They were all there.  They all knew him by the name William.  They came to watch him die.

There was Helen, the woman from across the hall.  She kept her flask in her chest.  She had abnormally fat upper arms.  She was always trying to get him to come in for a drink.  “I have bourbon,” she would say to him.  “You can just put your feet up and relax; you can stay as long as you want.”  Helen had three cats:  Reese, Lav, and Petal. When they were kittens, Helen had their voices boxes removed, so as they grew, the apartment manager wouldn’t find out and/or raise a fuss over the contract Helen signed when she first moved in.

Everyday after work, William would come home and there was Helen, waiting at her door.  Her offer never changed, and she knew he was fond of the drink.  One day he obliged.  As he walked though the door Petal approached his leg and circled around, purring and nudging.  He gave a look around and saw plates with landscapes painted on them.  He saw old photographs from an era he admired.  He saw Helen approaching with the bourbon.  He scooped up the cat and had a seat.  Helen put on an old jazz record, sounded like Django, and brought the bourbon over in a tumbler.  She sat awfully close.  He downed the bourbon and she nudged closer to him, poured him fresh drinks.  Then the record finished and he bid her a farewell.  They became regular acquaintances.

There was Ernie, a madman who sat outside the coffee shop, and no one knew how he got there or why he showed up.  He brought the newspaper and separated the funny pages for later.  He always had a collection of funny pages.  He smelled like a stale cigar.  It was Ernie who had once asked for William’s empty coffee cup, and when he handed it over Ernie walked inside, paid for a refill and laughed as he walked back outside.  Then it had started to rain.  William watched from his car, watched Ernie walk with his fresh coffee to his motel room.

Together Ernie and Helen stood weeping, Helen pulled the flask from between her breasts, took a pull, passed it to Ernie.  He sniffled, gave the flask a chance to help, then passed it back to Helen.

Next to them stood Rick, Helen’s apartment manager.  Rick used to be in adult films.  He came into a short stack of funds after a settlement he received from a dispute with Pretty Pink Pictures, the company he worked for.  He found the apartment in an ad in the paper.  He showed up with cash in hand and bought it outright.  Every week he made general maintenance calls with the tenants, and Rick personally handled any repairs needed.  About a year ago he quit smoking.  He claimed he had worked with Marilyn Chambers, Ginger Lynn, and Veronica Hart.  No one’s heard of the films he was in.

He always told a great story.

He still greased with pomade.

He’s never been seen without a Bluetooth behind his ear.

He was the first to receive William’s letter.  Rick had come knocking after reading his, but there was no response.  There were five people in all who received William’s letter.  They were all instructed to arrive at six-thirty on Monday, at the corner of 4th and Blackstaff, outside the abandoned machine shop.  Rick was the first.  Then Helen.  Then Ernie.

As it approached six-fifteen they were joined by Ray and Gary, two mechanics who worked over at Ray’s fathers shop on 26th.

Ray was in his mid-twenties.  Aside from his job, he never finished anything he started.  He wasn’t brave, or daring, or even stupid.  Just there.  He looked like he could be in the movies and it made people feel awkward.  He was always just there.

Gary had known Ray’s father since he was a teenager.  He was a bit older, almost forty.  He spent his time in front of the television and ate microwave burritos.  The two men had met William when he brought in his truck for a brake change and alignment.  After a few laughs, they all went out for beers.

It reached six-twenty.  So far, aside from the awkward greeting and nodding of their heads, the five semi-strangers stood in the breezy silence.  Wasn’t much to be said–how often does an acquaintance ask you to be a witness of their suicide?  William had disappeared last week.  Didn’t answer the phone.  His apartment was left cold.  As far as the group was concerned he had no other place to go, nowhere had they known of.  His car stayed in its parking spot.  A man just knew it was his time.

The group carried numbness and a feeling of obligation.  Hands in pockets, faint sounds of distant cars, the sun turning its back on the freeway overpass.  The scene was grim and stale.

Ray had a six-pack of pale ale that he started to get into.  He twisted the first cap, downed one in three gulps, belched, put the empty back in its place and pulled out a second.  Helen’s flask was almost empty.  She considered going to her car and refilling.  She checked her watch and hustled down the block, tried to get back as soon as possible.

Rick was chewing his gum so loud–it smacked and popped in his jaw, his teeth clanked and muffled.  What an impatient fucker, checking the time on his phone almost obsessively.  “Where is he?” he asked.

They all looked at Rick.  Helen was running back from her car.

“The note he left said 6:30,” said Gary.

“Mine, too,” Helen said as she caught her breath.

“Just like the one he left me,” said Ernie.

“Well,” said Rick, “does somebody have the note?”

“I got the funnies,” said Ernie, unfolding a chunk of newspaper.  “No, I guess I don’t have the note.”

“Anyone?” asked Rick, face close to red.  He looked at Helen.  She absent-mindedly shrugged, then felt guilty for not having it.  “Sorry.”  She swigged the flask.

“I think I have mine,” said Ray.  He set down the six-pack and rummaged in his pockets for it.  He pulled out the paper, unfolded it, and began looking it over.  “It says here, 6:30,” he said.  “It doesn’t specify a.m. or p.m. though.  You think he meant 6:30 in the morning?”

“It wouldn’t make sense,” said Helen.  “Wouldn’t somebody have found him by now if it was supposed to be this morning?”

“It’s 6:35,” said Rick.  “If he’s not here soon I’m leaving.”

“Wait,” said Helen, “He would have wanted you to wait, to stay here for him.”

By eight o’clock Rick’s foot was about to fall off from impatiently tapping his toe against the curb.  Several others had given up on pacing and were fighting themselves from yawning.  Ray’s six-pack was empty.  Gary took the keys from him and Helen asked for a ride home.  Ernie had disappeared.  He left his funny pages on the sidewalk.  Each of the group had waited, just enough, to where they had been convinced they had been lied to.

William sat in an unmarked van, watching, taking surveillance of the five people through a hole, cut amidst the rusted exterior near the wheel well.  When each arrive at their respected homes later tonight they will never know that their personal effects had been ransacked; their belongings rummaged, unfolded, refolded, cabinets turned inside out, beds molested, tables fondled, chairs gutted, entertainment systems sodomized and closets made to feel uneasy and left without the ability to look anyone in the eye.  A service that violated every bit of trust William had earned from each one of them.

William had told himself this was the last time.  ”No more bloodshed,” he’d promised, even if it would cost him his own life.  In the past he had just up and left, leaving no warning to his new acquaintances.  Too many people he cared about had made the papers too often.  Too many obituaries, too many skeletons, too much for a man to carry around.  All at the cost of his own mistakes, and the cold, crisp meaning of the dollar.  Every town before had been leaving too much of a trail.  He’ll settle his debt one day, but no longer as the coward.

• Short Stack