The Unpublished Article: Checkmate II

That one warm night when I kissed her, was the happiest moment in my life but things have changed for one unexpected accident. She’s been hit by a car.

My girlfriend was also a writer who was about to interview the greatest magician, Daneal Geofth. She lost the chance to publicize the information about this man. If ever she’ll make it, then she’ll be the first writer to expose anything about him.

We both figured out the mystery of this so-called magician. It might sound crazy. We jumbled-out the letters of his name and the result was “Angel of Death”. I didn’t mind about it. I didn’t care if he has an artistic style of a name.

After the burial, our editor-in-chief gave me an assignment to continue the unfinished business of my girlfriend. I took the opportunity and by that, I met another writer from the other office. His name was Voltaire and our rivalry began.

We both arrived at Daneal’s show at the same time and at the same place. Unluckily, I never thought that he has an interview reservation so I walked out and tried another day. I was too hopeless knowing that Voltaire already have an article and it was about to be published. Our editor-in-chief scolded me for being a “turtle-blunt”. He fired me.

So for now, I have no job. No salary. No girlfriend. No stupid editor-in-chief. Just, me and my bed.

One night, I received a text message from our editor-in-chief,

“Condolence to your rival. Thank his death you’re in the job again. Meet your client tomorrow at 7am sharp, Daneal Circus. Don’t be late or you’ll be dead! Beware of the ex-convict.”

I don’t have any idea who’s the ex-convict that freak’s referring to. I turned on the TV and it was really shocking. Voltaire’s house was on fire.

No choice. I decided to meet Daneal after his show but not for the sake of my editor-in-chief’s favor. That bitch won’t get anything from me anymore.

The other day, two of his assistants saw my identification card as Press and they invited me to come over. They took me in his dressing room and there I met Daneal. He knew it’s an interview but he handed me over a chessboard. What can I do? I’m just a visitor. I must not refuse. It’s just a game.

We played chess. I put aside my jacket and took the black pieces. White was his. He moved his pawn two steps in front of the queen. I don’t have any techniques about the game. All I know only is the movement of each piece. So what I did was to copy his moves. After his turn, I asked him to tell the meaning of his name. But he answered,

“Why do you ask questions that you already know. You think it’s a lie?! Do you still need a demonstration?”

I was terrified. His voice sounded cold which bears some sort of a scold-type. He can read my mind. I demanded NO to his reply. So, I changed the topic. I don’t want to die.

I was not that happy about his info. What I enjoyed most was playing chess with him. I already won for two times. Then, we played another set of round.

It was about to end when he beg to pause the game for a while.

“Didn’t you notice that every person who interviews me dies? I didn’t kill them but their recklessness. They always chase for fame. Wealth. Power. But you, different.”

I was confused. I started to think. My girlfriend. My rival, Voltaire. They both died upon interviewing him. They weren’t able to publish any article about him because they died. I forced myself to move my rook piece and checked his king due to my anger and guilt. I knew I’m going to win again.

Before I moved out of his room, he gave me my jacket which I forgot.

While I was riding a cab, I noticed something inside my pocket. Then, I’ve just realized that the driver wears an orange shirt who used to be the ex-convict I heard from my editor-in-chief. I really am a careless guy. He stabbed me and blood splattered in the windowpane. The killer found nothing inside my pocket but a chess piece. It was Daneal’s knight piece which ate my king. Therefore, I was defeated.

“Checkmate.”