Hello I Am

By Jason Kaplan

The van skidded through the intersection and over a speed bump, sending Noah’s head up against the padded ceiling of the 2006 Grand Cherokee.

“Are we almost there?” he asked, rubbing his head.

The driver did not reply, but as they made it to the top of the hill, Noah recognized the building through the tinted windows. He stared in awe at the three story mansion that stood in front of him. He had only seen it in pictures and the real-life view was baffling. It stood tall at sixty five feet with staggering pillars outlining the front entrance. The van came to a stop and Noah slowly climbed out and smelled the fresh air around him– it was nothing like where he had come from.

The driver opened the door and took off her sunglasses to get a good look at Noah’s new home.

“You are one lucky guy,¨ she said.

Noah nodded in amazement, but his gaze was shattered by the driver tossing him keys.

“Silver is for the house, gold is the garage, and I’m pretty sure you can guess what this one is for,” she said, gesturing to the BMW key.

Noah couldn’t believe his eyes; all this was his.

The car drove off, and Noah stood in awe of the mansion in front of him. But his trance was again interrupted, this time by a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Hiya, you moving into the Miller estate?”

Noah, startled, backed away and got a good look at the man before him. He was a buff man, probably in his thirties, with biceps bulging out of his polo shirt and tattoos highlighting his forearms.

“Where are my manners? My name is Liam Davis. I’ve been a resident of this fair city my whole life. “So?” he repeated, gesturing to the house.

“Yes,” Noah replied, having regained his wit. “My name is Noah Collins. I’ve just been relocated from Pennsylvania,” he said, recalling what he had been told.

“Well, welcome! I hope to see you around. I live right there,” He said as he pointed to the house across the street, “Come over if you need anything.”

Noah smiled uncomfortably before waving Liam goodbye and starting down the long path leading to his new home. He made it up the steps before fumbling with the keys. He inserted the key into the lock and turned it with a loud click.

He pulled the door open, revealing a glorious staircase. He’d thought the online photographs were impressive, but they were nothing compared to the real thing. Noah checked his watch and discovered that he had hours to explore his new home. Rummaging through every room he noticed that the dressers were stocked with brand new clothes, all his size, the closet housed shoes for every occasion, and the kitchen featured food that would last him over a month. He beamed at his new room. It had a wall to wall carpet, and a fish tank with a turtle.  It was everything he’d ever wanted in a room of his own.

He had gotten so absorbed with the sheer elegance of his new home that the hours had slipped by. It was getting late and Noah had a big day ahead of him. He found his way to the bedroom and settled in.

***

Thomas was standing outside of the Louisiana supreme court. He walked inside where he saw a familiar sight. The clerk quieted the room “Alleged mobster Frank Santora is on trial for the murder of four New Orleans citizens.”

Thomas was now sitting in the stands, awaiting his chance to speak. It was all back, the nerves, the anticipation, the fear.

¨We call Thomas Cohen to the stand,¨ said the lawyer.

Thomas got up and looked around before making his way to the stand. He wiped his brow and sat down. The cold eyes of Frank Santora burning a hole in his face.

“Now Mr. Cohen are these pictures of the defendant?” the lawyer asked, holding up pictures of Frank Santora holding a gun outside of an old gas station.

“Yes.” Thomas gulped.

“And can you tell us the events that transpired at the time that these photographs were taken?”

“Mr. Santora and I were heading to the store when we stopped for gas. I thought it was strange because we had a full tank.” sweat was running down Thomas’s face, he took a deep breath. “There was a car there waiting for us, Mr. Santora got a black bag from the trunk and brought it over to them.”

“What was in this bag?”

“I’m not sure. But when he brought it over, the men started yelling at him and that’s when…””Thats when Mr. Santor pulled out his gun and shot them.”

“Is that when you took these photographs?”

“Yes.”

“No more questions your honor.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Shouting could be heard throughout the building, smoke wafted through the cracks of the rusted door and settled on the paint stained floor. Inside the room, four men had paused their poker game and were yelling at each other over what they were watching on the TV: their comrade Frank sentenced to death by lethal injection.

“COHEN!” One man yelled, slamming his fist on the table.

“That son of a bitch was the only other man there, and he’s always carrying that goddamn camera,” another said, pacing across the room. “Tap the lines of everyone he knew, especially that brother of his,” he demanded. “He must’ve skipped town.”

The biggest of the men stood up just then. He raised his left hand like a priest signaling the room to be silent. He flipped through a large binder of pictures as he reached his conclusion: “Of course he has.” He selected a paper from the binder and walked over to the wall, and hung a mugshot of a Mr. Thomas Cohen from a nail. “But mark my words, he will pay for what he’s done,” he said menacingly, as he drew a red X over the mugshot of the man now named Noah Collins.

____________________________________________________________________________

A bang on the door woke Noah from his slumber. He was soaked with sweat. He stumbled to the bathroom washed his face. He kept mumbling to himself “you’re Noah Collins,” trying to convince himself that his past identity would never haunt him again. The banging on the door persisted, Noah paced over to the door and and peered through the peephole. Standing at his door was Mr. Davis, and a woman Noah presumed to be his wife. He rubbed his eyes and unlatched the door.

“Hi neighbor! How goes it?” Mr. Davis said energetically.

Noah peeked his head out of the door, “Just getting ready for bed”

“Thats a shame. We were wondering if you’d be interested in coming to our place for some cards and a drink. We’d like to know more about you, where you come from, why you moved here, all that first date stuff.”

Noah raised an eyebrow at the proposition, this was the last thing he wanted to do but he knew from his training that it was necessary to assimilate into his new neighborhood.  “Sure, I’d be happy to.”

Mr. Davis’s house was small and relatively empty, Noah pulled up a chair at the table as Mr. Davis poured him a drink. “So what profession has you moving to Takoma Park?” Mr. Davis probed.

“Nothing special, just got a promotion and now I’m working at the insurance agency in old town.”

Noah Chatted with the Davis’s for nearly two hours, and as the wine left in the bottle was reduced to a mere trickle the conversation turned south.

“So Noah are you sure that your job was the only reason you came down here?”

Noah raised an eyebrow “What do you mean?”

“Well I’m not making any acquisitions here but as I told you, I work in the law profession and I’m quite familiar with some of these big criminal cases.”

Noah felt a surge of dread rush over him. He looked down at his watch and announced the time. “I must be getting home now, it’s far too late.” And with that Noah rushed out of the house and ran home.

Noah paced back and forth in his living room. Mr. Davis’s comments were unsettling. In a moment of weakness, Noah decided to do what he always did when he was nervous. Call his brother.

“Hello, who is this?”

“Joe, it’s me, Thomas.”

“Thomas! Where are you?! Word on the street is the mob’s after you for putting Frank on death row.”

“I´ve been relocated. New name, new house, new job.”

“Seriously? Thomas this is crazy.”

“Look, I need advice, I think one of my neighbors recognizes me from the trial.”

“Don’t be paranoid, besides even if he did, it’s not like he has anyone to tell.”

“You didn’t talk to him, he definitely knows.”

“Well where are you?”

Noah hesitated before answering, “A small town in Maryland called Takoma Park.”
The conversation didn’t last much longer, and both men failed to notice the heavy breathing of an eavesdropper on the line.

______________________________________________________________________________

Noah picked up the newspaper and walked back up the steps to the house that was now his home. As he opened the door, he turned to see a black van skidding to a stop in front of his gate. Noah didn’t hesitate. He rushed inside and locked the door. He stood still for a moment, his heart racing, contemplating what to do next. He ran to the back of the house and picked up a small phone.

After busting open the back door he sprinted through the backyard, jumped a fence and ran down the street. He momentarily stopped at the local park and hid behind the gazebo. He pressed the big red button on the phone. There was an immediate answer.

“Hello, how can we help you?”

“I need a pick-up. I’m at a park right next to my home.”

“We’re on our way.”

Noah sunk back under the enclosure, too scared to breathe.

“I saw him go that way!” one man yelled, pointing to the park. Four large men stepped out of the car, all with concealed weapons. “They casually walked down to the park, knowing Noah couldn’t have gone far.

“Thomas?” they called out as they approached the structure where he was hiding.

Noah shuttered, and began to sweat.

The men had made it down the street, and were walking on the park grass. They spread out and slowly made their way to the gazebo. Noah peeked out to see the black leather shoes of the four mobsters approaching. He ducked back under the platform and took a deep breath. He darted from the structure, keeping his head low. Behind him the men whipped out their guns and fired in his direction.

Noah kept running, hopping over a fence and sprinting through backyards until he came to a garage. He ran inside without even realizing that it was in the backyard of Mr. Davis’s house. Before he could think he was startled by his phone beeping. He glanced at it, and saw that a car had arrived to pick him up. He walked to the garage door thinking about how he had been found. He was almost certain that his new neighbor Mr. Davis was a spy of some sort. Maybe he had told the mob about his new home. Just as he thought this, there was a knock on the garage door and Mr. Davis cautiously entered.

“What are you doing here? And what’s all this commotion?”

Noah backed away, but before he could speak, there was a loud bang, and Mr. Davis fell flat on his face. Revealing one of the mobsters standing behind him.

Noah didn’t hesitate, He sprinted out of the garage with the men in hot pursuit. He saw the car in front of his home and jumped in. It drove off immediately, and Noah closed his eyes, finally able to relax.

Three months later

He opened the double doors and stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the 6th floor. When it arrived, he cautiously walked down the hall to room 639. He inserted the key and turned it until he heard a click. The apartment was small but nice and suited him just right. He walked into the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was no longer Thomas, he was no longer Noah. He stared into his eyes and repeated to himself his new identity.

¨Ethan.¨