your bed.”

“Partnerships,” Eisman said, now standing at the edge of the balcony, his hand grasping his glass neatly while his other held onto the railing tightly, “are often spoken about as if they are permanent structures. Solid. Unmoving. But the truth is, they are living things. They depend on balance, trust– and most importantly– timing.”

He scanned the crowd, analyzing everybody until he got to me. His complacent smile widened just a little more.

But that faded as he looked over off into the distance– his head turned away from the crowd. Perhaps like he was searching for something he knew he couldn’t reach.

“Sometimes that balance shifts quietly. Not with an announcement. Hardly even with a gentle tap on the shoulder. One day, you realize partnership has already begun to fall apart– you’re just simply the last to feel the weight of it.” He swallowed, his gaze now finding the ground.

A moment of silence resonated in the air before he looked up with that same smugness that felt like it had never left– despite his expression changing as his words deepened.

“When that happens, there are two choices. You can pretend the structure still stands. Or, you can accept that something essential has been lost– and move forward before the collapse takes more with it.”

He cleared his throat.

“The Eisman Corporation will always value loyalty. But we cannot allow sentiment to cloud necessary endings. Progress requires us to recognize when a chapter has closed, even if the ink is still drying.”

Eisman glanced one more time at the ground before giving another conceited smile.

“Some losses happen long before the world is told they’ve occurred.”

Applause broke right before silence shredded the air– and Eisman was already stepping back away. People began moving again– toward drinks, toward doors, toward one another, falling into conversation.

Eisman stepped back from the balcony railing and adjusted his cufflinks as if nothing of consequence had just been said. For a moment, he stood alone. Then he walked out of view.

I couldn’t remember if he was coming back down to join everyone in the main locale, or going somewhere else. Last time, I believe he hadn’t come out.

I didn’t mean to follow him. I told myself, the distance is closing anyway.

He didn’t look surprised when he noticed me. If anything, he looked relieved.

“Walk with me,” he suggested, already turning. "It's too loud out here for honesty.”

I quickly found a place beside him. I noticed his glass was now empty.

The air outside was fading into the silence that I hated. Laughter and conversation distanced itself like a huge door closing off a party– because that’s exactly what it was.

Right as I was brewing up a sentence, Eisman began speaking.

“I know that it’s a shame Major Dover couldn’t join us,” he indicated, “but you know, absence doesn’t mean instability.”

Somehow– we stumbled into Eisman’s office. It was huge, as expected. I had only been inside there only once or twice, but now, it completely swallowed the noise outside. Bookshelves loomed like silent witnesses, the carpet muted every step we took.

I still didn’t respond. My thoughts were flooding with outcomes– and the room, my eyes mapped every inch of it cautiously.

“You’re not usually this silent,” he stated. And he was right. I was never this silent. I don’t know what held me back from forming a real, clear thought.

The quietness was usually never this tense, especially between me and him. But being alone in his office, knowing anything can shift and take a turn was concerning.

I still said nothing, letting the silence speak for me.

I let something change though, and had no doubt making it obvious. My head tilted, my eyes tracing every fold of his suit. Then my arms crossed. I wasn’t quiet. I was calculating.

Eisman stopped by his desk, leaning back just enough to let his finger drum lazily. He was still so calm, like every single move he took was deliberate and thought out way before he actually did it.

I still was watching him, now counting seconds like they were bullets in a chamber.

“Stability,” he continued, “is a delicate arrangement. Lose one piece to the puzzle, and sometimes, you’ll only notice when it’s finished. Be careful, and you’ll notice as soon as it hits the floor.”

I took a step forward, my eyes still gazing over every motion he made. But then they left him. They flicked over to the desk, over to the small drawer partially hidden behind paperwork. Chrome caught the dim light for the briefest moment.

One minute and twenty two seconds left

“Be careful?” I said a tone above a whisper. “And yet people still fall.”

My voice reached a meticulous state of calmness– not matching the fire that was unmasking through my eyes with every word he said.

He smiled, one corner of mouth twitching. “They do. But timing matters, don’t you think, Ms. Sheldrake?”

I noticed it. His hand hovered near the drawer. Chrome. The gun. My pulse blared– I was sure my heartbeat was pounding so hard it shook the room.

My body felt cold. How much exactly does he know about me, and what I know, I asked myself. 1 minute and 4 seconds left.

“Timing,” I said with intense calmness, despite the hitching in my breath nearly catching my voice. “You’re very indulgent with it.”

“I appreciate precision,” he said, “I know you do too.” His voice still remained smooth– almost very slightly tainted with that confidence he just couldn’t get rid of, even when the air was this tense.

“I do too,” I repeated his words heedlessly. “Just how much do we have in common, Mr. Eisman?” I swallowed and edged closer. “Don’t answer that question.” I said at last.

That same familiar silence peaked into the room, and I could tell Eisman was not exactly stunned– just blocked by something, maybe he felt like I wasn’t finished speaking, because I wasn’t.

“Dover,” I said slowly, “he wasn’t… perfect, but he was predictable. You, though…” I let my voice trail, watching for a twitch, a slip– anything.

51 seconds left

That twitch came. A slight tightening in his jaw. A glance at the drawer. He moved quicker than I expected. Chrome gleamed in his hand before I could think.

“Eisman!” I shouted, my hands instinctively raising to the sides of my head.

“Eisman, no, no, no… no. Put it down.” My eyes shot a glance at the clock. 47 seconds.

Every movement was measured– even my breath. It held for a few seconds, before very slowly exhaling audibly.

“Eisman, you don’t know what you’re doing.” I say calmly. My blood practically stilled as so my body did too. Everything was cold and unwelcoming– unlike the tension we tossed around a few moments ago.

I lunged. A shot fired, blasting a hole in the wall next to a bookshelf.

Eisman wasn’t exactly the biggest, nor strongest, for a man at least. Either way, I had to move with action far from procrastination. I slid just long enough to grasp ahold of his arm, causing him to jerk back. Instinctively, his grip loosened, and I worried more about getting the gun out of his grip more than actually fighting him.

The gun was in my hands, cold and solid. 35 seconds.

My body language spoke louder now– my breath huffed and I panted for a moment as I backed away holding the gun up tightly and distinctly.

“You’d better start talking,” I said, voice sharper now but still coated with that fear that never went away the moment a shot fired.

One more glance up at the clock. 30 seconds.

“And it’s going to be quick. I don’t have…much more than…”

He charged. Smirk fading, eyes hardening.

“You think you understand–”

And then my finger squeezed. The world went silent except for my heartbeat– then the thud of his cold, soon to be lifeless body. 26 seconds.

My eyes widened. 25 seconds until I had no choice but to go back to that interrogation room. It wasn’t about the information I gathered, or parts of his speech that mattered, it was the fact he was now dead. Before September 14th.

And I had killed him.

I froze completely for 7 more seconds. Then, I rushed down to his body and pressed against his neck. Not even a slight pulse emitted.

16 more seconds.

All I did in those last 16 seconds was kneel there hopelessly, my gaze still wide, but my face and body no longer in shock.

I didn’t know exactly how I felt. I know it wasn’t acceptance, I know it wasn’t fate, and I sure as hell knew it wasn’t at all going to be good.

5 seconds. 4. 3. 2. 1.

11:38am, September 14, 2004

The world stretched thin, like film being torn at the edges. The colors from Eisman’s office dulled first, then shapes, then the very air seemed to shiver away from my fingers. My chest had ached– not from the tussle, not from fear, but from the weight of knowing I was about to be pulled out of the one thing that has already ruined my life.

A sudden pull, sharp and cold, yanked my body forward.

I landed back on the 14th of September. But it wasn’t landing– it was falling. The air felt empty for another few seconds, and then the sharp lights of the interrogation room came back into my view. Then, after all the emptiness and dullness of life, came the weight of my consequence.

A knot of doom and regret settled in my stomach. I had tried. I had acted. But nothing could change the fact that the seconds I needed had run out, vanished forever, and now, Eisman’s death will always be placed against my name.

“So… the timeline ends with you.” The woman stated. “What exactly happened on the night you shot Ruddy Eisman?”