The Weight of the Present and the Shadow of the Past
1358 Words
Tok! Tok!
Tok! Tok!
The knock at the door sliced through the last thread of the dream like a blade.
“SAMUEL!” Carlos’s voice thundered through the thin wood of the bedroom door like a megaphone, rough, firm, and carrying the same chronic impatience that seemed to live in his throat since... well, since the case. “It’s past seven! You’re going to be late for work again!”
Sam jolted awake, his heart pounding violently in his chest as if a siren had been triggered inside him.
Damn...
The bedroom slowly came back into focus around him, ripping him away from the brightly lit hall, Ana’s white dress, the interrupted kiss, and the impossible feeling of safety the dream had given him for a few precious seconds. Reality crashed down on him with the familiar weight of bad mornings.
So that was it. Just a dream...
And yet... it felt so real.
At least I got to kiss her before waking up. In the dream, at least one thing went right.
He lay there for a moment, wrapped in cheap, wrinkled sheets, while sleep still tried to hold on to its final remnants. The room was small, cramped, almost suffocating in its mess. Piles of Criminology and Forensic Psychology books covered the desk, the floor, and part of the chair. Dirty mugs, wrinkled clothes, and a growing stack of windowed envelopes—the bills—were scattered around like little reminders that the real world never gave anyone a break.
Just five more minutes... no, I can’t. The bills won’t wait. The presentation won’t wait. Disappointment... it won’t wait either.
Sam slowly sat up on the edge of the bed, his head heavy, his muscles protesting the movement. His light brown hair, medium in length, was even messier than usual, falling across his forehead and down the sides of his face. His face, handsome in a subtle way, still held the sleepy, troubled expression of someone who had slept too little and dreamed too much. His fair skin nearly blended into the white wall behind the bed, and his green eyes, still clouded with fatigue, carried that same observant look of someone who noticed everything, even when he didn’t know what to do with what he saw.
I knew it... It was only a dream. Reality had to come shove this disappointment in my face. At least this time I got to kiss her in the dream. She’s so beautiful... But I can’t stay here dreaming about this. I have to get back to reality.
He ran a hand over his face and let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of his whole body as if he’d spent the night carrying bricks.
The sleepless night bent over his Criminology and Forensic Psychology manuals—the narrow door into his impossible dream of becoming a detective—was now collecting its price. For a second, the room swayed before his eyes. His small desk lamp was still on, casting a weak yellow glow over the chaos in the room.
Wow... when did it all become such a mess? Feels like it was yesterday I promised myself I’d keep everything in order. Three days? How can personal entropy be this efficient? No time for this now. Today’s going to be a marathon.
In a blur of rushed movements, Sam got dressed in his Apex Outfitters uniform trousers—the famous retail chain where his ambition was slowly dying—then grabbed a shirt that desperately needed ironing and shoved his feet into worn-out shoes that no longer looked respectable. Breakfast was a luxury for other days, other lives.
When he stepped out of the room, he found his father in the small kitchen.
Carlos stood with his back to him, facing the narrow window that looked out onto the damp alley below, as if the whole world fit inside that gray strip of street. The kitchen was cramped, with faded tiles, a small table pushed against the wall, and the lingering smell of strong coffee mixed with cigarette smoke, which seemed to be part of the furniture. Even there at home, Carlos carried the heavy presence of a man who never stopped observing what was around him.
There was something about him that caught Sam’s attention immediately.
His shoulders were more rigid than usual. His neck tense. The dark beret rested on top of his gray hair, combed back with care, and the formal suit he wore that morning still gave him an old-fashioned air of dignity, though it was worn and clearly out of place in that modest kitchen. His full gray beard framed a strong face marked by deeper lines than a man of fifty-five ought to carry. His eyes, always alert, seemed more tired than they had the night before.
He looks... older today. Worried. More than usual.
“Dad?” Sam began, his voice still rough from sleep. “Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost.” He tried to sound light, a façade of normality. “Having those nightmares again?”
Carlos turned slowly.
His face was an impassive mask, hard as stone, but his eyes... his eyes flicked away for a split second before locking onto Sam with an almost accusatory intensity. There was a kind of control in him that didn’t come from calm, but from effort. The dark suit fit his compact, sturdy frame well, and the beret seemed almost like an extension of the way he existed. Even retired, even away from the streets, Carlos still looked like someone who could step into an investigation and see what no one else could.
“Everything’s fine, Samuel. You’re the one who keeps thinking too much and seeing things that aren’t there.” His voice was firm, sharp. “If you worry less about your errands and more about ghosts, you’re going to end up being late for real. My life is already... settled.”
The last word came out with a bitter edge.
He turned back to the window, ending the conversation. An invisible wall rose between them with the same familiarity as always.
Settled? He calls this settled? Forced retirement, half a pension, the shadow of that damned case hanging over us... He’s hiding something. Always hiding something.
But Sam knew pressing him was useless. The mystery that had ruined Detective Carlos Smith’s promising career was a forbidden, mined territory. So he swallowed the questions, the concern, and his own helplessness.
“Alright, Dad,” he murmured, nodding toward the broad, curved line of his father’s back. “If you say so. I’m heading out. Have a good day.”
The apartment door shut behind him with a hollow sound.
The hallway smelled like cheap disinfectant and boiled cabbage, a scent so ordinary and so sad it seemed to sum up perfectly the place where they lived. The narrow walls were painted long ago, with patches of dampness and the distant echo of neighbors starting their day too early.
I need to hurry or Marcelo’s going to chew me alive. Again. I’m already on thin ice at that job. If he fires me... how are we supposed to pay the rent? College... ah, college.
The memory of that night’s presentation fell on him like an anvil.
Presentation on criminal profiling... just me, who can barely order a coffee without stammering. What am I going to do? I just hope I don’t freeze in front of everyone... in front of her.
But the image of his father stayed fixed in his mind. The fleeting worry in Carlos’s eyes still lingered there.
He was different. More tense. What could have happened? Those stories he used to tell... about Sherlock’s lost book, the secret manual of detectives... he always said it was a legend, but his eyes always lit up in that strange way...
Ridiculous. I need to focus.
The bus groaned to a stop at the corner, crowded and noisy, spitting hurried passengers out through its doors. Sam stepped aboard, instinctively searching for the quietest corner, the place where he could blend into the scenery and disappear.
- Writer
