Vanish.

That is the title of this short story. Vanish. It's 1008 words long, and I'm going to use it for my Writer's Club required 1000 words, cause it's funny. It should be, at least. It was written in an hour, so don't expect it to be excellent.

I was sitting in a café when he walked up to me and sat down. He removed his hat and placed it on the table in front of me, then pulled his scarf off and folded it up, which he placed on the table next to the hat. He then pulled his gloves off and placed them on top of the scarf. Next, he pulled his jacket it off and hung it over the back of his chair.

“Quite finished?” I murmured. He laughed.

“Never one for hello’s, were you?”

“Nope. Want something? I haven’t ordered yet.”

“Not thirsty.” He chuckled.

“Still working for the Sanctuary?”

“Still investigating your murder.”

“And how’s that going for you?” I asked, smirking at him. He scowled at me.

“It’d be a lot easier if you’d let me know that there was no murder a month ago when I started.”

“You should’ve asked.”

“I thought you were dead?” he said, arching an eyebrow at me.

“Geez, sarge, I thought you knew me better than that.” I said, standing up.

“I thought you said you hadn’t ordered.”

“I hadn’t.” I picked up scarf and wrapped it around my neck. “Mind if I keep this? No? Good.” I walked out of the café and stifled a giggle when I heard him sigh. I stepped out into the cold street and tugged my coat around me more tightly. I started down the road and kept my chin tucked into the scarf. I counted in my head and got to eleven before he reached my side and matched my pace.

“Did you miss me, Zath?” I asked.

“No.” he replied coolly. I shouldered him lightly.

“The truth.”

“Fine. I did miss you. Glad to see you’re alive and well, Sparks.”

“So, I was murdered. Who by?” We’re now sitting in my living room, talking over hot chocolate.

“Don’t know.”

“Cause of death?” I ask.

“Unknown. You vanished.”

“Oh?” I grunt.

“Didn’t turn up to work. Didn’t answer any phone calls. Didn’t answer any of my phone calls. Weren’t at your house-“

“You mean here?”

“Yes. I managed to contact Hayley, who said she hadn’t heard from you for as long as you’d been gone for. Same from Vulpin. You literally vanished.” He says, sipping his drink.

“Curious.”

“You’re acting as though you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m a good actress.”

“Very funny. Seriously, where were you?”

“Away.” I reply.

“Do you get a kick out of being vague?”

“Possibly.” I smile. He scowls at me.

“Why don’t you want to tell me?”

“More fun this way.”

“Sparky…”

“Zathract…”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Sparky!”

“Zathract!” at this point he looks as though he’s about to punch me, and I’m basically grinning my face off.

“I swear to God-“

“Which God? The Faceless Ones? The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit? Amun? Anubis? Geb? Horus? Isis? Osiris? Ra? Seth?”

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“Yes.”

“You realize that I’m already angry at you, right?”

“Yes.” I’m not even trying to keep the smile off my face.

“Then tell me where you were!”

“Why?” I ask innocently, stirring my hot chocolate.

“Because if you don’t I’ll throw something at you.”

“What is there to throw?” I ask. He’s silent for a moment.

“Tell me.”

“Say please.”

“Please tell me.”

“No.” I grin. He throws his hat at me. It hits me in the chest, and I fall off the chair, pretending it hurt.

“Please tell me?” I hear him say, his tone very close to- but not quite- pleading.

“Nope!” I call, lying on the floor.

“Why not?”

“Cause this is fun!”

“Maybe for you.”

“Oh, are you sulking now?” I ask, sitting up.

“No.” he says, folding his arms.

“I think you are.”

“I am not.”

“I think that Zathract is frustrated because he can’t get me to give him a straight answer.” I say, giggling. He glares.

“Aw, c’mon, you’ll look back at this and think it was really funny.”

“It could just make me want to hit you.”

“It could, but I don’t think it will.”

“What makes you so confident of that?” he asks. I stand up and take a sip from my drink.

“Because you know if you hit me I’ll just electrocute you.”

“That’s beyond the point.” He mutters. “You’re getting me off topic.”

“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Where were you.” He didn’t phrase it as a question this time. Oh, geez, he is ticked off. This is great.

“Well, Sherlock, I wasn’t at work, I wasn’t with my friends, I wasn’t dead and I wasn’t home. You’re a detective. Figure it out.” I half sing.

“Or you could just tell me.”

“But that won’t happen.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Cause this is more fun.” I repeat.

“Sparky, tell me this second or I’ll…”
“You’ll what?”

“I’ll think of something, and then do it.”

“Want some sunflowers to chop up?”
“Yes.” I walk into my living room, pick up a vase of sunflowers and hand them to him. He nods and clears his throat.

“Tell me where you were or I’ll throw these sunflowers at you.”

“Shock horror.”
“I’m serious.” He says.

“I bet you are.”

“I mean it.”

“I don’t doubt you.” I reply.

“Then… Why aren’t you telling me.”
“Because it’s a vase of sunflowers, Zathract.”

“So?”

“I don’t care if you throw it at me.”

“Oh, would you please just tell me!?” He exclaims, placing the vase on the table.

“I was on holiday, Zathract.” I say, finally. He gives me a look that screams ‘I don’t believe you’.

“Wouldn’t you have told the Sanctuary?”

“Well, I did. Except then my phone broke, and I couldn’t remember any of my contacts. I figured that the messages had gone through. It would seem they didn’t.” I explain.

“That was it?” he asks.

“Yup!”

“You mean I went to all the trouble for-“ I cut across him.

“Yup!”

“And you couldn’t have said that in the first place because…?’ he asks.

“Cause this is more fun.”