As I looked out beyond the window pane, sitting down from my bedroom/office while it was raining, I recollected memories I put away with time from my past. Every teardrop falling and streaming down my windows was still so fascinating for me. When I was a child, to forget the world, I used to count every drop of rain streaming down the window, until I fell asleep.

Thinking and reflectioning from my past, I forgot for seconds, maybe even hours to where was my location now.

Home

If it's even called a home. I mean, this huge mansion is in fact mine. It's a dream house adorned outside with oak trees just outside the entrance at the gate to my front door.

The mansion had three floors, it had an attic, basement and while the lounge room and kitchen room located itself on the first floor, seven rooms were ghostly decorated at the second floor. The whole mansion looked as if there was no one habiting in the house, or mansion per se. The walls were all smoothly painted pale white and adorned with extravagant embellishments.

My room was 85% an office. When you entered, the first thing that caught your eye was the immaculate organization beheld in my room.

A black wooden desk had a small looking drawer yet the drawer thankfully was depth with space, and in it were organized, innovating ideas for the company or extended to-do lists posted on line paper. They were also neatly put, in a crisp cream folder.

Then, on the far off end of my desk, there was a small, blue night lamp for when I brought a book from the library room to read.

The bed was perfectly made with nary a cramp or fold. All about the house in fact, felt like it was owned from no one. It didn't have that touch of mine indicating I lived here. No pictures, no frames, just random paintings I did not choose. My maid did.

Every day was waking up and repeating the same routine, continuing it over and over again like a broken record. Mindless at times, however, my work always worked out exceptionally efficient. Every single microscopic thing about this house, my life, and me was damn stoic and dead. That's just how I felt.

Dead

Kimberly occupied my mind particularly now more than ever. She was the past. For Cripes sake, she was my life! All memories of my childhood were accompanied with her. Kimberly is one of the major reasons of why I don't have faith in love, trust or whatsoever; it's plain pathetic if you'd ask me. In addition to that, she's vastly the only one that truly cared, yet broke me too. Complicated comes to mind, eh?

I've created and produced over the years, big stone walls that boldly stood around my heart. I have trained it well enough to ignore its petitions and follow through orders from my mind.

Kimberly wasn't of course the only dissapointment, she was just the one that scarred me for life, back on that time when I was such a naive fool. How'd you feel to be cheated on your own face while she presents not a care at all towards your feelings?

It was as if she enjoyed hurting me and making me suffer in agony. Then, she'd feign innocence, begging for another chance and being the idiot as I have already mentioned before, probed her, giving her another chance to which all of them she messed up, one after the other. The time I gave up and finally broke the spell was when she was unfaithful yet again but- with my supposed guy best friend Matt. That was the bottom line.

But enough of that, time is clicking, it's valuable and not something to be toyed with. I tilted my head to my alarm clock reading as it said: 9:45am and once it stroke 10am, I stood up from my chair, residing an echo of the squeek it made on my broad bedroom/office.

'Time to work.' I said absently to myself.

                            * * *

'Mr. Montgomery, would you like anything else besides your expresso?' Stacey says once I set foot on the floor of my company.

Her face as usual, remained serious and proffesional with not a hint of a smile. Her straight black hair, or at least I pressumed it was, was tied as always in a tight bun and her attire was the normal formal: black pencil skirt, reaching just above her knee, cream colored polo and black stilettos that were about one inch. Not that she wore the same cloth but the style never varied.

Her professional attire and manner, the way she never tried to suck up to me or ask questions of my life made me hire her. Add that she's one of the best secretaries I've ever met for the way she's so thoroughly organized, and I have won the lottery. Even if I won't admit it, she's the major reason of my success also.

'No, that'll be all for the moment.' With a firm curt nod I wavered my assistant off.

Walking with long and swift steps, I reached my office. I sighed deeply and sat myself on my leather chair, looking straight at the beautiful view of the sunrise. At times like these, I let my guard down. Just letting myself take a breath of life.

After a while, I shook my head softly and once again shut with an invisible lock my fleeting freedom. I shuffled around some papers on my desk but nagging thoughts kept insistant in a never-ending circle to Kimberly. Having a what if in your life isn't appeasing. Trust me. But why now? Why have these thoughts come now? After such a long time. Well, honestly, Kimberly's always been on my mind but somehow this time something is different.

I feel this desesperation and excessive anxiety, eating me bare and alive. Right now, I just know I have to do something about this. But what!

Suddenly, an idea sketches itself in my brain. I stretched out my arm, grabbing the office phone on my stark, organized desk and dialed.

'Stacey, I wish to search for someone. Her name is Kimberly Johansson. What options do I opt for?'

'You could look up her whole bio whether on internet or by the many connections you have.' With the tips of my raspy fingers I rubbed the back of my neck.

'Hmm, give me a second, don't hang up.'

'Alright Mr. Montgomery.' I scratched my two day stubble under my chin and gave thought to this, deciding against the connections, I preferred to go more personal. Internet sounded much more appealing.

'How about you recollect any information you may gather on the web.' Supposing to sound like a question, it sounded more as a statement or a command given to me being well, me.

'Okay sir, I'll let you know by tomorrow.'

Quickly, I hung up feeling ecstatic and breathless for some unknown reason. A plan was already schemed and I knew very well that it'd work out smoothly.

Sure, I was playing with fire, which it meant to get burnt at some point but what can I say? I was an over-confident guy.

Yes, I was returning to a dark corner of my life where it was shed away from the light. I was bringing back that heavy suitcase, that cross, that skeletton under my bed I used to ignore and hide. But worst part of it all?

There's no turning back.