The Gathering 2p5y1v

The Gathering

Copyright© 2020.

Wordsmith Publishing, LLC

ISBN: Softcover 9798685048578

ISBN: eBook 9781005877002

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Rev. date: 10/5/2020

Content

ForewordThe Second Spring of Eleanor Druthers

by Kelly Zimmer

Revengeby Kim Plasket

The Return to White Owlby TM Brown

Bloody Benjiby Anya Stewart

The Breeze of a Poltergeistby K. Batty

The Death of Elsie Joseph and its Consequencesby Zoe Mullen

Hell of a Way to Start the Dayby Kathleen Lopez

Descending

by Kim Plasket

The Dark Assentby Angela Dunham

Deja Motelby Valerie Puri

Secretsby Vincent F. A. Golphin

Comfort of Natureby Kim Plasket

The Last Day on Earthby Vincent F. A. Golphin

Foreword

Given only a few words as a writing prompt, the authors of this anthology were issued a challenge – create a captivating, dark natured short story. The results are contained within the pages of this anthology. The Gathering is a series of short stories within the slightly darker themes of such genres as Paranormal, Crime, Suspense, Thriller, Mild Horror, etc.

Independent Authors along with some featured student authors from Timber Creek High School in Orlando, Fl, each crafted a story centered around a twosentence idea, to which the imagination of the authors took hold of and ran with, creating this collection. Within each short, look for the underlined age to see what two sentence prompt sparked the story.

When left to its own devices, an author’s mind can conjure wondrous things...

The Second Spring of Eleanor Druthers

by Kelly Zimmer

Chapter One

“I can’t decide, Dan, not today.”

Dan Venable smiled an indulgent salesman’s smile. “You don’t need to decide this minute, Eleanor. We can set you up with a try-before-you-buy situation, or you can come back when you’re in the mood.”

Customer chatter echoed off the walls of the brightly lit showroom. I massaged my temples with cold fingertips. “I apologize. I’ve wasted your time.”

“Nonsense, this is a big decision. It deserves your full attention. Let’s go to my office and get brochures for you to take home.”

“I’m not usually such a flake.” I’d meant it to sound reassuring to both Dan and I, but lately, flakiness was my norm.

“You’re easily my sharpest customer. I’ll be here for you when the time is right.”

Dan’s office was comfortably furnished, and the pressure in my chest eased as we discussed features and options within its warm, intimate confines. Dan was easy to talk to. He listened to my requirements and presented me with a range of options to fit my budget.

What the hell was wrong with me? I made dozens, hundreds of decisions each day—maybe that was the problem. Perhaps I had developed a decision-fatigue condition or some such nonsense. If that was the case, if I could no longer make rapid decisions, I was well and truly screwed.

***

“Eleanor, we’ve reviewed the data for weeks; discussed it for hours. We need to select a price point for this service.” Peter Johannsson tapped the conference table with a buffed nail. I’d worked with him long enough to recognize his time’s up signal.

I brushed my bangs from my forehead. “I’m sorry, Peter. This is important. I don’t want to make a mistake and cost the company millions.”

“Being late to the market could cost us millions.”

“I know.” I detested the whine in my voice. “You’re right, but I blew the call on last summer’s release.”

“You didn’t blow it, Eleanor. It was a misstep. We adjusted.”

My gaze moved to the tall windows lining the south wall of Peter’s office. The thick, tinted glass didn’t mute the glory of the cloudless October sky beyond.

Peter’s chair squeaked as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the polished surface of his desk. “Are you still considering a change?”

I huffed a false laugh. “I’ve considered it but haven’t made a decision. There are too many options.”

“Not deciding is a decision, you know.” Peter paused, then dropped his voice a notch. “Are you considering leaving me behind as well?”

I turned my gaze from the window and forced the tension from my jaw. The concern in Peter’s light eyes made me want to sugarcoat it, tell him I just needed a rest. He’d be hurt if I itted I was ready to move on, but we’d worked sideby-side for many years. I owed him the truth.

“I’ve been mulling it over, though it has more to do with the weather than the job.” It wasn’t precisely a lie and prevented me from having to address my more troubling anxieties with him.

Peter sat back in his chair and held my gaze. One corner of his mouth twitched. “I’d hate to lose you, but your work is suffering. Perhaps it is time for a change.”

His words kicked a hole in my gut. It was one thing for me to choose to move on, but quite another to be let go, especially by a man like Peter Johannson.

I repressed the urge to strike back. Instead, I drew myself up straighter in my chair, squared my shoulders, and ordered the muscles in my face and neck to

relax. “I promise you; I’m getting refocused.”

A tight smile flicked on then off like a switch. “Good, let’s finish this.”

We completed our discussion and picked a number. The decision didn’t sit well with me. I was sure we’d priced ourselves out of the market or were missing an opportunity I’d failed to foresee. After Peter’s comment regarding my work, however, I kept my doubts to myself.

Back at my desk, I turned my attention to my staff’s questions. They kept me busy and prevented me from dwelling on my issues until it was time to go home.

The comforting rhythms of the commuter train allowed my mind to drift to my morning meeting with Dan Venable. I’d allowed an hour for the selection but left Dan knowing I needed a week to weigh the options. Then there was my job. I’d dreamed of quitting and moving out of the city for months, but it was easier to get through the day if I shoved those dreams aside.

Peter was right. Not deciding was a choice to continue with the status quo. If I didn’t start making decisions, at least one would be made for me.

***

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep at it,” I confessed to Beth over lunch the next day.

The autumn afternoon was chilly but sunny, so we took a table on the patio at Fishers. A red and gold awning rippled above us in the soft breeze. I ordered my usual—blackened catfish and a Caesar salad.

Beth spent no time on her choice. “I’ll have the same.” She handed her menu to the server and snapped her napkin open before focusing her sharp blue eyes on me. “You have a demanding job. Decision-making comes with the territory.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if I were able to focus on my own projects.” I set my fork aside and reached for my glass of Pinot. “It’s all the little decisions my department heads and their people bring to me.”

“Delegate. Insist your people make their own decisions.”

“Easy to say, but what if they make a mistake that costs the company a client? That would reflect on me, and my job is already in jeopardy.”

“You know that’s not true.” Beth smiled, and I saw myself reflected in her shining eyes. I’d even worn my hair like her once. Now, the skin under my chin sagged, and my once-golden hair was a light gray. I’m not a girl anymore, I thought, but not yet ready for the scrap heap either.

“You’re young,” I told Beth. “You don’t understand what’s it’s like to become irrelevant.”

“I’d be proud to have your career.”

My heart warmed to her. I forced a dry laugh. “I promise you the full benefit of my dubious experience.”

Her sleek blonde head shook from side to side. “You underestimate your value.”

“And you overestimate my virtue.”

She laughed and resumed eating, commenting on the quality of her food as she did. Beth expressed appreciation for the meal but didn’t linger over each morsel. I envied that about her, the way she embraced experiences while not letting them consume her.

We discussed the coming winter and our intolerance for the cold, gloomy weather ahead. Overall, it was a pleasant lunch. I was glad I’d taken the time to meet with her.

Back at the office, subordinates lined up at my door with questions. They wanted help, which I was happy to give though it meant slipping further behind on my projects. As usual, I would have to take work home over the weekend. Suck it up, I told myself, mentoring is part of the job, and you love your job.

While I genuinely cared for my people and the company, when six o’clock came, I’d had enough. Mercifully, it was Friday, and I enjoyed a peaceful commute. The city rolled past from the comfort of a warm train. At home, the most

challenging decision facing me was what to defrost for dinner.

***

Saturday morning, I woke determined to reframe my future. After idly flipping through the stack of glossy brochures Dan had forced on me, I tossed them aside and called Audrey to me for breakfast. Curly-haired, doe-eyed Audrey struck me as the type of woman who listened with an open mind and who offered opinions without judging. Useful qualities.

Audrey greeted me with a hug, and I settled us in front of a cheerful fire. I’d meant to outline my wants and needs and explore solutions. Instead, I wasted an hour venting and rehashing my problems at work. Sitting on my roomy Chesterfield sofa, I unloaded the frustrations of the week.

Audrey lounged languidly in the corner of the sofa and listened intently without asking questions, as I’d anticipated.

“This breakfast casserole is wonderful,” she said when my complaints sputtered to a halt.

“It was Rick’s favorite. He used to drive me mad by changing up the ingredients to suit his mood. I preferred to follow the recipe. Either way, the result was usually delicious.”

I frowned at my plate, still half-full of my concoction. How much of my current

unhappiness was due to how I’d handled Rick, I wondered?

Soft brown eyes studied me over the rim of a coffee cup. “Do you miss him?”

I sipped and waggled my head. “From time to time. We bickered a lot near the end. Most of it was my fault; I it it.”

“Why did you fight?”

“We didn’t exactly fight.” I considered the colorful mat at my feet. “It was me. Me, and my inability to commit. Where to have dinner, what movie to see. Vacation planning was a nightmare. Once, I’d let him nail me down to a resort then, two weeks before we were scheduled to leave, I saw a good last-minute deal on a cruise, and the debate started again.”

Audrey laughed, a pleasant, musical sound. “You butted heads a lot.”

“I always felt he was trying to fit me into a box two sizes too small.” I raised my eyes to hers. “I’m not saying we didn’t have good times, but I wore him down, I think.”

“You were together for nearly twenty years. There had to be more to it than contentious vacation-planning.” Audrey adjusted her position to lean closer to me. I ired her easy intimacy and lack of self-consciousness.

I set my cup on the coffee table. “There was another woman. I could have gotten past it, but Rick grew tired of the hours I put in and my constant waffling over minor things such as paint colors and dessert.” I studied my hands. “By the end of our time together, he was just plain tired of me.”

Audrey tilted her head and gave me a pitying glance, which made me cringe. “Are you sorry he’s gone?”

I shrugged. “Honestly, it’s been easier without Rick.”

“Why didn’t you have children?”

Overwhelmed by an impulse to bash Audrey in the head, my hand reached for the coffee pot. I forced myself to take a deep breath, then shifted my gaze to the doors leading to the patio.

It was another glorious fall day. I should be outside, raking leaves or walking in the woods, not rehashing the regrettable choices I’d made in my life. Why couldn’t I be like the autumn leaves and know when to turn, when to let go, when to escape in the shifting breeze?

Audrey’s little-girl voice interrupted my daydream. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t offend you.”

I’d forgotten my guest. Audrey stood, and her pale hands smoothed her slacks over shapely hips.

“Sit, please.” I poured her a fresh cup of coffee. “I’m getting moody in my old age, I guess.”

“You’re hardly old.”

“Most days, I don’t feel old. I take good care of myself.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said with a smile so sweet I overlooked her overly familiar question regarding children. Her voice was another matter, though. I nearly decided to cut breakfast short until Audrey raised the coffee cup to her lips, paused to inhale the rich aroma, and sipped with eyes closed. Her face lit with pure, sensual joy. I envied her.

“Enough about me,” I said. “Why don’t we take our coffee outside and talk about you for a while.”

***

I was alone in my home office when Dan Venable called that afternoon. He claimed to be checking in, but his tone told me he wasn’t interested in discussing business.

“You don’t have to be a client to stop in to see me.”

I shut my laptop and pushed it to the center of the desk, symbolically shoving work from my mind. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long to decide.”

“Who’s in a rush? Take as much time as you need.”

I smiled at my phone and pulled my sweater tight around me. I could do worse than Dan. Sure, he had a paunch, and his hairline was receding, but he was goodlooking enough. Everyone was attractive in their unique way. It was a matter of personal preference, really.

“Maybe we should plan on getting together next week. I’m sure I’ll have made up my mind by then.”

“I thought you’d never ask. What day works for you?”

“Monday is out. Tuesday might work, but Wednesday might be …”

“Wednesday it is. Mondino’s across from my office at six.”

Laughter escaped me for the first time in weeks. “You’re not going to let me dither?”

He chuckled. “What, and give you a chance to come to your senses?”

We talked for over an hour. Before hanging up, Dan said he looked forward to seeing me again. I hoped he meant it. His phone call had certainly enlivened my afternoon.

No longer interested in work or emails, I wrapped myself in a blanket and curled up on the Chesterfield. I intended to watch a movie but instead drove myself batty.

Action or romance? Both? A political thriller? Too intense. Documentary? Hell, no. I started, then gave up on three films. Unable to commit, I scrolled through the dozens of books awaiting me on my e-reader. The endless internal debates over what to read resulted in my falling asleep on the sofa watching hours of cat videos.

***

On Monday morning, a bland email from Peter blew my world apart.

“What’s the status of the Everflow Imports presentation?”

My head jerked as though Peter had reached a hand through the screen and slapped me. The presentation for Everflow was Monday at three. This Monday, today, at three o’clock.

I glared at my computer. Heat bloomed from my chest and up my neck until my face blossomed flaming pink.

An intern tapped on my door. “Excuse me, Ms. Druthers, but I—”

“Not now,” I snapped.

The kid fled.

Before I could be interrupted again, I dashed to the door and slammed it so hard the walls trembled. With sweaty palms, I pushed unruly waves of gray hair from my face. How could I have forgotten? Stupid question. I’d been so busy putting out fires and helping other people, I let a vital presentation slip my mind.

Idiot.

I shot off a response to Peter and promised I’d have something to him by noon. Wishful thinking on my part. By one o’clock, starved and frazzled, I sent the CEO a slide deck, no better than a rough draft.

Peter’s email response was what I expected. “Not up to your usual. Let’s get together on this ASAP.”

After a much-needed stop at the restroom, I allowed myself five minutes for a cup of tea and a package of cookies. I drew my shoulders back and strode into Peter’s office, trying to exude confidence I didn’t feel. There was no point in fudging. “I’m sorry, Peter. The presentation completely slipped my mind.”

He started to comment but bit his lip and smiled before continuing. “We can work with this. Tomorrow, let’s arrange for you to take time off.”

I raised a palm. “Not necessary.”

“We’ll get into that later. Let’s get this thing finalized.”

With no time to waffle over the details, Peter and I pulled together a polished, though incomplete proposal. Everflow signed with us that afternoon, but our success did nothing to alleviate the clouds of self-doubt gathering in my brain.

As I rose to leave with the Everflow team, Peter stopped me. He wanted to talk. I assumed the topic would be my forced retirement, but an urgent call from the head of Risk Management saved me. Grateful for the reprieve, I returned to my office to catch up on emails from my staff but kept a constant eye out for a message from Peter that signaled the end of my career.

By six, all I wanted was a drink and escape.

I stepped out of the office into a gray and unwelcoming October evening, lowered my head against the icy rain, and dashed across the street to the hotel.

Chandra waited for me in the lobby bar as we’d planned. It was a lively place, decorated to resemble an old-west saloon. I’d meant the conversation to center around the recent industry accolades Chandra had received but ended up pouring out the day’s humiliations and frustrations.

“You poor thing, you should have canceled and made it an early night.”

“Are you kidding? This is exactly what I need.” I stared into my gin and tonic. “I made a fool of myself today.”

“You’re human.” Chandra toasted me with her club soda and lime. It was a practical choice, and I detested myself for needing a drink to wind down.

I pounded a fist on the arm of my chair. “I’ve got to start making real changes in my life.” My voice trembled, and I was surprised to be fighting tears.

Chandra’s warm, tanned palm covered my cold hand. How wonderful would it feel to be that warm all over, I thought and imagined my limbs brown and shiny with oil as I turned my face to a subtropical sun.

Chandra squeezed my hand and gave it a firm shake as she fluttered feathery black lashes at me. “How many times have you worked a last-minute miracle to save Peter’s Johannsson’s ass?”

I couldn’t help but smile into her dark eyes. “More times than I can count.”

“You were due. Take it easy on yourself. It’s just time for a change.” Chandra released my hand. She sat back in the overstuffed armchair and crossed her long, graceful dancer’s legs. I wondered if it was hard to find slacks that fit them properly.

There was no tropical sun available, so I raised my face to the embossed copper ceiling and let out a long breath. “A change implies a decision on my part. You’d think it would be easy. I’m tired of it all—the job, this city. I don’t know if I can stand another winter here.”

Chandra’s pink lips compressed, and lines creased the fine-pored skin of her forehead. “You’re thinking about relocating? Do you have anywhere special in mind?”

I snorted derisively at myself. “I wish I did. Selecting a location creates a whole series of alternatives—where to move, when to move, where to work. Can I even find work at my age?”

“Of course, you can. But I suggest taking a less-demanding position. You’ve earned a break.”

Tears dammed up behind my eyes. “I’m not ready to pack it in, Chandra.”

“You’re at your peak.” She gave my arm a chummy shove. “How about another drink? I’ll see that you don’t miss your train.”

At least that was an easy call. I raised a finger to the bartender.

Chapter Two

The rain continued throughout Tuesday. At the office, I swam against the sluggish tide of other people’s problems and projects. None were earthshattering, but small choices did not imply inconsequential outcomes. These were my people, and I did my best to give their issues my full attention. By evening, I was drained.

That night home alone in the dark with my wine, I gave my future the same consideration I gave to Peter Johannsson and my staff. The program began with Dan Venable.

Despite my good intentions, Wednesday was so exasperating, I considered calling Dan to cancel our dinner date but never settled on an appropriate excuse. Also, I’d heard Mondino’s mixed a terrific martini. At six, I glanced out of my office window. The rain had stopped. Deprived of my last reasonable excuse, I headed out to dinner.

Mondino’s was a steak and seafood place that managed to be both classy and casual. The restaurant was dimly lit and hummed with conversation and laughter. Dan waited at a candle-lit booth.

“Sorry, I’m late.” I shed my raincoat and sat across from him.

“You’re right on time.” Dan slid closer to me and kissed my cheek.

The kiss startled me, but in a pleasant way. My heart gave a happy skip, and I settled comfortably into the cushioned, high-backed booth. We ordered drinks, then discussed the weather, the economy, and cooking. Dan was at ease with a wide range of topics and seemed at ease with me. The muscles of my shoulders and back relaxed, and I sank further into the cushioned booth.

We ordered another round of drinks, and I kicked my shoes off under the table.

“You look good tonight.” Dan raised his beer in my direction.

“I don’t know how I look. I haven’t so much as glanced in a mirror all day.”

He frowned. “You’re that busy?”

“I don’t want to look at myself. I’ve not been very pleased with me lately. I need to move on with my life; come to grips with my future.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Fear, I suppose. Fear of making the wrong decision. Some of my choices lately haven’t been the best.”

Dan’s thick, dark brows pulled together. “You strike me as a confident, competent woman. You’ve obviously made plenty of good calls.”

“You’re very kind.” I smiled and hoped the candlelight would soften the crinkles forming at the corners of my eyes.

Apparently, Dan had his mind on my eyes, too. “Your eyes are striking. I can’t decide if they’re brown or green.”

“They’re hazel, not that unusual.”

He nodded approvingly. “Beautiful. Excellent choice.”

I laughed. I laughed a lot when I was with Dan and didn’t want the laughter to end. “Why are we here?” I let a hand rest on his arm. “Where is this going?”

“Does it need to go anywhere? Aren’t you having a good time?”

“I’m having a wonderful time, but I’m considering major changes in my life, personally and professionally. You, someone like you, is another complication.”

Dan frowned again, and the martini soured in my stomach. “I’m sorry, referring to you as a complication shows you what a mess I am these days.”

Dan’s frown dissolved. “I knew what you meant.”

“Did you? I’m enjoying your company. That hasn’t happened for me in a long time. What if I change, and you don’t like the woman I become?”

“I can’t imagine losing interest in you.” As Dan kissed my cheek again, I caught the clean scent of his hair and wanted the moment to last forever.

“You’re an exciting and vibrant woman, Eleanor. Relax, do what you need to do for yourself. I’ll be here for you, whatever you decide.” He tapped the back of my hand with a forefinger. “Tell you what. Let me help you make some decisions.”

I’d given up letting men make decisions for me when I got rid of Rick but played along.

“Where should I live?”

“Somewhere warm.”

“Should I buy or rent?”

“Buy.”

“Should I move to the beach or the desert, or maybe …”

“Doesn’t matter. Stick a pin in the map.”

“I wish it were that simple.”

“It can be.”

Dan signaled the server and ordered dinner for both of us.

***

I’d arrived at one conclusion but wanted to sleep on it. Sleep, however, brought no fresh insights, quite the opposite. I dreamed of Rick and the shock on his face on that glorious spring evening when he knew it was over. He’d expected things to end on his , naturally. He didn’t think I had it in me to end things so decisively.

The dream was unsettling, but I hadn’t lost the certainty I’d experienced the night before. A meaningful change was around the corner, energizing me and sending a zing of excitement through my limbs.

Since sleeping on it didn’t work, I decided to try talking things out. Chatting with Dan helped, but I didn’t want to rely solely on his perspective, so I arranged a dinner party at the house for Friday. Practical Chandra, decisive Beth, and comionate Audrey would provide three fresh, but opposing, viewpoints. I’d lay out my problems and use them as sounding boards. It would be a good test, a way to get a feel for my preferences, at least.

***

I selected a simple menu so the evening wouldn’t begin with me agonizing over trivial culinary details. Roast chicken with rosemary, whipped potatoes, and steamed broccoli would be followed by coffee and individual fruit tarts, readymade from the market. A Sauvignon Blanc accompanied dinner. That was my first mistake. Asking for career advice was my second.

Audrey suggested starting with a vacation. “Set up a series of short excursions. You’ll benefit from a rest and might fall in love with one of your choices.”

“A sensible idea,” Beth agreed. “While you’re visiting, you can check out the job market in the area.”

Chandra stabbed her lemon tart with a fork. “What sort of job will you be looking for?”

Elbows on the chair's armrest, I tented my fingers under my nose and focused my gaze on the candelabra at the center of the table as if it were a crystal ball.

“I’d want a similar position, but for a smaller company. Managing a huge staff is wearing me down, and my impatience isn’t doing them any good either.”

“Makes sense,” Beth agreed. “And don’t you worry, your skills will be in demand anywhere you’d want to relocate.”

“Sell your house and get a smaller place,” Audrey suggested brightly. “Something cozy requiring less upkeep. You won’t need such a large salary with a smaller place to run.”

Chandra raised her wine glass and nodded her agreement. “Downsize and simplify, perfect. It will leave more energy for other pursuits.”

Encouraged by the exchange of ideas, I made another mistake—I opened the second bottle of wine.

Audrey rested her chin in one fist and used the forefinger of her other hand to draw in imaginary dust on the table’s gleaming surface. “Eleanor, is it the right time to consider a move? You and Dan have just started seeing each other.”

Before I responded, Chandra interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “Oh, please. She shouldn’t stick around for him. He’s got his own career. A woman like Eleanor doesn’t have time to waste on long-distance relationships.”

“Dan’s nice enough,” Beth said diplomatically, “but I think the change of climate is more critical. Leave Dan to decide what Dan wants.”

“She doesn’t have to move.” Audrey turned to me. “If you’re serious about Dan, stay here. You can recharge in other ways.” She hunched and released her shoulders. “We could get a massage, do a spa weekend.”

“No, start fresh. Make a clean break,” Chandra urged. “Once you relocate and take a new position, you might discover Dan Venable isn’t what you want or need.”

“I disagree.” Beth’s tone was reasonable and optimistic. “Long-distance relationships between professionals can be quite satisfying if each partner respects the other’s career. We should at least give it a try.”

The conversation continued without me.

I sipped my wine and listened. My gaze shifted from one woman to the other as they debated my possible futures. Each alternative had merit.

I yearned to start fresh in a new city, in a warm, sunny environment with a new job and new friends to energize me. Still, there would be so many decisions draining me along the way. It might be easier to stay put and begin a rewarding relationship with Dan. I’d missed having someone to talk with at the end of every day. Having Dan’s emotional might make my current job easier to tolerate. It had been a long time since Rick, though. It may be best to start slowly with a long-distance relationship while I eased into the slower pace of a lessdemanding position.

As my mind bounced from option to option, the debate intensified around me. Voices raised, and my guests’ polite facades faded.

“Please,” I interrupted with a chuckle to lighten the mood, “you’ve given me a lot to consider. The question now is which one of you I should go with.”

“Simple is best,” Audrey said. I detected a slight slur in her voice. “Don’t try to make too many big changes at once.”

“Ridiculous. Try something new.” Chandra waved her toned arms around. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? You’re tired of the old tried-and-true.”

Beth shook her head vigorously. “Go in a new direction, yes, but keep those things you’re comfortable with.”

“She needs to step out of her comfort zone,” Chandra countered.

Tears filled Audrey’s puppy-dog eyes. “You don’t want to see Eleanor unhappy, do you?”

“She certainly doesn’t need your romantic school-girl nonsense,” Chandra said. “She needs a level head.”

“She doesn’t need to sacrifice everything she loves.” Audrey whimpered and

shrank into her chair. That wouldn’t get the job done.

Chandra stood and tossed her napkin on her plate. “She needs a fresh start.”

Beth rose and positioned herself between Chandra and Audrey. “Don’t bully her just because she’s weak.”

“I’m not weak!” Audrey was on her feet. “I’m perfectly capable of speaking up for myself.”

“Oh, come on,” Chandra replied with more eye-rolling, “you can’t believe a woman like Eleanor would seriously consider you.”

“True,” Beth said, “but Eleanor needs a positive attitude, not a take-no-prisoners pirate mentality stressing her out.”

Everyone was on their feet except me. The disagreement rapidly turned into catty bickering that stunned me with its cutthroat bitterness. Arms flapped; voices rose. Mesmerized, I listened as each woman champion her cause while doing her best to shatter the others’ stance. Soon, their conflicts degenerated into comments regarding physical attributes.

My pulse quickened as the argument intensified. The heat of the bickering over petty differences reminded me of the acrimonious squabbling between Rick and me at the end. I covered my eyes with the tips of my fingers, then slid my hands to my ears to drown out the noise. The voices blended into one incoherent drone.

The pounding in my head became a buzz as I struggled to make sense of any of it.

Audrey, Beth, Chandra. Each had her points. But there was a fourth option they’d forgotten I didn’t need any of them.

I exhaled loudly and dropped my hands to my sides. The noise and competitive rancor weren’t getting me anywhere. I still didn’t know what to do about my home or my job, but I could certainly put a stop to this. My response was met with considerable resistance, but harmony was soon restored.

***

All was quiet when I slipped into the kitchen to do the washing up. The warm, rough wood of the farmhouse table and muted gleam of the appliances created a reassuring sense of past meeting present. When the pounding in my head ceased, I turned my attention to the evening chores.

Though he offered, I never let Rick help with the after-dinner chores. That was my quiet time when I often did my best thinking of the day. During that peaceful half-hour at the kitchen sink, there were no decisions to make, just a series of simple steps leading to a satisfying conclusion. Perhaps the routine of washing up allowed my mind to organize the day’s activities and weigh their impact.

With peace to wander, my subconscious often responded with revelations that weeks of careful consideration failed to expose. The notion to unburden myself of my wayward husband came to me while I did the dinner dishes on a warm spring evening.

After settling the situation in the dining room, I was filled with the same sense of contented conviction I’d enjoyed after ending things with Rick. It seemed simple in retrospect. That’s how to deal with any unpleasant chore, I told myself. Take things one step at a time. Before you know it, the task is behind you, and you can move on.

And I’d moved on, silencing everyone but Beth. She was athletic and vigorous. I liked that about her, but even she’d grown quiet. It must be hard for her to wait alone, I thought. I’d return to the dining room to keep her company after a few more minutes alone with my thoughts.

I dried my hands and indulged in a relaxed sigh as I eased into a chair at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Dinner was done, the dishes were drip drying in the rack by the sink, and the food was put up. The only thing left to do was move the bodies. I called Dan. Despite the late hour, he was happy to oblige, as I’d expected.

Chapter Three

“The change suits you,” Peter said. “But I have to it, I’ll miss the old you.”

“You’re sweet, but it was time.” I patted my short, sassy blonde hair. I’d sprung for a new wardrobe to match the youthful, wash-and-wear style. Both the hairstyle and the wardrobe were better suited to a warm climate.

I took up Peter’s hand in both of mine and squeezed. “Thank you for recommending me for the opening out west. I hated to leave the company, but the prospect of another winter was too depressing for words.”

“It wears on everyone to a degree. Don’t be surprised if I show up at your door next fall, looking to spend a weekend in the sun.”

“You’ll be more than welcome,” I said, surprised I meant it. “We have a guest bedroom with a view of the ocean.”

“Sounds heavenly. When is Dan ing you?”

My blue eyes sparkled at Peter. “He’s there already. He talked his corporate office into opening a branch. He’ll manage it, of course.”

“Of course.” Peter laughed and placed a hand on my back. “You’re always welcome here if things don’t work out.”

I didn’t see myself ever returning, but Peter and I shook hands once more and parted friends.

With my box of personal items under my arm, I circulated through the office, exchanging tearful goodbyes with my staff. I’d miss them. They were good people, happy to see me relaxed and enjoying life again. I even got a few selfconscious compliments on the Beth body.

Beth was a natural choice, really. The Audrey was attractive, but the allure of the traditional hour-glass figure was too distracting for a woman in my position. And while the Audrey was at the bottom of my price range, I worried the model might not be durable enough for an active executive lifestyle. Dan promised I’d get at least forty years out of the Beth.

The Chandra’s exotic details were enticing, but she was pricey and perhaps too much of a change for a fuddy-duddy like me. That’s what Rick called me when I demanded a divorce. He called me an old fuddy-duddy, and I called him a cheating bastard. We were both right, I suppose. I wondered what he’d think of the change.

Dan ed my choice of the Beth model, but that was his job. I didn’t think he'd mislead me to make a sale, but as I stepped out of the office for the last time and into the April sunshine, I wondered, should I have negotiated for an additional two inches in height or should I have gone shorter?

THE END

Revenge

by Kim Plasket

I know I shouldn’t have left the door unlocked, I mean if I didn’t though, how else would he have caught me. My revenge was perfect. The only flaw in the plan was how much I would learn about myself as the days went on. For so long he dominated my life every decision I made was questioned. For example: “Would he find me again? Why does he keep trying to find me?”

Never did I stop to think “How does he keep finding me?”, which in hindsight would’ve been a better question. There had to be a way he was able to find me. I had a PO Box for any correspondence so there was no address for anyone to track. It made no sense at all, it was something that bothered me.

When we kept seeing each other it made me question. I know I moved a lot, since the first time I saw him but he somehow found me each time I moved. The first couple times it didn’t strike me since I moved close to my hometown but when I moved across the country and I saw him it was unnerving to say the least.

Nothing concrete that would make me say “this is why” more an uneasy feeling, low-key as of something in me was saying this isn’t right. There were times I felt as if I was being watched and followed but nothing came of it. What was worse is I knew his face but I had no idea of his name or even how he sounded.

The day he spoke to me was gray and foreboding, the chill in the air told me without a doubt it was going to rain It was fall so the leaves already on the ground were chasing each other as people hurried to get to the next place before the rain hit, normally a smile would come across their faces but today everyone was intent on just getting where they needed to go.

I was just walking to get coffee, the feeling of being watched started earlier in the week and I just wanted to be among people. Sometimes in crowds the feeling eases off, not all the time but sometimes. I felt someone watching me, judging me it made me stop and look around. I decided to look in a window, maybe the person thought I was someone else so they would move along.

I stood there for a several minutes, the hair on the back of my neck was raised. I had goosebumps all along my arms. A shiver went down my back, I wanted to put my arms around me as if I was warding off something unseen only felt. I sensed someone behind me but I chose not to look, I wanted them to know I didn’t care, if they made a mistake then they would move along.

“Hello Raina,” a male voice I didn’t recognize said. It sounded strange, as if the person talking to me was part child, part man.

“Do I know you?” I finally turned around. He was nowhere to be found, there were people near me but they weren’t even paying me any attention. It was after that encounter I would come home and see gifts left on my porch one time my front door was open so I called the police. They didn’t find much other than rose petals leading around the apartment.

“You must have an irer,” one of them said with a smile until I assured him it was more a stalker.

“Those are serious accusations,” he said, the tone of his voice telling me more than his words. He was one of those good ole boys who felt women were meek and should listen to men.

“I would say stalking is pretty serious officer but I assure you if he tries to increase it I will call someone else,” I glared at him until he told me there was nothing more they could do.

“Maybe you should get someone to help you change the locks,” was his final parting words.

I locked the door and went to the hardware store since I had to change the locks once again. I also got a deadbolt lock controlled by a key, the guy at the hardware store told me the directions were included but if I needed any help they had a guy who would come out.

“Oh really?” the coldness in my voice made him take a step back.

“I meant nothing by that ma’am. My wife does most of the repairs around our house. I just meant sometimes that brand of lock can be tricky,” he seemed upset as if I accused him of being a male chauvinist or something.

“Sorry, I am a bit on edge,” I took my change and went home. No sooner had I gotten into the house, with the rain coming down like a beast. Then someone was pounding on my front door, I looked and saw a flower delivery person at my front door. My stomach flew into my heart as I realized he escalated.

“Miss Raina Enders?” he held the flowers out to me as if he expected me to take them.

“Send them back,” I stated coldly hoping he would feel the hatred pouring off of me.

“But Miss?” he was naturally confused “Don’t you want the flowers?”

“No,” he pushed them out towards me again as if he thought maybe I was confused. I refused to touch them.

“I refuse delivery now leave.” I spun on my heel, entered my apartment and slammed the door. Of course I locked it and shoved a chair against it. My heart was pounding and I felt as if I was going to out or throw up.

I know it wasn’t his fault but I was angry, it seemed as if one guy was controlling me. I knew right away he was the one who was watching me all those years. I had no idea who he was since I didn’t recognize the voice at all but he knew me.

A couple days later I got an envelope in the mail, no return address and nothing to indicate who it was from. For some reason I put gloves on before I opened it, it was as if I was trying to protect myself from something, after I got the contents open, I was glad I wore gloves.

Picture after picture fell out of the envelope. There was also a picture of a shrine, from what I could tell it was a shrine devoted to me, there were candles, pictures of me most of which looked as if I had no idea I was being watched. There on the top was a card, of course, the person taking the photo made sure to show me. It was a wedding card, the names over the bride was my own and the name over the groom was blank.

Whoever he was, he seemed to have escalated, it went from him watching me and breaking into my house, to taking pictures of me and delivering flowers. I had no idea what came next but I knew he was not going to stop.

The last picture scared me beyond anything. I was asleep in my bed, there was a hand holding a gun that was facing me. I had no idea if it was photoshopped or real but I took it as real. It was a sign to me that I had to vacate yet another home. I looked around and saw I didn’t really unpack even though I had been here for more than six months.

I had even found myself packing things into boxes a couple weeks before. I ed a storage place figuring I would have them come pick up some boxes and store them for me. I would arrange for some friends of mine to come pick some up and keep them for me, that way my things would be out of his reach.

It was going to take some time to arrange it since I had to be sure he wouldn’t find out anything about what I was doing until it was too late. I had a couple more months on my lease but it seemed as if I had no choice, I would have to leave.

It took a few weeks and in that time, several more gifts were left on my step, flowers were delivered to me on an almost daily basis. I noticed inside things were moved just a little bit, most people would think it was nothing but with

everything else going on, it was clear to me someone was able to get into my home.

I had no idea what I could do but I had to do something after all I knew the police wouldn’t help me. I already asked them what could I do since I knew someone was getting in, they told me if nothing was stolen there was little they could do. When I asked about the guy who was sending me flowers, they told me to be happy since he was spending money on me. I couldn’t believe anyone would be so crass but even now I guess men still thought they ran the world.

I had to take matters into my own hands, even if it meant my own death there had to be a way to stop him. I tried the legal ways but they failed me so it was up to me. Even if he hadn’t threatened me, he was stalking me but I was the only one who believed it.

I asked my mom who told me I should be honored a man though so highly of me. I told her to grow up which of course caused her to hang up on me which was fine she still thought men were in charge. It was helpful I was single but still. I wasn’t planning on being single for the rest of my life.

The few dates I did have somehow ended up not working out, now that I think about it I have a feeling the mystery man had something to do with it but that was just an idea there was nothing I could do to prove it which was the issue.

I went to the library. I had to do some research; there had to be something I could do. Several hours later I headed home. As I got closer a feeling of unease came over me. I knew something wasn’t right but the feeling as usual was low key, just once I wished it would scream at me.

I saw right away my front door was kicked open, I peeked into the apartment as I was calling the police, my living room was trashed. My sofa was shredded as if someone took a huge knife and attacked it. All my remaining glasses were smashed it looked like someone very angry had taken their anger out on my possessions.

Glad I sent some of my more precious things to other places I still mourned the loss of not only my things but the fact he was in my home again. This time he was angry, of course the police found nothing and no evidence if it wasn’t for the fact my door was kicked in they probably would have tried to say I threw a fit.

“We are sorry, Miss, but there is nothing here for us to go on. If you have any other trouble please call us.” They turned and walked out of the apartment as if they couldn’t wait to get away from me. I wasn’t crying or even mad I was simply done.

It was then I knew it was time to go whether I wanted to or not. I had done so much to stay away but he always found me. I was staying in apartments who only dealt in month to month leases, working at places off the books so there was not much of a paper trail.

I closed any credit cards I had closed my bank s. Got a new phone with an untraceable number, found a hotel was more than happy to take cash. I talked to the manager and told him I was trying to lay low from a stalker. For some reason, as soon as I told him what had happened to me he was seriously helpful. I wondered why but didn’t ask him because it seemed to personal a thing to ask a stranger.

I was in shock; how could anyone push someone so far that they had to hide. I was determined to not hide for the rest of my life. I was going to make him pay

one way or another. I only told one person in my life that I was moving into a hotel and which one. I knew if this guy found out where I was who would have told him.

My sister was the only one I told, after all she really didn’t care, it was easy the only reason I told her was in case I died. I had a feeling things were going to escalate soon. There were several unsolved cases of women being murdered around town, the police linked them to a serial killer but he wasn’t caught.

In my soul I knew who it was, I hadn’t seen him around but then again I stopped going out. My money wasn’t running out but I was scared. Finally something set me off, something on TV caught my eye, a woman was attacked coming out of her house. They said she lived only long enough to say one thing: “Sister mine beware.”

It was my sister, even though they didn’t say her name I knew it. When we were growing up we would teach ourselves how to speak in Elvin. It was something silly we did to tick off our parents, they never knew what we were doing. They told us to have our little secrets they were just happy we got along.

As we grew older the separation between us became very clear. We went our separate ways but I guess a part of her still ed it because it was a warning to me. Her last words were “Sister mine beware.” I knew it meant he found out where I was so he was coming for me.

I wondered how long would it take for him to try to get to me, the women who were attacked were getting attacked every two days so I was figuring I had maybe a day and a half before he came but there was a chance he was already on his way. From what I could tell she was murdered overnight and they just broke the story.

Maybe he was already waiting for me downstairs which wouldn’t do since I wanted to get him good and angry. He thought he was in control, up to this point he was but that was going to change.

I knew there were places I could go for help. Several women's shelters were available for women who felt unsafe or were in abusive relationship. I saw several flyers available at a new coffee shop that just opened up.

It was called “Safe Anchor” the waitresses and waiters were really nice. It seemed to me the waiters were mainly there to protect the women who seemed to be doing most of the work. The men would clear the table and chat with the customers, I saw a man in the back cooking but I noticed they would do as the women asked.

I saw a couple bruises and cuts on the women, some of them had a haunted look on their faces as if they were slowly coming back from some hell. Something happened one day when I was in that place that really made me wonder if there was more I could do to help them.

A young teenager came into the shop, her hair was matted to her head, her clothes were filthy and ripped up. She had one shoe on and one off, her feet were bleeding and she looked as if she had been used as a punching bag. I hurried over to her, grabbing a drink of water off the counter.

“Are you okay?” I handed her the water but her hand was shaking so bad she started to spill it everywhere.

“Hold on let me help you.” I helped her to take a drink. By the time she was done drinking the water several more of the employees were there. One had a first aid kit, another was on the phone yet another was chasing a couple patrons out the front door and locking it.

“Thank you,” her voice was quiet.

“It’s fine,” I wanted to ask her more but it was difficult for me. She looked really bad I wondered how she was able to move and speak.

“He kicked me out of the car,” she looked at the man who was sitting on the floor. He was huge and one would think such a small thing would be scared of him but I looked at him. His eyes were so kind, he was looking at her as if she was his family.

“It’s okay, take your time. We have a couple people coming in soon but they won’t harm you. One is our doctor she is going to look you over, the other is our lawyer. Both of them are on your side,” he finally noticed me. “Thank you for helping her, most people just leave it to us.”

“I told him it was fine after all there was someone in need it was the least I could do.” I knew right away I had to let the psycho find me so I could take care of him. He was the kind of man who shouldn’t be allowed to live, he murdered my sister and countless others.

I had to make him pay, there was no other way. I hated sounding like a bizarre greeting card from someone in a B movie but that was how I felt. I decided to try to find him or rather, let him find me.

I started to go out more hoping he would find me. I had to find somewhere to go to make things work in my favor. I wanted him to pay and to it all he had done but it would be my word against his unless of course I was able to get it recorded.

I had my laptop and if I concealed it just right he wouldn’t be able to see it, I still had the keys to my apartment. I could lead him back there, it was empty now except for an old table that I left behind.

The light was dim but if it was just enough, plus audio would work. I had to get him to hit me first. If he was so mad that he was now killing it would make it so much easier to make him angry.

I had to talk to someone, it was as if I had to unburden myself before my death. One of the waitresses at the cafe told me about a meeting she was going to later in the week for battered women.

“I’m not battered to be honest just stalked. He has killed many others including my sister. I just need someone to talk to.” I looked at her. The bruises still showing around her eyes, her arms still bandaged. “I can’t bring anyone else into this I am sorry.”

As I left the cafe she spoke up “Listen, if it weren’t for the people here, I would be dead. This is the first time I’m going to a group meeting and to be honest I would appreciate someone with me,” she looked upset.

“Ok I will be here at 6.” It would be dark then so there was a good chance he wouldn’t be looking for me since I normally only saw him during the day. I just had to hope my luck would hold out.

When I got there she was in her car, she was setting up the GPS. “I hate driving alone in the dark. Even with the GPS I mess up,” she chuckled and I knew it was something she had said before.

After what seemed like forever, we turned down a road, I almost missed it since it was completely dark. As we drove it only seemed to get darker. I wondered how many houses were on this street and if everyone was asleep. It was tree lined so not even the moon could be seen the trees were so dense.

“This would be the part in movies where the homicidal maniac would jump from the curb and try to get us to pull over so he could wear our faces,” she joked, but I felt a chill in the car as if she was trying not to something.

I leaned forward in my seat thinking “Ok I can say something silly to put her at ease,” so I kept leaning forward looking from right to left as if trying to find something I finally turned to her and said “I guess he missed his cue which is good because I finally got my makeup to go right.”

We drove along the darkened street for a little bit longer until she drove into a driveway almost completely hidden by trees. A part of me wondered if this was the part she turned off the car then killed me.

She hesitated before turning off the car, the headlights revealed a darkened house, she looked down at a piece of paper on the seat then hit the horn three

times. I must it I jumped like someone set a firework off under my seat.

“Geez, warn me next time,” I put my hand on my heart which was pounding out of control. She laughed then jumped herself when the porch light suddenly blinked twice.

“Okay, the horn is about to sound,” she laughed when I groaned. She hit the horn three more times, then the porch lights came on, as did lights leading from the driveway to the porch.

“Give your eyes a minute to adjust before walking forward,” I heard a familiar voice say.

I knew the voice, it was the manager from the hotel, he told me about the cafe even going as far as letting me pay in cash.

“I am sorry I couldn’t say any more but its great you are here,” he held the door open. The warmth that greeted us wasn’t just from the heater. There were several women in the room including some men which was unusual.

They were drinking coffee and chatting, I saw chairs sitting in a circle and figured that was where everyone talked. They manager of the hotel told us to make ourselves comfortable. He would explain everything as the meeting got started.

It was an amazing two hours by the time they were done talking, telling about

their own experiences I knew I had to get my stalker to justice. I was going to kill him but so many of these women were going to be paying for the rest of their lives. Half of the men who did these things to them never went to jail, they got off on some technicality.

I got back to the cafe; it was closed but the windows were all smashed out. There was a note written on the unbroken part. “I will be home in 20 minutes. Meet me there.” It was written in red; it looked like a lame attempt at a horror movie plot.

“Where are you going?” she asked me as she was calling the police.

“Home, it seems as if I am going to have a showdown. If I don’t live past this evening, I have set it up that the cafe will be taken care of. I had an inheritance from an Uncle I never touched. I talked to my attorney and all that money will used to keep the cafe afloat for many years.” I told her it was nice meeting her.

“Here,” she reached into her purse and pulled out a gun. I told her to keep it for her own protection.

It took me a short time I get there. I really hope I beat him so I could get things set up. I was getting good and angry as I drove. Rage consumed me once again, the piece of scum can be free to do as he wanted but the women he stalked, hurt and drove to the point of madness have to hide in fear.

It made no sense; it was as though the women should be ashamed. They should be proud to have lived through it, they were the strong ones but they had to hide. The women I saw at that meeting were strong gracious and generally nice. They could have been vicious after all they had been through it wouldn’t be hard to

imagine them hating the entire population of people.

I heard stories of how the police didn’t listen to them, how the judges and lawyers’ hands were tied due to one thing or another. It just wasn’t fair, the men even had stories of their own. One of them was there because his sister was beaten and harassed to the point she took her own life after her estranged husband kidnapped their child from school then got into a car accident fleeing the school.

Her child was killed instantly and he was barely injured. The police ignored the fact they were in the middle of a divorce and called it “accidental death” he told the group he was there to help because he didn’t want any other women going through the same heartache he did.

I sat inside the apartment; I was staring at the door praying he walked in. I was ready for a fight, I knew it was either him or me, I was determined it wasn’t going to be me. This is how I came to leaving the door unlocked, it was full circle.

He had stalked me and now it was my turn.

I heard someone in the hall, stealth footsteps that told me he was close. The door handle slowly turned as he made his way inside. He shut the door with a snap, most of the time I would have jumped but I just sat there looking at him.

His body matched his voice, he made me think of a troll. He was arms and legs, not much of a chest but I had a feeling his insanity made him so much stronger. He looked at me and said, “Oh Raina, I am so glad you invited me over so we

can talk about where our relationship is going.” I had no idea who he was.

“How about you tell me who you are?” I still sat there looking at him.

“You know who I am, we danced with each other at a dance in high school,” he sounded so sure of himself. There was only one little problem, I never went to any of the school dances. I hated high school with a ion, so much so that I graduated early and went to college by the time most of the students were entering their junior year.

“What year?” I had to figure out who this guy was. He seemed so sure of this, I hated to prove him wrong but he was.

“Our junior year, don’t you ?” he sounded as if he was getting angry.

“I wasn’t in high school junior year. I had taken college classes throughout freshman and sophomore year to allow me to graduate early.” I was calm but I saw his face flush with anger.

“You told me we would be together as we danced under the stars. That’s why I convinced your brother to tell me where you were all the times you moved. I told him we were going through some hard times so you were trying to get away. I was able to convince him by getting him the drugs he wanted” he was cocky but I knew there was a fatal flaw to his logic.

“Fine, you claim to know my family so why did you kill my sister?” I had to

know this first.

“I didn’t kill your sister. I killed his roommate” he was looking a little lost, then it clicked. Her ex-husband was a druggie, he would steal things from her to sell for drugs so there was a good chance that’s what happened.

“You idiot. You killed my sister!!” I felt as if I was a heroine in a book or a movie. I was supposed to avenge my sister’s death by killing her killer.

“What about the other ones?” he was even more confused.

“How many were there?” I had no idea what this guy was capable of.

“He told me I had to kill at least five before he would give me any information about you.” He gave me all their names, ages and where he killed them. I was standing there in shock, there was no way this guy was a mastermind or even the muscle he was deluded.

“You killed six women in total because a guy who said he was my brother would give you information about me?” I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“It worked,” he sounded proud of himself. It would be impossible for me to reason with him so I was going to have convince him it was in his best interest to turn himself in.

I still wanted to kill him but knew it wouldn’t do any good, then his death would just haunt me for the rest of my life. I was the one he wanted so I had to play it smart.

“Fine, but you have to do one thing for me.” I didn’t know if this was going to work but something had to.

“Anything my love,” he sounded like a little kid wanting to please his first love.

“Tell me who the hell you are?” my frustration came out.

“It’s me David Marks. Don’t tell me you don’t me?” he sounded angry again.

“Oh yeah, sure, David Marks,” I smiled hoping he bought it. Luckily, he did as his face got a bright smile on it. I saw his hand was in his pocket and I had a feeling this just took a turn for the worse.

“Do you know what I have in my pocket?” he asked me as the insanity shone brightly on his face. My thoughts of continuing to live was becoming dimmer as I stood there.

“I really hope it’s a date for when you get mental help,” I decided to go for broke after all if I was going to die it was to be on my not his.

“Funny, it’s a choice you can either marry me or die. I really don’t care either way but the point is now I am in charge,” he looked at me.

“The way I see it you lost being in charge the moment you walked in here. You see this is where I lived so you are tresing. You are wanted for murder; you stroll in here and act as if I was your girlfriend who got mad at you for leaving the toilet seat up.” I stood up to face him.

“I am in charge, you came here at my insistence,” he glared at me again. I knew I was getting to him.

“That is funny. Were you a comedian in another life or just this one?” It was a cheap shot but I had to make this work. He was small but talked big, I wondered if this was how he was able to get so close to women to kill them. He needed people to fear him and be scared it helped him to feel larger than he truly was.

“My love?” His voice made me want to rip my ears off so I didn’t have to listen anymore. In a flash of anger, I walked right up to him. Forgetting he was truly insane and to get close to him would be inviting him to touch me.

“Don’t,” I wanted to say more but my throat closed. I couldn’t decide what words to use.

“After all I have done for you,” he slapped me across the face. My head whipped to the side from the force of the slap, I felt my face sting, my eyes filled with tears but a small part of my mind whispered “that’s it”

“You have no right to speak to me at all.” All pretense was gone, I no longer cared what he did to me if he would shut up it would be so much better. “You have no real feelings for anyone but yourself. You are a manipulative narcissistic bastard who deserves to rot in jail.”

He must have gathered up something because no sooner did my face stop stinging, he punched me in the face. I felt my nose bleeding as my eyes swelled up. He laughed but his laugh was short lived as I glared at him.

“So, this is how it's going to go down,” the words were mine but the voice was hard. “You are going to sit there and let me call the cops to come get you or you will die. It is very simple,” I loved watching his face go from molten red rage to an ashen white.

“No, I have the upper hand,” he clenched his fist.

“Really? I would think the one with the upper hand would be calm. Isn’t that the true mark of a predator?” I smiled sweetly even as I was glaring at him.

“I am calm,” he screamed, his voice was so high it made me laugh.

“Yes, you are so calm David,” I just stood there staring at him. He looked so small I couldn’t figure why I was so afraid of him.

“You are supposed to be afraid,” he stood up. He was taller than me but I felt no fear, all my anger was gone he was to be pitied. I felt ashamed I let him rule me

with fear. It was time for fear to take a backseat.

“David, I don’t fear you. I feel nothing for you.” I knew he was getting angry again, the only way he was able to do anything was when he was full of rage. The rage allowed him to feel like a big man, he was nothing but a bully.

“You must fear me. I am to be feared,” he was back to raving. It was only a matter of time before he worked himself into enough rage to act.

“Did you write down everything you did?” I wondered if there was a way to trick him.

“Of course, it was my way of reliving each moment. I knew one day we would read it together. It is in my car but don’t worry I have a feeling you will be an added chapter in my book,” his laugh was more grating than his voice.

“I guess I should have brought a gun with me but alas I have no weapon. So, when the police get here it will be obvious who the criminal is. Plus, it helps they are looking for you,” I wanted him to fly into a rage.

I had a knife that I could use if I really had to but I was trying to wait until the right moment. He was muttering to himself that only one of us was getting out of here alive. He was about to pull the trigger when he saw me standing with the knife in my hand.

“You came to a gunfight with a knife. Are you stupid?” his voice was mocking.

“You said only one of us will get out of here alive. Why should you have the only weapon?” I had no idea what I would do if he shot me, probably fall on the ground screaming.

He stared at me; all the bravado gone from his face. “You are supposed to be scared. I can kill you but you are standing there looking at me. Why aren’t you scared?”

“I don’t fear you and I surely don’t fear death.” It became too clear; I didn’t fear death there was no reason to fear something that was inevitable. It was time for me embrace death. If death was what was in my future then so be it.

I was wondering what he was thinking. It was so hard to tell, his head was shaking from side to side, his eyes seemed to be everywhere but on me. I had the perfect chance to kill him but I wasn’t going to kill him in cold blood.

He picked up the gun, took a step towards me. At the same time I heard car doors slamming and feet running down the hall. I had no idea who it was but there was a chance I was going to die before they reached me.

He lowered the gun and shot me, as I crumbled to the floor I saw him hold the gun to his own head and fire. He fell in a puddle of blood, while I lay there only wounded. The bullet grazed my shoulder, it burned and hurt but I was alive.

As the police came rushing into the room, I looked at them and said, “He was right after all, only one of us is getting out of here alive,” as darkness overtook

me.

THE END

The Return to White Owl

by TM Brown

Grace lit a few candles to lessen the eerie darkness on entering the empty house containing no food, no running water, and no electricity. Fear consumed her mind each night as she waited for her mother to return home. Her mother, Alice, was a single woman with four kids, who still hadn’t learned a thing about how to raise children, keep them safe, let alone how to quit messing around with whatever man looked her way. Grace hadn’t seen her younger siblings in months. Social services just showed up one day and took them all away. She would have been taken away too if it weren’t for the lie Alice told them about her 5 foot 6 inches, skinny, 13-year-old Grace, being 17 years old.

“You got those big bones and long legs from your daddy. At least you inherited something worth having from him,” Alice said snidely as she drunkenly crawled into bed next to Grace.

Everybody in town seemed to know of him, but Grace had never met her daddy. Most folks called him Red Man. She’d heard them say that he had Virginia claycolored skin, pearly white teeth straighter than the railroad tracks that ran behind their run-down house and was the best damn crabber around. Alice would leave the house for days if Grace even remotely attempted to ask about him. So, Grace kept her inquiries to a minimum. Hearing stories full of gaps about Red Man for her entire life, Grace did her best to fill in the blanks using only her imagination.

Now that her siblings were scattered in foster care homes across the southern shores of Virginia, Grace found herself alone in the house and hated it. There wasn’t another house for at least five miles in any direction. She concentrated on her schoolwork to keep herself busy. She was a straight A student. The teachers adored her, made comments about her long, thick brownish-colored hair and redtinted complexion that was created by her mother’s Irish milky white skin blending with her daddy’s. Her green eyes were circled by a light blue ring. Her shyness made it difficult for Grace to look at anyone directly, often looking at her shoes instead.

“You’re going to be a beautiful young lady someday,” her teachers would often say.

“Thank you,” Grace would shyly respond, praying that they would not make mention of her eyes; something they always did.

She always felt that she was different from her classmates and knew it had nothing to do with her complexion nor her eyes. She convinced herself that her father must have come from a line of crazy people as she could feel the crazy bubbling within her. Sure, her mother drank too much, but Grace also recognized that she was dealing with a totally different kind of crazy. She had to be in constant control of her thoughts, otherwise her reality would shift to unexplainable images and memories that were not of her own. If she allowed her mind to wonder, she would be transported to places that she had never been and often felt like she was experiencing the life of someone else. Seeing the world through their eyes terrified her.

She developed a pretty good handle on the daydreaming, but she couldn’t control her dreams that transported Grace to places that required great effort to return from. With each trip, returning became more and more difficult.

In her dream, the gravel crunched under Grace’s feet as she ran as fast as she could to escape. The fear that she felt for whatever it was that chased her caused her heart to burn with fear.

“It’s time I took your place,” she heard him saying from a distance. Grace could see a cave in the distance but as she tried to run toward it, the gravel under her feet turned to quicksand, sucking her in as she struggled to escape.

“It’s time I took your place,” his baritone voice, whispered through stale, tobacco scented lips now touching her earlobe, as the gravel reached her waist. She tried to scream but no sound came out as she continued to sink in the gravel up to her chin.

“Gracie wake up!” Alice yelled as she violently shook her daughter’s shoulders.

He had her! If it weren’t for Alice, Grace would have been his, this time. The gravel was now up to her nostrils, unable to scream for fear of suffocating.

“Next time,” he promised, as he loosened his grip and faded away at the sound of her mother’s voice. Within a split second, the terrified teen was jolted into reality. Choking as Alice hugged her, something her mother had never done before. Looking into her mother’s eyes, she had a strong feeling her mother held the answers to it all.

“Grace, oh Gracie, I’m so sorry,” Alice cried, holding her daughter tightly.

“Mommy, Mommy — I’m scared! He almost had me. He almost had me!

“I know my sweetness... I know,” Alice cooed as she picked the gravel from Grace’s hair and placed them in her hand. Grace screamed at the top of her lungs when she felt the gravel touching her palm.

“This is no dream. This is no dream! What is this? What is this? He’s going to get me Mommy!” Grace panicked, yelling hysterically.

“Raymond told me he would come, but I never truly believed him. Even when he left us, I still didn’t believe him. I had given up everything to be with him, and he just up and left. Talkin’ ‘bout some crazy spirit chasing him in his dreams. If it was so, it was his own damn fault. Everyone knows not to dabble in the spirit world! He was determined to find out about his ancestors. There was no one around these parts that looked anything like him. He desperately wanted to know how he got here. What he found terrified him. He had that same look in his eyes that I now see in yours. Not to worry child, I’m here now,” Alice reassured Grace who seemed to be calming down. “We can talk some more in the morning. As long as I’m here, you are safe,” Alice promised as she twirled a strand of Grace’s wavy, brown hair around her finger.

“But Mommy, I’m scared to go back to sleep. He’s sure to get me if I do!”

“No child, he can’t get you as long as I’m with you, and you have this,” Alice replied as she retrieved the blue/green turquoise pendant stored in the left side of her too tight, bra. Your daddy gave this to me the night he left. He made me promise to never take it off. I never have, until now. I think you need it more than I do.”

Alice slept with Grace that night, something she didn’t do often. It hurt too much to be around Grace who was a constant reminder of the love she lost. She missed Raymond so much. He was the best man she had ever known. Kind, attentive, and loving.

“I will never leave you,” he would often say as they lay in each other’s arms. “This world will never understand the connection we have. Our spirits are one, and the baby you carry for us is special. You must protect her as all cost. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Raymond,” Alice would say, but she didn’t understand anything when he spoke that way. The only thing she fully understood was that she loved him, and she would do anything for him. She had turned her back on her close-minded friends and family to be with him. He was her everything. She fell in love with him the very first day she saw him crabbing on the Potomac River as she sat on the shore watching the breath of waves roll in and out through the sandy beach. Looking at the tall man with long, black, wavy hair hanging just below his copper shoulders, blowing in the summer breeze, caused her heart to beat to the rhythm of the waves. When their relationship ended, her heart cracked straight down the middle and was only slightly mended by laying underneath someone else.

Conrad

Conrad knew the real reason behind the voyages, and he could no longer turn a blind eye.

“Your job is to feed the animals below and keep your damn mouth shut!” Captain Harmlett would often say stroking his beloved crimson red ribbons that

flowed from his jacket sleeves.

I’ve got to find a way to get away. Conrad desperately thought as he fed the fifteen men below deck. No amount of lime could take away the stench of men chained together in a rat-infested hole, lying in their own feces. The men were stripped of even the most remote sign of humanity. The agony, pain, and fear, that resided in the hole, was more than Conrad could endure.

“I’m so sorry,” he’d say as he fed the men from bucket and ladle, knowing that they didn’t understand a word he was saying.

“Please God help them. Help us,” Conrad prayed as the men wept openly in front of them.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

“Them fucking Ingins. They put a hex on us! “Captain Harmlett shouted from above. Conrad grew to hate the Captain’s roaring voice that consumed every inch of the ship. But the natives hated them all.

Fearing their own safety, the local natives witnessed the death and destruction caused by the white men who ravaged their land. Decaying dead bodies washed ashore bringing disease and tormented spirits with them. No amount of chanting could keep them away. To the natives, the white men were scavengers of the earth. No different from the crabs found in the Potomac River, feeding on anything in the waters, live or dead.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The hull of the ship was breaking apart. Men were screaming above and below, with a strange chanting coming from the shores in the distance. The ship was sinking.

“Grab your shit and jump!” The captain roared as he abandoned ship, leaving the crew to fend for themselves.

Conrad pulled and tugged on the release lever, that held the men chained together below, as the water reached his waist. The eerie noise made by the ship as it cracked opened and leaned on its side confirmed for Conrad that he only had minutes to free himself before the waters would consume them.

Crack! the ship’s hole was opened by a blue light, quickly sinking its contents, and sliding along to the water’s silky bottom.

Looking up from the depths for the very last time, Conrad could see Captain Harmlett kicking and thrashing for air, desperately trying to swim upward. The red ribbons on his jacket sleeves were waving in the waters like a windblown flag, only matched by the blood that poured from his mouth, nose, and eyes, as he struggled to take his last breath. The Captain’s arrogance and self-entitlement were now replaced with terror and shock as Conrad grabbed the ribbon inviting the Captain to the chained men and himself in death. There was comfort in that.

Grace’s Dream

Wearing her daddy’s protective locket, Grace had a different dream that night.

“If we put anymore crabs on this barge, we’ll surely capsize,” James said as he strained to pull another crab filled trap from the waters. He cursed the day he agreed to go into business with the crazy-ass Indian. Everything about him was strange. Everything other than his uncanny ability to find the best crabbing spots just off the shore.

“Drop those cages right here,” Red Man would instruct James who complied without question. “We gonna make a killin’ in these waters!” he would often say.

They would push their makeshift barge into the waters of the Potomac River. What they called a barge was no more than a few pieces of driftwood braided together with discarded twine. Each time James followed the instructions of his unusual friend, they would return to shore with bushels and bushels of crabs, enough to feed their families and sell the leftovers.

Red Man would dive off the barge when they were far enough out into the water, staying underwater for so long that James thought he would drown. He’d often emerge just as James was about to dive in after him.

“Man, you crazy!” the angered James yelled as he shuffled his feet back and forth on the barge, balancing his weight to put his shoes back on.

“Yeah, but we catch crabs!” Red Man would often joke.

Raymond had no memory of the circumstances that brought him to town. He had only a few memories that indicated a life before his arrival there, one in particular occurred as he slept. His dreams would take him to a place where the crabs were plentiful in crystal-clear water. The men of the village could feed their families and barter for other goods with the sailors who lowered their anchors near the shore. In his dreams, no one in the village could crab as well as he could and the other men in the village hated him for it. It didn’t help matters that he, the Red Man, was married to the most desired woman among the many villages around. While her beauty was without question, her ability to see into the future, past and present lives of the people around her, was even more renown that her beauty.

She would spend days tucked deep in the forest, listening to the life tones of the universe around her, as taught to her by her mother and handed down the generations of her kind. Her name was White Owl, daughter of the tribal chief. She was an African slave girl from the Congo who washed ashore. Her life was one of captivity. Married to an elder that she did not love. She was forced to give her life and her body at the pleasure of the chief until the day he died.

“It will not always be this way,” the spirits of her ancestors whispered to her in the night. “You will have moments of immense love.” they promised. So White Owl endured the life of submission and waited for the promise of true love to come.

“You will not find your way back this time, my love. You should stay home today,” White Owl warned her husband, placing her most prized possession around his neck. Her gift to him was the only thing she owned that had belonged to her mother whom she had not seen since the scavengers snatched her from her land. At thirteen years of age, her mother presented her with a Blue Opal pendant hanging from leather made from a hand me down dress that many women had worn throughout the generations. Her mother knew that someday

White Owl would require her presence. Just as White Owl understood that her husband required hers.

An empath and a psychic, White Owl fell in love with her husband in her dreams long before they ever met. She knew that their life together would be powerful, although brief. She saw what was about to happen but could not find the words to explain it to her husband. She warned him to be careful, but he refused to listen. It would not have mattered anyway. His path was already set.

“I will find my way back to you my love,” Red Man promised as he dreamed of his love, only to awake in the arms of another woman, Alice. His dreams of White Owl seemed so real, but how could it be? Raymond thought maybe he was seeing the life of an ancestor. He knew that Native American blood ran through his veins. Everything about him screamed Indian, including the intense connection he felt for the earth and the spirits that were its residents. It didn’t matter to him one bit that he accepted the white man’s name of Raymond or Red Man which most were determined to call him. He knew of no other name to answer to.

He had no remembrance of how he arrived in the town, his parents, childhood friends or family; only great knowledge of the water and his ability to crab. Instinctively drawn to the traditions of his ancestors, Raymond loved the water and living off its abundance. He was often the first person to appear on the shores of the town with more crabs than he could pull in on his own.

Knowing that it was forbidden to crab before sunrise, Raymond would wait by the shore just before daylight. As he waited, he saw the waters turn the same blue color as the pendant around his neck, just as the sun appeared over the horizon. Raymond felt an intense connection to the light, often feeling that he should swim out to it.

Where is that blue light coming from? he thought. The desire to find answers became so strong that Raymond couldn’t resist it any longer. He began to swim towards the light. Although he was a good swimmer, he was unsure how far he would have to swim, and what he might find when he got there. If he got caught in the current so early in the morning, there would be no one to rescue him. None of it mattered. He had to know what was creating the light. The warm, Potomac river waters were becoming colder and colder as he swam towards the blue light, serving as a warning for him to go back, but he could not.

After swimming further than he had ever done before, Raymond found himself directly above the light-emitting source. Exhausted from the swim, but excited to discover the light’s origin, Raymond took a deep breath to dive towards the light. The light was so intense, almost blinding, as Raymond continued to dive. Still, he refused to turn back, now with his eyes closed, he submerged deeper into the cold water. If he didn’t find something soon, he knew he would have to come up for air or drown.

What the hell is this? Raymond thought as his feet hit something and made a thumping sound. Upon opening his eyes, Raymond saw the perfectly preserved, wooden door directly beneath him, with the intense blue light peeking through every crevice of it. The door was barely hanging on to the skeleton of what appeared to be a sunken ship. It was obvious that the ship had been in the waters for quite some time. The ship’s body looked like the rotten cadaver of a huge sea creature laying on its side with its mouth blocked only by the wooden door. Raymond was now chilled to the bone. He bounced up and down in the water to maintain his position creating a thumping sound each time his feet touched the door beneath him, almost as if he were knocking on the door.

Knock, knock, knock!

“Go away. You do not belong here,” a husky voice roared.

Raymond could hear the man’s voice so clearly. But how could this be happening underwater? The warning was followed by a familiar feeling that Raymond knew all too well when attempting to remove crabs from the cages. He was being bitten. But this was different, more intense, drawing blood each time, turning the water around him red. The door was covered with crabs that snipped at him as he tried to enter. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of crabs, drawing blood from him with each snip as he fought to open the door while taking his last breath.

“Go away!” the voice repeated.

Raymond was forced to comply with the voice. He had to come up for air and tend to the bleeding wounds caused by razor-sharp teeth of the crabs that now covered his entire body. He swore to return. But next time he’d be more prepared.

Telling no one of his plans, Raymond arrived as his usual spot hours before daylight. Diving deep into the water at the first sign of the blue light, he quickly found the door. He paid little attention to the stinging of the saltwater as it met with the deep bite wounds that covered his body.

“You do not belong here!” the husky voice again roared.

“These waters belong to no man!” Raymond challenged.

“Everything belongs to someone,” the voice laughed.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Get out of my way!” Raymond challenged the voice that did not reply.

Crack. The ship was shifting under Raymond’s feet causing the door to fling open, almost landing on top of Raymond.

“Oh, you bastard. You’ll have to be smarter than that!” Raymond challenged once again.

“I’ll kill you, your family’s past, present and future, along with anything you’ve ever loved!” roared the voice.

“You’re already dead!” Raymond laughed as he approached the bright light emanating from the door. Unsure of what he would find within the light, Raymond entered the space cautiously. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. Tissue thin skin covered skeletons of bodies lined up like dominoes on petrified wooden bedframes with their feet chained together. The blue light radiated through spaces where body parts once occupied, including their eyes, mouth and heart. Some were frozen in time with screaming mouths open and hands outstretched to the heavens. The light held Raymond paralyzed in place, unable to move, screaming inside and unable to let it out underwater. Raymond was not prepared for what he saw. How could this be? He was reminded of the stories about the slave ships that sailed offshore. But to see the waterlogged, decaying bodies chained together, was more than he was prepared to witness.

“We have been waiting for you,” the voices of the dead slaves said in unison. The light emitting from their eyes held Raymond hostage as he stood before them suspended underwater. He could feel the men’s agony during the last few

moments of their lives. The flailing and thrashing were brief. What was to come next took much longer. Taken from their homes, these men sat on the bottom of the river waiting for someone to release them.

Am I losing my mind? Could any of this be real? he thought.

“We have been waiting for you for a long time,” the spirits repeated as the blue light of each soul crashed into Raymond’s heart and violently infiltrated his soul. With each soul that consumed his body, Raymond felt himself sink deeper and deeper into the blue light. The weight of their agony was too great to bear.

“Hahaha! Gotcha. You bastard!” said the husky voice as he grabbed White Owl’s locket that hung from Raymond’s neck. As the two thrashed about, the ship’s carcass began to tilt forward, sure to bury the door’s entrance along with them.

“I’m so sorry!” a young man’s voice emitting from the blue light said to Raymond. But it was too late, darkness filled the space they occupied, and the blue light was gone.

Raymond awoke on the Potomac Shore of Virginia to the biting of thousands of crabs with only the bridal locket in his hand.

***

Grace awoke with answers to questions that plagued her for her entire life. She knew why her father left and where he was. She also knew that no one would

ever believe her; not even her mother.

“I will set you free Daddy,” Grace promised as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

She would try to rescue her dad, Conrad, along with the fifteen souls. It would be the fight of her life.

THE END

Bloody Benji

by Anya Stewart

I tuck a strand of curly brown hair behind my ear, lean my head on the door, and squint through the crack at the boy sitting crisscrossed on the bed. He grins, his eyes trained on the flatscreen TV on the wall in front of him.

“They always trip,” he says aloud to no one as he laughs at the bad horror movie on TV. I try not to laugh as well as not to give away my hiding spot. The lady in the movie clutches her twisted ankle and lets out a blood-curdling scream as the shadow of a man heading towards her grows.

“I know,” the boy suddenly says, his voice laden with annoyance. My heart rate speeds up. Who is he talking to? There’s no one else but us in the room, and I sure didn’t say anything.

“Shut it, Robert. Why do you always have to ruin everything?”

Robert. Who’s that? I move my head to the right the slightest bit to examine the boy again. Is he on a phone call? There’s no phone in his hand, and nothing by his ears. Unless his device is tiny, it seems that he’s talking to himself. The boy straightens his back and scans the room with his eyes. I retreat from the crack in

the door and shrink into the closet surrounding me.

Apparently satisfied, the boy shrugs and swings his gaze back to the horror movie, where the lady is now pleading for her life with the man. He points his gun at her heart and pulls the trigger. The shot makes me flinch, and suddenly I’m terrified about what I’m doing in this boy’s apartment. On the bed, he takes a remote from his pocket and pauses his movie as the woman is curling up and bleeding to death.

“Hello, princess.” My blood turns to ice in a matter of milliseconds. His voice is smooth and clear, but it sounds unemotional and detached. “Yes you, princess, in my closet. You may find it in your best interest to come out here and me, or else end up like Mrs. Atkinson in the movie.” I don’t even have to ask who Mrs. Atkinson is. My hand plants itself on the doorknob and twists. The closet door opens, revealing a full view of the bedroom. The wooden bedframe matches the wooden furniture, and the blue curtains match the blue bedspread. The boy sits on his heels and raises his eyebrows. His eyes aren’t focused on me. They don’t seem to be focused on anything.

“Not very good at spying, now are you? Tell me, princess, who do you work for?” I take a good look at my target. A boy, with straight blond hair, a little taller than me. His hazy eyes are a murky green, much like the color of old seaweed. So, this is the criminal behind four politicians’ murders. This is the fifty-thousand-dollar reward that could help me buy medicine for my little brother. This is Bloody Benji.

“Myself.” The boy notoriously known as Bloody Benji unsheathes his knife and flips it in his hand, catching it by the handle. I flinch.

“Now is that true, princess, or are you making things up to cover for your team?”

“It’s true,” I protest, my voice catching. If he doesn’t believe me, I don’t know what I’ll do. Or what my little brother will do, for that matter. Bloody Benji orders me to empty out all my pockets and dump everything on the carpet in front of my feet. I take out my own little knife, two hair bands, and an old candy wrapper. Benji sticks his hands in my pockets to confirm everything is out, then snatches up all four items.

“I don’t care,” he snaps at the corner of the room as he searches through the Snickers wrapper from sometime last year, my two rubber hair ties, and pockets my knife.

“You don’t care about what?” I peep, afraid to hear the answer.

“I wasn’t talking to you! I can’t hear when you and Kiyo are talking at the same time,” Bloody Benji barks, glaring at me. The name Kiyo sounds eerily familiar, though I can’t place why.

“Sorry.”

“Kiyo feel free to continue,” Benji says, the heat draining out of his face as he continues to work. It takes him longer than it should to look through four things. I mean, I understand about my switchblade, but what clues could possibly be in a Snickers wrapper and two pink hair ties? Especially that would lead to what ‘organization’ I work for? I almost laugh at the prospect, but out of fear for my life, I don’t. After minutes drag by, Bloody Benji turns to face me. His foggy eyes send chills down my spine. He doesn’t seem to be blind, however, it’s not like anything I’ve encountered. Maybe it has to do with his talking to imaginary people.

“Just because Kiyo and Henry approve, I will let you go. But know that if I ever see you again, even if it’s ing on the street, I will not hesitate to kill you with as much mercy I did the others.” I breathe a sigh of relief and nod profusely, barely paying attention to whoever Kiyo and Henry and the others are. At this point I just want to leave. Benji tilts his head and sticks his hand in his pocket.

“And since I know you’d go straight to the police and tell them where I am, you have a detonator on you somewhere that I placed when you weren’t looking. It will allow me to listen in on all conversations you have and allow me to make you-” Benji flicks one hand out to mimic an explosion. A puddle of fear sloshes inside of me, and before I can comprehend what’s happening, Benji whips out a handkerchief and holds it to my nose. I fall to the floor, unconscious.

I wake up in an alleyway with a pounding headache. The first thing I see is the sky, a brilliant gold painted with pink and orange streaks. Then I realize that I’m not in my alleyway. Gasping from the sharp jolts in my brain, I scramble to my feet and begin to walk around this part of town. As the sky fades into a bright blue, I take mental notes of the shops I until I come to a fountain I recognize. The fountain is where I usually get my water from. From there, I easily find my way back to my makeshift home.

“Jaxton!” I call out to the empty alleyway, wincing at the sound of my voice. The sun bathes the brick road and walls in light, and I can barely see the corner of my brother’s blanket on the ledge above a shop. I am answered with reassuring silence. “Macho calculators.” A little figure bounds over the ledge and shimmies its way down to the road. My brother envelopes me in a tight hug, and I do likewise. We use the code, ‘Macho calculators’ to ensure that it’s truly us and that we’re safe.

“Lydia! Where were you?” Jaxton’s big brown eyes search mine, and his bottom

lip juts out. I find my own brown eyes welling up. I can feel him trembling, which puts me on edge.

“I had somewhere to be,” I say, careful not to divulge any information about Bloody Benji. I can’t much from last night, and I can’t recall anything about what he looks like, but I can clearly hear his voice in my head telling me that if I say even a single word about him, I’d be detonated.

“Are you going to leave again?” Jaxton asks. He takes my hand as I lead him back to the wall he climbed down.

“No, Jax. I won’t.” He makes me pinky promise him, and then we climb our way up to the ledge using the drainpipe and footholds in the brick. I look around at what has been our home for the past two weeks. It’s not safe to stay in one spot for so long, but with Jaxton’s sickness, I’m not ready to risk moving again.

“Did you bring any food?” Jax asks me. He pants from the climb as he begins to fold up his blanket. I wince; I meant to do that yesterday, except I found who I realized was Bloody Benji and decided to tail him instead.

“I didn’t,” I say, ruffling his hair. Jaxton slumps.

“How long do we have to wait?” he asks, swatting at my hand. I sigh and look away from my eight-year-old brother.

“About twelve hours,” I say. Typically, businesses begin to get crowded at nine

in the morning and tend to stay that way until eight at night. My rule of thumb is to steal food late at night, or early in the morning. The less people around, the easier it is to get away.

“Oh.” Jaxton coughs, and a little dribble of yellowish mucus slides down his chin. I take the corner of his blanket and wipe it off. The longer his pneumonia lingers, the more afraid I am for him. Jaxton used to be a relatively healthy-if not scrawny-kid, but now he looks like a skeleton. His face is pale, his face gaunt, and his voice is raspy.

“I could try to nab some right now,” I offer.

“Isn’t it too late?”

“Not if I get caught.”

“What happens if you get caught?”

“I won’t.” I set Jaxton’s blanket on his lap. He looks off into space and thinks for a moment.

“Alright then.” I plant a light kiss on the top of his head, then pick up our one extra article of clothing, a beat-up plaid jacket, and pull it on over my tight black shirt. This way I don’t look so conspicuous.

“Expect me before noon,” I say as I crawl down the wall. My feet hit the ground with a soft thud, and I head for the local market. Hopefully it’ll be crowded enough for me to blend in. I pull out my hair tie and let my curly mane loose.

Within minutes, I arrive at the chaotic market. Vendors call out to the people to buy fruits, meats, pastries, and other food. People trample each other to grab oranges from a particularly expensive booth. My mouth waters at the sight of them. When’s the last time I’ve even seen an orange? It must’ve been years.

Little kids run around outside the market, waiting for their parents to finish shopping. A pang of jealousy fills me at the sight. They can afford to play in the streets. They have friends, parents, people who care about them. They don’t have to have a care in the world. Brushing the feeling off, I enter the market.

“Miss! Juicy apples for sale! Cheapest they’ll ever be!” one vendor shouts at me. I count the money in my pocket. Twenty-four cents. One glance at his sign tells me that I don’t have enough for an apple. I don’t even come close to it. It’s two dollars each. The millisecond I by his stand, more sellers try to draw me to theirs.

“Would you like a cherry tart? Piping hot!” I turn to peek at the lady’s stand. Her sign tells me the products she sells, but not the price of them.

“What’s your lowest price?” I ask, walking closer. The lady squints.

“A dollar fifty,” she responds. Sighing, I turn away. “How much you’ve got? Maybe I can make you a deal.”

“Twenty cents,” I say, pursing my lips. I’m not willing to spend all my money. The lady laughs and shakes her head.

“Absolutely not.” I roll my eyes and start to leave.

“Wait!” a man calls out from the booth opposite her. He sells soup. “I can make you a deal.” Suspicious, I head to his stand across from the lady. No one ever sells something for twenty cents. “You say you’ve got twenty cents?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m desperate, so I’m willing to give you a small cup of soup for all twenty.”

“What type of soup?” I ask. I’ll buy any soup; I’m just trying to buy time to think over the deal.

“Tomato. It’s plain, since it’s cheap, made of tomatoes and water and butter.” I nod, reach into my pocket, and slap twenty cents on the table. Giddy, the man stands up straighter. “Your soup will be right out.” He turns to a heated bowl behind him and ladles some into a small cup. It probably won’t be enough for both me and Jaxton, though I don’t care. I can go a little longer without food than he can.

“Thank you,” I breathe in relief as the man hands me the cup, a lid capped over the top. Holding the bowl of tomato soup close to my chest, I leave the market.

Practically skipping, I think of how happy Jax will be when I take off the lid to reveal warm soup. I think of the smile that will appear on Jax’s face when he smells the soup, and the color that will return to his cheeks when he sips it.

Suddenly, something hits the back of my knees, and they buckle. I face-plant to the ground, and my soup goes flying from my hand, crashing on the sidewalk. The lid pops off, and the soup spills.

A kid dashes over to fetch his bouncy ball, now bouncing away from me. The other kids laugh, and my face heats up. No one bothers to help. No one even notices the mess, save for a blond boy with dark green eyes. He stares at me, smirks, and marches into the market.

I sit up and look at the puddle. Tears begin to flow down my cheeks. I paid for that soup, and I spilled it. What am I going to say to Jax? How will I be able to come back empty-handed? Standing up, I decide that I won’t. I won’t allow myself to go back home until I have food. I use my sleeve to wipe my face and go back inside the market. Scanning the place, I see a large group of about ten people, and try to merge with them. It’s easier to take some food from a large family than a smaller one.

“Oranges!” an older lady in the group says as they a booth. The group breaks into exclamations. Another, younger lady from the group pulls out her coin purse and purchases four oranges. I gape at them. Each orange must cost ten dollars at least. They continue on their way, unfazed.

“Anybody want some meat?” the younger lady asks.

“What types are there?” a man wonders.

“Deer, buffalo, and chicken,” the lady answers.

“Let’s get some buffalo,” the man says. I continue to stare. Buffalo is the most expensive out of all the choices. Who are these people, and how are they so rich? The lady buys a couple pounds of buffalo, puts it in their basket, and the group moves on. I hide in the back of the family as they buy a lobster, some apples, and three cupcakes.

They begin to leave the market, and my heart rate speeds up. This is my chance. I slowly work my way to the basket in the older woman’s hand as we walk as not to raise any suspicions. Once I reach the basket at the center of the group, I bump into it. The older lady spins on her heel.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks. My mouth flops open, and nothing comes out. She raises her eyebrows.

“I- I lost my mother. I was wondering if you could help me find her,” I blurt out. I shrink down to make myself seem smaller, though I’m taller than the older lady. My eyes well up with fake tears. “She said she was going to the fish stand, but she’s not there. She’s a little...schizophrenic, so I’m worried for her.”

“Aren’t you old enough to find her yourself?”

“She doesn’t tend to listen to me, but she’d listen to someone like you,” I say. I swipe at my eyes and sniffle to make it sound more realistic. The older woman isn’t impressed. She huffs, turns back around, and marches out of the market. It seems like she’s the head of the family, because everyone else follows. As they leave, I catch the younger lady saying, “Couldn’t you even spare a second to help the poor child?” I don’t hear the older woman’s response, but I don’t care. I got my prize. The orange is in my jacket pocket, underneath my hand. I swiped it as I bumped into the basket and hid it while talking with the woman. And I covered it with my hand so it seemed that the bump in my pocket was my hand. Smiling, I head back towards my alleyway. They’ll notice soon enough, but I have the advantage of time.

“Macho calculators,” I grunt as I pull myself over the edge of our ledge. Jaxton appears from underneath the blanket, which he unfolded.

“D’you get anything?” he asks, his eyes full of hope. A string of mucus hangs from the corner of his mouth. I use my plaid jacket to wipe it away.

“I did,” I say. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.” Jax does exactly as I say, bouncing on the tip of his toes. I pull the lone orange from my pocket and lay it in his cupped palms. I was afraid it would be too obvious if I had stolen more food. “Okay, open.” Jaxton’s eyes grow wide as soon as they lay on the orange.

“An orange! Where’d you find this?”

“The market,” I say. Jax squints at me.

“No, you didn’t. You found this is someone’s basket.”

“Perhaps. Would you like me to peel it for you?” Sighing, Jaxton hands it over for me to peel. I pierce the skin with my grubby nail and slide it under to rip the skin off. Once the entire thing is peeled, I hand it back to my little brother. He splits the orange in half and hands me three slices. I wait to eat mine until Jax finishes his. He practically inhales his half, and I give him another of my slices. He takes it but refuses the next one I offer.

“I’m full. You have the rest,” Jaxton says. Without hesitation, I toss the rejected slice into my mouth and suck on it. The tart flavor explodes in my mouth, and I savor it as best as I can. It’s sweet and bitter at the same time, and I relish it. When I’ve finished the first slice, I place the next one on my tongue. The sticky juice squirts out when my teeth bite down. Closing my eyes, I swallow the last bite of our orange.

“Thank you, Lydia,” Jax says, beaming. A bead of sweat appears on his forehead, and he shivers. Then Jaxton reaches for his blanket again and swaddles it around him.

A couple hours later, the sun is overhead and beating down on us. Jax is coughing up a storm from beneath his blanket, and I leave with our lone canteen to fill with water.

“You sure you’ll be fine without it?” I ask the mound.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” comes Jax’s hoarse voice. “Just be quick.”

Canteen in hand, I scurry down the lanes and across blocks until I come to the fountain I ed earlier, when I woke up. I peek over my shoulder as I near it, then sit on the rim. Leaning forward, I crack open the lid of our canteen and let some of the water flow into it. Within seconds, the bottle is halfway filled.

“Hey! You!” A burly man emerges from the shoe store across from the road. “Stop that!” In his hand is a rifle.

My eyes bulge, and I flee. I dash around the fountain to the store on the other side and cap the canteen. Sticking the bottle in my mouth, I start to scale the shop wall. It’s similar to our ledge, so it’s easier than I expect. I hop to grab the windowpane and pull my body up to stand on the edge of the pane. From there I shimmy to the drainpipe and use that along with footholds in the brick to climb up to the roof. The brawny man points his rifle at me on the roof, and I hunch down low as to not give him a clear shot. I crawl across the rooftop until I come to the edge. Peeking over the lip of the roof, I see the man still aiming at where I used to be. I take a deep breath and leap four feet to the next building.

The man spots me and shouts for backup. A boy rushes out of the store, a gun in his hand too. He shoots a couple times in my direction. Three bullets whiz past me. Though it’s off by a couple feet, fear crystallizes in my body. I didn’t think he’d be that accurate.

I continue to sprint across rooftops and hurdle onto others, taking winding turns and glancing down often. After the fifth turn, I’m cornered. If I keep on moving forwards, I’ll be found by the burly man, and if I turn back, his apprentice will see me. A thought bubbles inside my mind, and I slide down the drainpipe until I reach a row of windows. I push on each window as I dash past until one opens.

Slipping inside, I take care to lock the window behind me. Once I do, I stare out at them. The man meets the apprentice and they confer for a couple minutes. Evidently, they conclude to leave me because they go back the way they came, defeated. My gaze turns from them to the half-full canteen in my hand. All this for some water?

When I’m sure they’re gone, I head for the drainpipe and use the rooftops to get back to our ledge.

“Macho calcs,” I say, swinging down next to the Jaxton-shaped blanket pile. “I’ve got some water and I’m not going back.”

“Some guy came asking for you,” comes his reply. “This boy about your age came around, said our code, and climbed up. He gave me a note and left.”

“Did he say anything?” I ask, feeling sick to my stomach. Who would come for me?

“Yeah, he said that if I opened it, that he’s watching and would come for you.” Jax pulls the blankets off his head, revealing red eyes and dried tear stained cheeks. He hands me the note. I open it.

Dearest Lydia,

It has come to my attention that your pickpocketing, climbing, and escaping skills are above average, as well as your dedication and ability to multitask. It would be my pleasure to ask you to my team. If you accept, meet me at eleven-thirty by the fountain tonight. And , if you tell anyone or bring guests, I have easy access to your demise.

It’s not signed by anyone, but I already know who it is. The last sentence is a dead giveaway.

“Bloody Benji,” I breathe.

“What?” Jaxton demands, rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing,” I say, afraid that Benji heard me. After a minute of silence, I bite my lip. “Jax, I need to leave tonight. This mystery person needs my...help, so I’ve gotta go. You can’t come though because it's a secret.” Jaxton nods, looking disappointed. My eyes travel from his face down to the bloody trail of spit in the corner of our ledge. I sigh.

Hours later, I peel off the plaid jacket, leaving me decked in black, and put on our old, cracked watch. “Bye, Jax. I’ll be back very soon.”

“Okay, bye,” he says, half-asleep. I’m well aware this whole set-up could be a trap, so I intend to slink in the shadows until I figure out if it’s truly Benji.

I sneak a glance at the cracked watch whilst keeping an eye on the fountain when I arrive. No one’s there even though it’s eleven twenty-nine. Slight movement catches my attention, and I see another figure in clad-black sit on the fountain.

“Hey there, princess.” I recognize the voice, and immediately I know it’s him. I step out from the building and him in the cloudy night. “Not very good at hiding, now are you? Tell me, why do you think you’re here?”

“To your team?” I bite my bottom lip, and a little blood leaks out. The boy known as Bloody Benji laughs.

“You’re already on my team, princess. No, you’re here to receive your first mission.” The clouds shift for an instant and I get a glance at him. His dirtyblond hair covers his eyes, and I can tell that he’s bigger than me. He’s taller, he’s older, but he’s also leaner. I have more muscle from my time on the streets. He seems like one of those geeks who can hack their way into getting what they want. Which would explain how he snuck a detonator on me without me noticing.

“My first mission?”

“What, you deaf or something? Yes, your first mission. I expect you to bring me a pack of cigarettes, a hair straightener, and two boxes of chocolate. Bring it to me at my place at eight in the morning. If you come earlier, you’ll be kicked out.

If you come later, you’ll be fired.” And before I can say anything, Benji is on his feet and swept up by the night.

Alone, I take a midnight tour of the town, trying to put the items together. What semblance do cigarettes, a hair straightener, and chocolate have? And where is Benji’s place? I must’ve gone there before, but since my memory wipe I have no clue.

My midnight wandering brings me by the hair salon. The door is locked as expected, so I climb to the second story window and crawl in that way. I end up in the owner’s living room. Without even a creak of the floorboards, I tiptoe out of the apartment, down the stairs and into the salon. From a dresser I grab a hair straightener and crack open some of the drawers. There’s bound to be at least one worker who smokes. And I find my target in the last dresser, nearest to the door. I tuck the cigarette box in the waistband of my leggings and creep back out the living room window on the second floor, hair straightener in hand.

A few streets over, I walk into a candy store. It’s not usually locked, as I found out one desperate night last year, when I stole a Snickers bar. A bell chimes when the door opens, and I freeze, but nothing happens. When I’ve waited long enough to know that no angry shop owner will come stomping down the stairs, I scurry to find the chocolate aisle. The shelves are full of chocolates, each and every one a different flavor. There’s cranberry and nut and dark and white chocolate, coconut, caramel and even orange! Mesmerized, I stand there, unable to decide.

“Can I help you?” I startle at an old woman standing at the end of the aisle. She’s dressed in a nightgown with a robe overtop and fuzzy slippers. I’m frozen, too scared to move. She chuckles.

“Can’t choose? My personal favorite is the dark chocolate, but they’re all pretty good.” The old woman limps towards me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice soft. I feel bad for the poor old lady, so I don’t flee like I usually would. If anything, I owe her an apology.

“Don’t be,” she says. “Life isn’t always fair.” She helps me to choose a pack of milk chocolates and a pack of orange chocolates and lets me leave with both.

“Are you sure? I can pay you back-”

“Don’t worry about it,” she protests, smiling. “Have a good night, dear.” Once outside with my three items, I swipe at my eyes before the tears can come. She had no business being as forgiving as she was.

“Macho calculators,” I whisper as I pull myself up to our home.

“Have a good time?” Jaxton murmurs. I set the four products under his blanket as I wrap myself up.

“Sure.” Several minutes of silence until I break it. “Hey Jax? I got a job, so I’ll be gone at eight. I don’t know when I’ll be back, so please be patient with me.”

“But what about breakfast?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll think of something.”

In the morning, I end up feeding Jax four of the orange chocolates from the box I stole last night.

“These aren’t as good as the real oranges,” he complains.

“Well, it’s chocolate, not fruit. Of course it’s not going to taste the same,” I say, annoyed as I hop down to the ground. “See you later, alligator.”

“After a while, crocodile,” Jaxton answers as I head for Benji’s place. Last night, I hadn’t the slightest idea where his house was, but I woke up this morning with the information. He must be able to control what I , because there’s no way I can this information at the most convenient time.

I walk to the candy store I was at last night, turn left, walk three blocks, turn right, and find myself at what appears to be an abandoned building. I can’t how I snuck in last time, so I do what I usually do- shimmy up the drainpipe and slide through either a window or a vent. Somehow it works, and I find myself face to face with my new boss.

“Just on time, princess. Where’s the stuff?” I can see Bloody Benji clearly now. His eyes focus off to the right the slightest bit, so it seems that he’s not looking directly at me. Wordlessly, I pull the cigarettes from my plaid jacket pocket, the

straightener from the waistband of my leggings, and hold out the candy. Benji nods at my loot. “Reliable, yes. Timely, sure. And-what’s that, Constance? Agreed, definitely.” Constance. Why does the name sound familiar? Shaking the feeling off, I take in the empty, dusty attic with my eyes. There’s nobody here.

“Why is this bag open?” Benji asks me, tipping one of the chocolate bags towards me. I peer inside and recognize it as the orange chocolate.

“My brother needed breakfast.” Benji shakes his head.

“Tomorrow, bring him here. He’ll get a much healthier breakfast, along with shelter. You’ll live here for the duration of your visit.”

“So he-and I-won’t have to leave?” I ask. Benji rolls his eyes.

“Maybe we need to get your ears checked. Yes, you stay here.” My heart pounds with excitement. A real home? For the time-being, at least. “For now though, let’s begin.” He leads me down two flights of stairs and unlocks a door when we reach an apartment. Things are strewn everywhere- papers cover the table and chairs, a box of hair dye and a mirror sit on the counter, and clothes lay on the couch.

“What’s all this for?” I ask, pointing at the hair dye. I set my hair straightener next to it. Benji runs a hand through his hair and purses his lips. He glares at the couch, tells someone named Robert to shut their mouth, then turns to me. I open my own mouth, then close it. There’s still no one there.

“That’s for our plan.”

“Which is?” I prompt. The name Constance flickers in my mind again, along with Robert. As my mind connects the pieces, I gasp and sway. My hand reaches out to grab the chair closest to me. Constance Hainsworth, Robert Lascher. Those were two of the four politicians that Benji murdered.

“To eradicate the next political pest: Mr. Isaac Avila.”

Ten minutes later, I stand up from the kitchen table. I’ve finally regained my sanity.

“You want me to help you murder Avila?” I ask him. Benji shrugs and gives me a lopsided smile. “He’s the senator!” I exclaim.

“And lucky for us, he’ll be visiting in two days to go to his daughter’s play.” Benji unwraps an orange chocolate from my bag and pops it in his mouth.

“And you talk to your victims?” I say. Benji shrugs again.

“Sure, before I terminate them.”

“No, I mean once they’re dead. You’ve been arguing with Kiyo for three minutes and forty seconds about whether the drapes complement the wall color.” Benji

sweeps his paperwork off a chair and sits in it.

“They’re not dead. After I eradicate them from position, they just glow and follow me around. Then they advise me for the next one.” For a moment I think I’m going to be sick. I hold my stomach with one hand and clutch my head with the other.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Am I joking, princess?” Great. The city’s biggest criminal is messed up in the head. Who kills people and then talks to their spirits? “Lucky for you, though, I already came up with a plan and found information about Avila.”

“So why do you need me?” I ask.

“First, because people know who I am, though they don’t know you, and second, you can carry this plan out with ease.”

“Yeah, but why me?”

“Well, you were the only one that was able to pinpoint and spy on me until I caught you, and you have the street smarts I’m looking for. You can climb, you can escape, you can steal, you can do pretty much anything,” Benji says, tilting his head. After a bit he whispers over his shoulder to Henry, another one of his victims, about my escape from the fountain. I feel a strange sort of pride at being complimented by the city’s biggest con.

“When can I bring Jax over?” I ask, standing up. Benji stands up with me, snickering at something Constance apparently said.

“After we finish,” he says. He moves the rest of the paperwork from the table onto the kitchen counter. I watch as he leaves two maps, the pack of cigarettes, the orange chocolate box, and other various trinkets on the table. Writing is scrawled out all over the maps, noting different buildings, rooms, and what looks to be an escape route. I stare at the three figurines laid on the map. One is a boy, the other a girl, and the third an old man.

“What’s this for?” I demand, standing the figurines upright.

“Planning our plan,” Benji responds. I sigh at the vague answer and rub my eyes. I can’t wait to tell Jax that we will have a sheltered home.

Benji points at the first map. “Here is the layout of the venue. Avila’s daughter will be performing in their school play as one of the main characters.”

“Which daughter?” I ask. Benji gives me his lopsided smile.

“I see you already know some about Avila. It’s his second.”

“Will the rest of his family be there? And will they be sitting together?” I lean over to study the map of the building. It’s a two-story theater. The top story is for

VIPs, and the bottom is where the lobby, restrooms, concessions, and main stage are.

“Yes, I have reason to believe so. We found the plane tickets for Avila’s ex-wife and her husband, as well as the eldest daughter. Avila will take the second daughter and their youngest son. We have reason to believe that Ivette and her husband will sit together on one side, Isaac on the other, and the children in the middle. Isaac will most likely be on the end, so he can go take a smoke often.”

“Who is ‘we’?” I ask after Benji finishes.

“Well, Kiyo helped me hack into the airline database for the ticket information, and Henry donated some tips about the family relations,” Benji says. “He told me the dynamic, who the kids live with, et cetera.”

“So who do the kids live with?” It was breaking news when the Avilas divorced, but since Ivette Avila flew halfway across the country and remarried, I haven’t heard anything new.

“The eldest lives with Ivette, and the younger two live with Isaac still.” I nod in response, and we get to work. Benji has me memorize the surrounding streets as well as the building layout. We use the figurines to visualize our plan in motion. We come up with scenarios and try to solve them.

“If he goes to the bathroom, tail him,” I say to Benji, moving the old man to the bathroom on the map. I move my figurine down to the lobby along with Benji’s. “If you’re alone, kill him there. If not, then get him either on the staircase or outside.”

“Alright,” Benji says. “Since he smokes, it would be ideal if we catch him outside.”

“Is that what the cigarettes are for?” I ask.

“Yes,” Benji answers, then has a hushed conversation with Robert, during which I could hear Benji hurling insults at the poor spirit.

It’s almost nine-thirty when Benji and I finish planning, although it takes another hour until he deems the plan satisfactory and allows me to go pick up Jaxton.

“, if you tell even your brother who I am, you’ll be dead within seconds,” Benji warns me, pulling a detonator from his back pocket. I shiver at the sight of the little remote. “It’s not too late for me to carry out the plan alone.” I hurry out of Benji’s apartment, up the stairs, onto the roof, and make my way over to our ledge.

Whispering our code, I land next to Jaxton.

“Lydia! You’re back!” Jax wraps me in a hug, his teeth faintly chattering. “Did you-”

“Shhh, come on, we’re leaving,” I say, stepping back from the hug. I pull the plaid jacket over my shirt as to save carrying weight, fold up Jax’s blanket, and

grab his canteen.

“Where’re we going?”

“To my friend’s,” I answer him, careful to exclude details.

“Is it the guy from earlier?”

“Yes, now hurry up.” I let Jax jump across each roof before me. Once I land, I lead him to the next roof. It takes us a while to work our way to Benji’s, especially since all the rooftops look the same in the pale moonlight. A couple times we had to stop to allow Jax to catch his breath and stop his coughing. With each break we took, my heartbeat sped up. He’s been consistently getting worse these past two weeks. I just hope the shelter that Benji’s provides can actually allow my brother to heal.

“Stop, this is the one,” I say to Jax, already halfway across the roof. I usher him down the drainpipe and into the window I kept unlocked when I left.

“You mean we’re staying here?” Jax asks, his big brown eyes wide in hope. I giggle in response, slinging an arm around his shoulders. We go down the stairs to Benji’s apartment. Rapping on the door a couple times, I take Jaxton’s hand. The door finally opens, revealing the notorious boy criminal. He gives us his trademark lopsided grin.

“Welcome,” he says. Jax squints at him, then grips my hand tighter. Once we

enter, I tell Jax to sit on the couch while we arrange his bed.

“He looks worse than I thought,” Benji murmurs to me as we tuck my brother’s blanket on top of the blue bedspread in the guest room. I place Jaxton’s canteen on the desk next to the bed.

“He’s got pneumonia.”

“I know, I just didn’t know how bad.” I wave Jax in when we’ve finished making his bed. “Where are you going to sleep?” Jaxton asks, sitting on his bed. I shrug.

“I’m not sure. Maybe on the couch unless you want me to sleep in here on the floor.”

Within an hour, all the lights are turned off, and not a peep could be heard. Before I can go to sleep, however, I hear the covers rustle above me, and then, “Lydia, what’s wrong with your friend’s eyes?” I sit up and look at the dark lump on the bed.

“He has a condition, much like you do with your pneumonia, except his is with his eyes. He can see just fine, though.” I don’t know enough about Benji’s eye to answer my brother’s questions completely, and I’m still afraid to ask. “Now good night, Jax.”

When I wake up in the morning, the bed above me is empty. Panicking out of habit, I rush into the living room, where Jaxton sits, a mug of steaming water in his hands. I turn to face Benji, hunched over our map on the table.

“Where’d you get the water?” I ask Benji. His muddy green eyes stare at me.

“Don’t ask,” he replies. Biting my lip, I him at the table.

“So, what’s going on today?”

“Your makeover.”

“What?” both Jaxton and I exclaim at the same time. Benji chuckles.

“You didn’t think you’d be recognized after filling the canteen, and stealing the orange and chocolate?”

“Fine.” So that’s why he wanted the hair straightener. I sit still in my chair while he takes the straightener out of the box, turns it on, heats it up, and finally begins. My hair, already long, reaches my waist when straight. It’s puffy, but plain without my crazy curls. Benji pulls my hair taut and begins snipping.

“You’re cutting it?” Jax asks. “Why?”

“She’ll look different,” says the famous criminal.

“That’s a lot,” Jax comments. I close my eyes, afraid of how short my hair will be after it’s finished.

“Is it over?” I demand after a couple minutes.

“Almost,” says Benji. “Now all we need is to dye it black.”

An hour later I stare at myself in the mirror. My straight jet-black hair shines in the light. It tickles my shoulders, framing my face nicer than I would have thought. I look like a whole different person. There’s no denying it, Benji’s makeover definitely worked. For today we’ll go over the plan and carry it out tomorrow night.

“It’s time,” Benji says, glancing at the clock. Jax gawks at my outfit.

“And you’ll be back when?”

“By midnight, I promise,” I say, ruffling my brother’s hair. Butterflies fill my stomach. There are a million ways our plan can go wrong. And apparently Robert has been pointing all of them out to Benji because he’s been cross all day. Jax and I have been careful to stay out of his way.

“What happens if you don’t?” Jaxton asks, gingerly touching the sparkles on the dress Benji stole for me yesterday after my makeover.

“Then stay here. You know how to fend for yourself. If you’re still sick after two more days, go down to the candy shop. The lady there will take care of you.” I don’t know if she’ll actually help him, but I’m inclined to believe she will. She seemed like a nice enough lady when I met her two nights ago. Jax nods, trembling slightly.

Benji walks out the door, leaving me behind. I plant a kiss on top of my brother’s head and follow him. My silk purple gown swishes by my knees. The fabric is softer than anything I’ve ever touched. And probably more expensive than anything I’ve ever owned. I’m not sure how Benji managed to steal something so fine.

There’s a slight breeze in the air as we reach the theater. I recognize the surrounding buildings and mentally map out our escape route if needed. Benji leans down and whispers, “They must go to one expensive school to be able to afford this theater for a school play.” I agree quietly.

We go inside, have our tickets checked, then roam the lobby. To waste time, we pretend to be interested in the concession’s menu.

“Target spotted,” I whisper to Benji. I don’t take my eyes off Avila, bending down to listen to who I assume is his son. After some searching, Benji’s eyes finally lay on Avila too.

“Don’t let him out of your sight,” he demands.

“I know,” I sigh while Benji hurries to the restroom. I slink against a wall and dramatically check my watch. It’s 5:45 in the evening. Avila better make it to his seat soon or he’ll miss the show. Benji finishes hiding his knife in the restroom and nods at me when he arrives by my side. “Everything go well?” I ask him.

“Yup,” is his answer.

“The show is starting soon,” I say.

“I know,” Benji replies

“We should head to our seats now.”

“Fine.” I lead Benji into the main theater and find our row. He hushes one of his spirits as we sit down. “I got you, didn’t I? So shut it,” he mutters. My eyes flicker nervously to him, and I finger the pocketknife in my dress pocket. I hope only one person will end up dead after tonight.

The lights dim, and soft music starts to play. Then the red curtains open with a flourish, revealing a forest background with a little girl sitting on a fake rock. I faintly recognize her. She has similar features to our victim, although she has the voice of her mother.

Beautiful music erupts from little Vivian Avila’s mouth effortlessly. She stands up from the rock, walks to the edge of the stage, and reaches a handout as if to draw us in. I close my eyes and let the sweet song wash over me. When the music ends, and Vivian gazes with longing in the distance, I crack open an eye to look at Benji. His face is stony. It doesn’t convey even a hint of emotion.

As the play goes on, I zone out and go over both of our plans in my mind. I visualize the buildings to our left, to our right, across the street, anywhere with a quick escape. I imagine the news once the body is found.

Sooner than I would have liked, the lights are brought up, the curtain swishes back into place, and intermission is called. Benji stands up.

“Would you like some chocolates?” he asks, louder than necessary. I nod and smile.

“That would be great!” With an excuse covering us up, we leave the row and walk back to the lobby.

“Do you see him anywhere?” Benji asks. I don’t answer, scanning the space.

“No,” I say. “Check the bathroom.” Benji purses his lips, hands me the bag of chocolates I stole a couple of days ago, and heads for the restroom. Opening the bag, I eat two of them to enforce our story of ‘just buying chocolates’. Benji comes back as I pop a third one in my mouth.

“He’s not there either.” Right as the words fall from Benji’s mouth, I see Isaac Avila coming down the stairs.

“He’s coming down to your right. I’m keeping my eyes on him,” I whisper, opening the bag as if offering some chocolates to him.

“Good,” he says, grinning and declining my offer.

“Now he’s heading outside. He grabbed a box of cigarettes from his suit pocket,” I inform Benji, who nods.

“Would you like to go outside for a couple minutes?” he asks, producing my box of cigarettes out of seemingly nowhere.

“Sure,” I say. Benji takes my arm and leads me outside, where we follow Avila to the alley. I laugh as if Benji told me a funny joke, then whisper something to him, and he laughs. Avila looks over his shoulder at us and smiles.

“Nice night tonight, ain’t it?” the politician says. I tuck a strand of my jet-black hair behind one ear.

“It really is. And your daughter is an amazing singer, too,” I respond. He thanks me.

“May I ask- can we have a picture with you?” Benji slips his phone from his pocket. Avila hesitates.

“We won’t post it, if you would like,” I add. “It’s just proof to our family that we met you. They’re all big fans. We vote every year in your favor.”

“I guess so,” the politician sighs. “If anything, it’s good for publicity.” We position ourselves so that Avila is between us with Benji holding the camera for a selfie shot. His other hand is behind the senator’s back, ready to strike. I hold my pocketknife in my hand, also behind Avila’s back.

“Ready? One, two-” Before Benji can finish counting, I stretch my hand three inches farther and plunge my knife right into his back. Benji releases a bloodcurdling scream. His knees buckle and he flops to the floor.

“You- you backstabber!” Benji barks at me as blood flows from his back. It would have been funny if it wasn’t morbid. Avila takes a second to process what had happened and acts only a moment later. He moves as quick as lightning, kicking my feet out from under me, slamming my head on the ground, and sitting on top of my chest. The politician whips out his own phone and begins to dial for medical backup. I feel better than I have in a long time, even though my head pounds and my surroundings swim before my eyes.

“Woah there, Mr. Avila. I just saved your life.” He doesn’t respond, holding his phone up to his ear instead. “I don’t know if you’re listening, but that was Bloody Benji about to kill you. Look at his physique and his ability to trick you into thinking he’s innocent. Does it not match up with every witness ? Please, give me his bounty, and you won’t hear from me again.”

“Hello there,” Avila says into his phone. “Yes, there has been a murder tonight... Yes, that would be correct, the school play…” He listens to the receiver, and then nods. “Sources tell me that the victim was Bloody Benji, the boy criminal? I’m not sure if my sources are accurate...five minutes? Thank you.”

“Mr. Avila?” I murmur.

“You’re not off the hook just yet. You committed a crime, regardless of who it was against. You’ll be interviewed and punished. But if what you say is true, I will reward you with much more than his bounty,” he says, jerking a thumb at Benji’s oozing corpse.

The ambulance arrives a couple minutes later, the police right behind. The ambulance takes the truly bloody Benji away while the police survey the scene, ask Avila questions, and lead me into the car, handcuffed. I’m not angry, however. Instead, joy erupts through my body like fireworks.

Before the police showed up, Avila and I had worked out a deal; I receive Benji’s bounty money, and Avila buys Jax an apartment, as well as top-of-theline medicine for his pneumonia. I’m satisfied with the thought that my little brother will be safe and healthy.

Three months later, I stand outside the apartment door, hesitant to knock. It feels like an eternity since I’ve seen Jax in person. I take a deep breath and knock on the door three times, whispering, “Macho calculators,” just in case. The door swings open a few seconds later, and I gasp.

The boy standing in front of me no longer has sunken cheeks, a pale complexion, or a raspy voice. He no longer looks like a stick, tiny, and sickly. He looks...wonderful. No dribble of saliva slides down his chin, no dust and dirt cover him, no glint of hopelessness lingers in his brown eyes. My brother glows with happiness.

“Lydia!”

“Hey buddy,” I say, folding him into a hug. “How’ve you been doing?”

“Pretty great. My pneumonia went away, and now we have a big supply of food. This guy named Isaac Avila comes a couple times a week to check on me, and buys me new clothes, and helps me go to something called ‘school’. I learn stuff there, like how to read, and how to count, and how many countries are in the world. Do you know how many countries are in the world?” Jax goes on and on about everything a normal kid would never think twice about. How he can turn on and off lights whenever he wants. How he can change the temperature of the apartment. How he can make water fall from the bathroom ceiling with a twist of a handle. But I don’t mind listening to it all.

“Lydia? Have you been alright these past three months?”

I nod, my eyes tearing up. Once Benji was identified, it was determined that his detonator was a complete fake. I’ve been living under deception this whole time. As soon as the authorities told me that, I had no trouble sleeping at night. Every one of my worries had been soothed.

“Also, this came for you in the mail last week.” Jaxton holds up a pale blue

envelope with my name written in scribbled cursive. Confused, I open it. Unfolding the paper, I see four sentences scrawled out in familiar writing. Blood drains from my head as I read it.

Hello, Lydia.

You must when I once told you about how my victims don’t ever truly die, they just linger with me. Have fun- now I linger with you. Karma’s a bitch, princess.

-BB

THE END

The Breeze of a Poltergeist

by K. Batty

I couldn’t much before my experience of the world changed dramatically. I wasn’t prepared for it to happen, but then again no one is, are they? The last thing I could before hitting the ground was the brilliant color of the sky. It was soon after, that it all went black.



I woke up on my back, strangely enough, I couldn’t why. Something I found even more strange was the fact that I couldn’t feel what I was lying on, almost as if my back was numb. I blinked a few times trying to be able to see, no matter how hard the bright cloudless sky tried to blind me. Something else I noticed as I blinked was how I couldn’t seem to move anything other than my eyelids; even my brain felt like it had glue smeared on its gears.

After a few moments, my body responded enough for me to be able to sit up, which seemed to be a good idea at the time. That idea was quickly shoved from my mind as when I sat up, I found myself surrounded by people in uniforms, two of which held cameras. Every few minutes my frazzled eyes were dazzled by a flash from one of the cameras.

That’s when I noticed two men starting to approach me. When they reached me, they knelt down so close to me that I leaned back as much as my stiff body would allow. There was another camera flash that must have been so loud that I couldn’t hear them greet me. The older of the two men reached out his tan arm to shake my hand. I extend mine to meet his halfway but if I expected him to give me a warm greeting, I was greatly mistaken. His hand ed through mine, down my arm, and through my chest.

I screamed.

What on earth is happening? I thought to myself frantically.

With my luck, no one even turned my way. Was everyone used to strange men sitting on the ground screaming?

A woman walks over to the two men and I watch her lips move without hearing anything come out. When the older man brings the arm that was through my chest back to his side and replies silently, I realize that I wasn’t able to hear anything at all.

Realizing this, I started straining my ears to hear what they were saying and noises slowly started to trickle into my head and my barely functioning brain started recognizing them.

Now that the sounds reached my ears, it was deafening. There were people moving and talking and shouting; I could finally hear the cameras and the sirens

of police cars. It was chaos.

The younger of the two men kneeling above me reached out his similarly gloved hand. This time I didn’t extend my hand for a greeting, and again the man’s arm went through my chest. His skinny pale form shivered, and his voice reached my ears finally, though it sounded like it was underwater; “are the bodies normally this cold, sir?” he looks at the graying man next to him and he nods a confirmation, before turning back to the curly-haired woman who had approached the three of us just a little while earlier.

“Body?” I yelled, though again no one heard me. That seemed very odd to me but since I woke up, everything seemed odd.

The fear of what could possibly be talking about finally hit me and the adrenaline rebooted my body. I finally stood, albeit shakily. Standing now, I found myself looking at the forehead of the pale woman, who still hadn’t acknowledged my presence. Then again no one else had either.

“Have you identified him yet, Mairin?” the older man asks the woman.

“Yes, we did. That’s what I was coming to tell you about.” She ties her curly hair back into a ponytail as she talks. This made it easier for me to see her eyes dart around the other people in identical uniforms. The two gentlemen that I stood above start talking about the body, which I had somehow completely forgotten about.

Turning, I felt lightheadedness that I chalked up to spinning too fast. I looked down on the most horrific scene I had seen outside of horror movies; there laid a

tan face staring blankly at the dull grey sky. His previously brown eyes looked familiar if closer to a now dark grey. It took me a second but then I stumbled back, my wide eyes matching the ones on the cold body before me.

“His name is Ephraim Appel; he is twenty-six and he lived in the Armamentarium extended-stay hotel just down the street.” Mairin points down the familiar forest path. I recognized it as my walk home from work, the worn wood slats of the bridge, the thin swaying trees. The birds, squirrels, and other wildlife were nowhere to be seen or heard. Most likely due to the surrounding anarchy.

“That’s my name. That’s where I live. That’s my body. What on earth is going on?” I look down at my hands, and I see myself; solid and as I’ve always seen myself. Not like the ghosts you see in the movies. “I can’t be dead.” I look back at the boy on the ground, “Can I?”

The older gentleman stands on wobbly legs and looks at Mairin “We’ll get the body to autopsy, you go on and do your job. I’ll see you later in the lab when we find the cause of death.”

Mairin nods and walks off in the direction she had pointed moments ago.

I look between her retreating form and the two men poking around the body. I decide to follow this Mairin girl. I assume she knows what’s going on, therefore she’s my best option. Oh, and I don’t want to see my own autopsy. That would be gross; seeing my body cut into and examined from the inside out. I shivered just thinking about it, so I follow her.

I don’t bother wasting energy on darting around behind trees and stuff, no one has seen me so far so I doubt they would see me now.

I follow her down the trail they found my body sprawled on. When we emerge from the shade of the trees, I am blinded by the bright morning sun; I can tell Mairin is too by the way she squints. After she gets her bearings and can see well enough, she walks across the crosswalk and turns to the left towards where my hotel is. Well, at least she gets points for safety. I jaywalk; seeing as I can’t die twice, I don’t see the point in using a crosswalk.

As we approached the tall building, I called home, the woman I was following adjusted her uniform to look more put together. I watched her with interest as she prepared herself to be cool and professional.

She walks in the grimy door of the building and approaches the front desk.

“Good afternoon ma’am, can I help you?” The pleasant lady who always worked the front desk asked, looking up from the ancient computer in front of her. Her standard bun of grey-blonde hair was comfortingly recognizable.

Mairin smiles politely. “Yes. I’m from the police department,” she holds up her badge for the woman to inspect. “I was hoping to talk to the landlord about a recent case that I’m working on. Is he here?” she ignored the baffled expression the receptionist wore.

“Of course, ma’am. I’ll call him down.” She dials a number on a phone, and talks for a minute or two, relaying the information to someone on the other side of the call. “He will be right down. He asked me to show you to his office so he

can speak to you about the case in a private place,” the woman stands as she speaks and walks around the desk to where she met Mairin. Then she leads her down a hallway.

I decided to follow the two women. I’ve come this far to snoop, I’m not going to stop just because they’re going into a different room.

By the time I had decided to follow them, they were already a few feet away. This means that when I finally caught up to them Mairin had closed the door to wait for my old landlord in her own thoughts. “Well great,” I say to myself, “Now I have to wait for Old Anton Ruffin to open the door and let me in,” I grumble under my breath as I lean against the door.

But I didn’t just lean there, oh no, I can’t do anything normal anymore could I? Instead, I fell right through the door and onto my back, my feet still on the other side. I’d never gone through anything but it felt like I would imagine falling through a cloud would be like. I quickly scramble to my feet, looking around the room. When I spotted the woman sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk, I saw her head was swiveled in my direction. “Can you see me?” I asked her hesitantly. She didn’t react or respond.

“I guess not then,” I sigh and look around the large office. To my right sat two chairs, a couch, and a centered wooden table around a fireplace. Then right in front of the door is a dark wooden desk with an imposing chair behind it. The rich black cushion on the chair matched every sitting surface in the room. On my left was an oval table surrounded with chairs, each place from right to left went from the most comfortable to the least comfortable. I knew he used it based on how you ranked on importance in his life. I for one had only ever sat at the table, going over late payments or g my lease. But I’d ed by once and saw a lawyer sitting with my landlord on the couch.

I’d never seemed to have had the time to look around before, he was always exasperated and wanting to get me out of his office.

After a few minutes of looking around, I walk to the desk of my ex-landlord. Walking around to the other side of the wobbly wood workplace, I spotted the fountain pen usually in Ruffin’s shirt pocket. I looked around to see what I could of his papers.

I looked up at the creak of the door, there stood the imposing man I knew as my ruthless, greedy, and imposing proprietor.

Mairin stood, her badge already set open in her hand.

“Well, at least she is experienced enough to know how to address confused people. I wonder how she will handle him,” I pause, looking between the two people standing in front of me; “Actually, how is Ruffin going to handle her? She’s small and doesn't look very scary, but she is a police officer. Will he batter her around as he does with his tenants?”

Ruffin stood in the doorway, staring at the meeker woman close to me.

“Hello, Mr. Ruffin. I am here to discuss a tenant of yours. If you would please indulge me on this investigation, I will get out of your hair as soon as possible,” Mairin was very polite yet curt in her greeting. Her mouth opened once again to continue what I assumed was her normal police spiel when Ruffin interrupted her.

He held up his hand to stop her from maintaining her momentum. “Anton,” his gruff voice says.

I can’t see her face very well but, I knew from how stiff her body had become that she was surprised that he had interrupted her. “Excuse me?”

Anton responded almost immediately, his face and voice apologetic “My name is Anton Ruffin. You being a police person and all I thought it’d be better for us to be on more friendly . I hope you don’t find me rude for interrupting you, I’m sure you’ll find I’m not the best at social situations.” He gave up the information easily. The words slipped from his tongue an octave higher without hesitation in an unfamiliar polite manner.

Mairin shook her head. “Not a problem but I’ll stick with Mr. Ruffin if you don’t mind,” her voice was assertive.

I watched as he took his long strides towards my position behind his desk. As he drew closer, I found myself instinctively making my way around the other side and standing next to the bright wall; from that place between the other two persons in the room, I could see that Mairin barely reached Anton’s mid-bicep. The revelation wasn’t particularly surprising to me though considering I just reached the man’s shoulder. And trust me, my height was nothing to sneeze at.

Copper curls bounced as Mairin turned to keep Anton in her line of sight. Now I could see that the tension in her shoulders was not in fact due to surprise, but due to her self-assured posture.

Her posture was differed from my own nervous posture, leaning against the

sterile depersonalized walls around us. My eyes flicking back and forth between the hulking form of a man I used to know and the thin willowy form of a woman I’d never truly met. “What is this situation I’ve been shoved into?” I said to myself. “Maybe I’m not dead. Maybe this is all an extensive dream; or even some sort of comma.” I pinched myself, hard. That didn’t do anything except cause me pain, it didn’t even leave any red irritation mark. “What am I thinking? I saw myself on the ground, my body wasn’t moving. I have to have died.” I drifted my attention back to the conversation in front of me, or I guess the end tail of it.

“Well thank you for the information, I’m sorry that this is how you had to find out that he is deceased,” the policewoman was saying.

Anton shook his head. “It’s not your fault at all Miss. I know you’re just doing your job. I hope that if you have any more questions for me you won’t hesitate to ask.” He gives a smile and holds out his hand to her. When she takes it, they shake only once. Then Mairin stands once again and I follow her out the two doors, then down the extensive hallway between the small office and desolate road. I followed Mairin closely after she picked up her phone, talking quietly to whoever was on the other side.

Mairin nodded and then must have realized that she couldn’t be seen, so she responded “Yes sir, I understand. So, he is victim number four? Thank you for the information, I’ll get back to the office now and report my conversation with his landlord.” She only waited for the quick response to then hung up.



The large building that read POLICE on the front was not what I expected it to

look like. I was used to the small-time police station we ed a mile or two back. That one had dark walls and a precarious roof; this building had massive stone walls and big glass doors. It seemed to be at least four stories tall, easily the tallest building in town. It seemed so clean. As I looked at it I noticed how much it sticks out in the dank place I called home; I started wondering how I’d never noticed it.

“This must be the main headquarters for the county,” I said to myself while standing in the middle of the road.

Realizing my “escort” of sorts was walking away, I jogged after her. I walked a respectful distance behind her but hurried when I saw the door closing behind her; I wasn’t willing to take the chance that falling through the door earlier had been a one-off chance. Reaching the door, I grabbed it and swung it open to let myself in. That was a bad decision. Mairin turned around, her eyebrows knit tightly into confusion at the door that seemingly opened on its own. She shook her head as if to dislodge the memory and then continued on into the extensive building.

I followed Mairin for the rest of the day, and man, was it a long one; even I felt tired after just watching what she had to put up with. I never realized how sexist the police officers in my town were. “They asked you to get them a coffee Mairin! Tell them off! You’re a higher rank!” I was frustrated enough to yell, though of course, I got no reaction; she couldn’t hear me after all.

As she sat in her office, finishing up what she promised to herself would be her last paper for the day, I picked up a sharpened pencil and threw it at the corkboard across the room. I looked at it surprised when it stuck there. Glancing at Mairin I saw the shocked expression that told me she’d seen exactly what just happened. She blinked and rubbed her eyes; then looks back up to where the pencil was still hanging, almost as if she expected it to disappear. I tried to stay as still as possible, like that would change the fact that I must have just made her

think that she’s hallucinating.

As the shock left her body, she turned in her spinning chair and closes her laptop, moving slowly; like I imagine someone would if they were being threatened by a gun to their head. Idly I wondered if she ever had gotten threatened by a gun pointed at her head. When she had rounded up all of her belongings, she walked out of her office turning off the light and closing the door routinely. I shadowed her as she locked up the station and walked to her apartment down the street.

Careful to not make myself noticeable I slipped into her living room and sat on the old tan couch I found there; specifically, on the other side of the obviously worn seat Mairin must prefer. I waited there for about an hour as my unknowing host changed and made herself a sad-looking hot dog for a very late dinner.

She grabbed the remote from between the cushions and turned her TV on; unsurprisingly she found the news channel and stuck with that to watch for the night. I looked on as she texted someone and then pulled out what I perceived as her work laptop. She typed away and I almost covered my ears from the repeating click-clack of her keys as she quickly typed something out onto her search engine.

We both looked up as her phone rang, she picked it up and examined the caller ID; it simply read ‘Sarah’. It meant nothing to me but Mairin seemed relieved to see the name; she pressed the green answer button.

“Hey, Sarah,” her voice sounded just as tired as she looked. “I know it’s really late and all-” she was cut off by whoever was on the other side of the call. “No it’s not about work this time. I promise. I texted you ‘cause I know you believe in weird stuff.” Her casual cadence of speech revealing that she was talking to

someone close to her.

“No not that kind of weird stuff, I said it wasn’t about work, didn’t I?” She mumbles something unintelligible that sounded like an agreement. “You believe in ghosts and similar things, don’t you?”

The sound of this Sarah person shouting on the other side of the phone could have been heard across the empty room.

It was Mairin’s turn to interrupt “I just need you to answer some questions for me,” she says through a sigh heavy with exasperation. “Can I put you on speaker so I can type notes and stuff?” she asks quickly before Sarah could reply. With confirmation from the other side, Mairin put her phone on the armrest of the couch and put her call on speaker; then settles her hands above her keyboard ready to type.

“I’m ready for your first question!” the all too perky voice said from the crackling speaker.

Mairin sighs again and dives right in, “Can ghosts pick things up?” she asks, her voice raised to be heard over the poor connection.

There is a small silence before the other woman responds. “Not all of them no. Normal spirits can only see our side of the vail, not interact with it. But poltergeists can interact with us and our objects,” she responds in a calmer and more matter of fact tone.

Mairin studiously types the notes onto her computer before her next question tumbles out, “Are poltergeists evil or angry spirits as most people believe?” If I hadn’t known her profession as a police officer I would have assumed she was a researcher based on the way she asked questions and how pointed her questions were.

“A fair few of them can be angry yes,” Sarah’s voice distorts into an unrecognizable jumble of sound.

Mairin picks up her phone and hits it gently on the armrest until the audio becomes clear again. “Hey, you just cut out, can you repeat that answer again, please sis?”

So that’s who Sarah is. Mairin’s sister must be the first person she thought of to talk to about something most people thought were fairy tales. Maybe if I can get some kind of message to Mairin, her sister can help me figure out what I’m doing as a ghost and how to, well, not be one anymore.

“A fair few poltergeists can be angry. But we never consider them to be evil; no spirits are evil in the eyes of a medium,” she continues her answer with a more ive tone “Most people think that they are evil because when they insult them, the poltergeist reacts in the only way available to them; moving things.”

Mairin types again. This conversation between sisters goes on for hours, and even when Mairin hangs up she spends even more time on her computer researching , phrases, and related topics to their conversation.

I roll my eyes. “You must be a very fun person to be around Mairin, with all

your computer time and obvious work addiction.” I couldn’t help making fun of her, I used to be the same way.

That’s how we spent the rest of the night, me making comments like she could hear me and Mairin researching away until she fell asleep in an odd position that had one leg under the other and her right arm, which had been holding up her head, wrapped around the back of her neck.



Hours later she woke up and I walked, or rather drifted, back into her living room. She stood and stretched; I’m almost positive she sleeps on her couch more often than in her actual bed. Examining her habits for a day revealed that well enough. She grabbed her phone and realized she was late, not to work, but to meet her sister Sarah for lunch. I’d checked the time about half an hour ago and ended up grabbing out a glass and pouring water into it. You can’t blame me for trying to help.

She rushed around the apartment, getting dressed; then making a quick cup of coffee, burning her tongue no doubt from the way she downed the glass of water.

I found myself floating through things to be able to keep up with her. Things like walls, doors, stairs, and even floors, all seemed to become insignificant in my rush to keep up with her.

Less than an hour later we were at the front door of a small yellow-painted house with a cliché white picket fence. The only thing that made it stick out from all

the other cookie-cutter houses on the street was the sign on the door that read: “All auras welcome”. I’m not sure I like the way that sounds.

After Mairin rings the doorbell we only had to wait a few seconds full of shuffling before the front door swung inward and a woman around her mid 30’s beamed at us, well Mairin, since she couldn’t actually see me. Mairin hugged the woman, who I assumed was her sister Sarah and I quickly slipped into the house while they greeted each other.

Without preamble, Sarah led Mairin to a bright room with the curtains on the windows shoved open as far as they would go. Paintings of people and ghosts alike adorned the walls, making the area seem more crowded than it actually was. The candles made from dark-colored wax, the hand-painted tarot cards, and the small grey book bound closed by a leather string made it seem like I was stepping onto the set of a horror movie, right before the summoning of a demon or spirit.

Mairin looks around, seemingly as mystified as I am; but she snaps to attention when Sarah starts speaking.

“Did you bring the pencil?”

“Of course, I brought the pencil Sarah, you told me to didn’t you?” Mairin replies, pulling out a pencil with a snapped tip.

I recognize the writing utensil immediately. It shocked me to see it being pulled from her bag, I thought it was still hanging from the corkboard in Mairin’s

office, back at police headquarters. “You must’ve taken it when I wasn’t looking, you sneaky woman,” I said to myself.

Sarah gestured to the small metal disk sitting in the exact center of a round table; Mairin walks over and places the pencil onto the disk. Then the pale sisters sat down on opposite sides of the surface.

Drifting ever closer I noticed that the grey book was now laid open to a page with scribbles in many different handwritings on it. Sarah and Mairin clasp one pair of hands around one side of the disk. The older of the two pinches a few tiny pieces of broken up leaves and sprinkles it over the pencil. Then she takes a small glass bowl with clear but thick fluid and pours that also on top of the small pile. Last but not least, she takes a dark candle and lights the pile of ingredients on fire.

I felt a slight tingle where my spine met my skull. It grew as Sarah started to softly sing a few words over and over, sounding like one of the zemirot my family used to sing when I was young.

Then suddenly the dulled almost colorless world I’d been seeing since I woke up burst into color. It was like I’d time-traveled from a 1930s black and white film into a brand-new jewel-toned world. I now saw that the candles were a deep purple, and the book Sarah read from was in fact ruby-red; not the sludgy grey I had originally seen it as. Everything was so bright; from the paintings on the wall, ed the pale green throw rug under the table, all the way to the bright fire red of Mairin’s slew of tight curls, and Sarah’s light auburn framing waves around her face

“What on earth?” I said in shock from my new look on the world.

Mairin’s head snapped up in my direction and her bright baby blue eyes widen in recognition. “Ephraim Appel?” her words are whispered.

I nodded slow enough to be considered a sloth. “You can see me now?” I ask, feeling the corners of my lips turn upwards “I thought I was going to have to live without any proper human interaction,” I paused, “Well not live I guess.” I laugh at my own joke.

She scoots her chair back so quickly that it made a loud scraping noise. Walking to my side she looked me over from every direction.

Sarah watched her younger sister in an analytical fascination. “Mairin? What’s wrong? Can you see something?” She stood excitedly and bounces to her sister's side and tries to see what she would see. She pushed into her personal bubble, which seemed to be too much for Mairin. She pushed her sister into the nearest corner and hissed, “What did you do?” she sounded close to frantic.

“I-” Sarah stares at her sister, “I don’t know! What do you see? I can’t undo it until you tell me what you can see.” Her voice was firm and under control.

Sarah glanced over her freckled shoulder at me; then she was back to glaring at her sister, “The last body I saw. But alive and well. Sarah, I’m seeing a dead man walking. Quite literally.” Her sentences were direct and clipped, giving away her anxiousness.

Sarah smiles again. “Good, then ask him all your police questions while I figure

out what happened.” She walks swiftly back to her little red book.

Mairin spins cautiously on the ball of her foot and gives me a nervous smile, which was accompanied by a quick release of air that I assumed was some kind of laugh. I finally noticed that the tank top she was wearing wore the same phrase that had been by the door, except this time it was a deep navy-blue background with gold lettering.

“I don’t know how long I’m going to have to talk to you, so,” she pauses, swinging her hands, “I’m just going to go for it. Who killed you and how?” After another short pause of thinking she continues again “And why. It wasn’t for money or a love interest.”

I shook my head “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

She stopped swinging her arms, “I’m sorry, what? You can’t help the police officer who took your murder case?” She was visibly outraged if you looked at her downward pointing eyebrows, the now crossed arms, and the downturn to her mouth.

Sarah looked up excitedly. “Ask him why. Is there some kind of rule against it? Will it hurt you in the afterlife if you tell us? Is that why he’s here? Is that why the spell went wrong and now you two can see each other?” She listed off the questions while counting on her fingers, much to the annoyance of Mairin.

The policewoman uncrossed her arms, “Sarah. He can hear you. Ask yourself.”

“He can?”

“Yes Sarah, he can hear you; you just can’t hear him,” Mairin shakes her head, “Aren’t spirits supposed to be your forte?”

Sarah rolls her eyes, exasperated by her baby sister. “I’ve never had someone accidentally get linked to a spirit. Good news, what happened is in the book so I should be able to figure out how to reverse it. Bad news, from just skimming the pages, it looks like it requires a spell which of course requires a potion. I think it will take me a few days.”

Sarah was hunched over the red book, skimming the pages she had flipped to.

Mairin gave a relieved sigh. “Alright, that means I have enough time to get help from Ephraim on his case.” She turns to me, “Are you willing to help me figure out what happened to you?”

My answer came rapidly and without thinking, “Of course. That’s mostly why I’m here. But I should tell you that I don’t know the answers to your questions, I don't know who killed me. I don’t know how they killed me. And I don’t know why they killed me. I heard you say I’m the fourth victim of the same person, I read about the case I think you're talking about. I don't know how I fit in.”

I watched as Mairin’s frustration melted into confusion. “Wait, Ephraim, what you’re saying is you don’t who killed you?”

“No, I everything leading up to my final breath. I just don’t know who did it or how I got killed,” I looked at my chest and pointing to the vague area my heart was located. “I a pain here; I was on the ground and then dead before I could see what had hit me.”

That was when Mairin’s phone rings, she picked it up and answered it, “Hello, this is Mairin Byrne.” After a few moments of listening to the caller and giving a few “thank yous” she hangs up and looks at me. “We should go into the police station; we’ve got an update on your body.” She slips the phone back into her back pocket. “And from the information you’ve given me we’ve been wrong with our hunches for the past six months.”

I nod, “Alright, I’ll follow you.”

We say goodbye to Sarah and call a taxi to the station. When we get into her office there are papers on her desk and Mairin sits down, immediately starting to read them.

“Alright, the cause of death matches the other three victims, a hole in their chest from a circular object. But see the thing is we originally thought that the weapon was some kind of javelin. But that would mean that the killer would have to be within seven and a half to nine feet away from their victim. Because you told me you didn’t see your killer, I’m going to throw out the idea that the murder weapon was a javelin.” As she spoke, she pinned up crime scene photos or pieces of reports on her corkboard.

I watched her stare at the corkboard trying to see a connection from me to the other three victims. That’s when I noticed a picture of a partial fingerprint pinned up next to the picture of the second victim, a young girl named Emily Withers.

“Mairin? Is that a partial fingerprint? From the killer?” I scooted to the front of the armchair I was sat in.

Mairin turned and then pointed at the picture I was referencing. “This? Yes, it’s a partial fingerprint, we’ve already tried to use it to find a match on someone in the database but it matches way too many people. It’s practically useless at this point,” she shrugs and takes a stock photo of a javelin off the board.

I nod and then look back at the board.

“What are those papers under the other victim’s picture?”

The red head in front of me took the thumbtacks from the corners of one of the papers I was referencing and hands it to me. One look at it and I could see that it was an eviction notice, from the same extended-stay hotel I had lived in. It was notifying the victims that their rent was ed due. I look up at my new friend. “So, all the victims, except for me, recently got an eviction notice?”

Mairin tilted her head, “What do you mean except for you? You got one too. Your landlord sent over a copy,” she shuffled through some of the papers on her desk, then she pulls out a paper almost identical to the one I was holding; except this one had my name on it.

“Mairin,” I say as I tilt my head to look up at her, “I never received this eviction notice, I was up to date on my payments. You can look in my safety deposit box at the box at the bank, I kept copies of my records there.”

She takes the paper and looks it over, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Then there was a light knock at the door and when Mairin calls for the person on the other side to come in, a tired-looking young boy walks in holding a stack of papers.

“Detective Byrne? The Bureau of Insurance Fraud sent over the financial papers you requested on Anton Ruffin,” he read the information of a small slip of paper in his hand; then when he looks up he gives a small smile, attempting to be polite.

Mairin confiscates the papers from the boy before sending him on his way to do his other errands. I stand and walk over to where she was scanning over the papers, I look over her shoulder to read them. “He’s paid for crossbow arrows?” I ask, my voice a bit higher than normal due to my confusion. “But Anton said he hates hunting.”

Mairin’s head snapped up towards me and she whipped out her phone dialing a number she apparently had memorized. “Hi Mr. Grey, I was wondering if in your professional opinion; could the wounds on the victims of the Destitute Killer be caused by a crossbow arrow instead of a Javelin like we originally thought?” When she gained what sounded like approving and confirming noises from the other side she thanked the man and hung up.

“I think we may have just cracked the case, Ephraim.” She gives me a light smile.



After a few days of gaining evidence and then just waiting, Mairin finally got the warrant to search the private property of one Anton Ruffin. I found that I was apprehensive that night and obviously Mairin was as well from the lack of sleep she got.

Mairin walked towards my old hotel and I stayed in step with her, there were three other police officers behind us. They had the handcuffs and they were ready to help arrest a large man should Anton Ruffin try to resist. We walked up to the front desk and a younger worker looked around the group of men and women in blue uniforms.

“Can I-” he cuts himself off with a gulp, “Can I help you?” His curly blonde hair was kind of familiar but I couldn’t place a name to his face.

Mairin took charge. “What room does Anton Ruffin live in?” Her strict voice causes the younger boy to squeak out his answer almost immediately. Mairin and her entourage walk quickly to the room stated, the suite on the first floor. I shadowed Mairin and when she knocked on the door a smile lifted my lips, showing how ecstatic I was to know we were about to finally get answers.

The hulking landlord opens his door and when he sees Mairin he plasters on a polite smile. Then he notices the group behind her and the smile drops into a neutral expression. “Can I help you, nice police folks?” he asked in an almost threatening tone.

Mairin holds up the warrant to his face, “We’ve come to check your personal room.”

His shadow disappears when he steps to the side to let our group through. Immediately I spot the crossbow hanging by the window of the room; I pick up the curtain next to it and then I drop it. That gets Mairin’s attention and she spots the hunting weapon as well. She nods to her three co-workers. They grab Anton’s wrists and cuff him, and Mairin walks over and grabs the crossbow, arrows, and bowstring wax.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney-” Mairin hands one of the male police officers the things she held; they led Anton from the room.

Mairin called a taxi and we drove to Sarah’s house; she had gathered what she needed for her spell. We walked around the house and into the back yard. There, Sarah and Mairin stood in a circle around the potion and pile of other ingredients, Sarah sang some more words that I could hear this time; they seemed to be in a different language. It sounded like Latin.

I knew it was working when the spot between my spine and my skull started to tingle.

The last thing I can before hitting the ground was the brilliant color of the sky. It was soon after, that it all went black.

THE END

The Death of Elsie Joseph and its Consequences

by Zoe Mullen

Elsie Joseph woke with a gasp, a cold feeling running down her spine. She sat up in her bed and glanced fervently around her small bedroom for the cause of her alarm. Finding nothing, Elsie thought back to her dreams. She had dreamt that someone had broken into her room and suffocated her with her pillow. It had seemed so real that it was like she could reach out and cup the memory in her hands like a fragile baby bird. She stood up and softly glided to her door, her feet so light it was as if they didn’t touch the floor at all. Everything felt distant, like she was in space, staring down at the Earth, a tiny little sphere, and she was much closer to the stars than to anything else. It was a peaceful night where the air was still. Perhaps that was why she barely took notice as she drifted right through the door.

A figure rushed down the stairs, arms laden with jewels. Elsie followed, quickly drifting down the stairs, light as a feather. She tried to call out to them but her words were muffled, as if underwater. She tried to scream, but it was distorted and far away, as were her emotions. If she was in orbit, then her feelings were back on Earth, tethered to another realm that she could never return to, if she had ever been there in the first place.

Elsie wanted to panic, but that feeling was lost somewhere along the way, all she could feel was a vague sense of wanting to worry. She wanted to be afraid of her lack of true panic, but all she could experience was a smidge of concern. She wanted to feel the high of rage, the triumph of joy, and the endlessness of sorrow, but all she felt was vague impressions, shallow copies, and inaccurate

shadows. Once she had been an ocean of emotion, with depths not even she truly knew, now she was nothing more than a shallow, dried up riverbed with only an impression of where water had once been.

A car started up as the thief made their great escape, leaving with very little of what they had truly stolen. Elsie went to a phone on the wall, she had always liked the way the old phones looked so she had had a few installed around her house instead of getting a mobile, her hand reached toward the handle. Her hand kept reaching, straight through the wall into the kitchen. She was dreaming, surely. She had to get back to her room to go back to sleep, because this was a dream, so she’d wake up. Elsie floated upstairs to her room, desperate to curl under her covers and cuddle her childhood stuffed bear.

But Elsie would get no rest, for while she saw her bed, covers, and her precious bear, she also saw her cold, lifeless corpse. The only mercy she was given was the inability to see her face because of the pillow on top of it.

___________

Margot Joseph was not close to her mother, Elsie Joseph, so when she didn’t hear from her for a few days, she was not concerned. They usually spoke on the phone an average of once a week, and saw each other in person about once a month, and because her mother insisted on only using wall phones instead of a mobile, it added to the difficulty of staying in touch. It’s not as if Margot hated her mother, it’s just that she was busy with her final year of college, it was a twohour drive to her house from her dorm, and her job didn’t pay enough for her to afford to take regular four-hour road trips.

She could have always asked for gas money from her mother, but Margot never liked asking for money, especially not from her mother. Her mother wasn’t

hurting for cash, and her mother never held it over Margot’s head on the rare occasion she lent her money. It had more to do with Margot herself, more than anything, she hadn’t wanted to be dependent on someone ever since when she was twelve her father left her mother, destroying her and her then stay-at-home mother’s lives. They had had a rough couple of years, just barely scraping by, only avoiding homelessness because of her mother’s diner job and her father’s occasional child checks. When she was fourteen, her mother had started a nail polish brand that made her millions and pushed them apart. Her mother was busy most of the time with her company, and Margot had been busy with starting high school, then later college, so it was understandable that they drifted apart. Despite this, perhaps because of this, Margot had ired her mother and strived to be like what her mother grew to be, independent, reliable, and comfortable alone.

So no, when Margot Joseph didn’t hear from her mother for a few days, she wasn’t concerned, it was only when it had been two weeks that she grew worried.

___________

Martin Joseph hadn’t heard from his ex-wife, Elsie Joseph, in five years. This had coincided with his daughter Margot Joseph’s eighteenth birthday, as he no longer had to pay child and Elsie no longer had a reason to leave long, angry voicemails about his infrequent checks. He hadn’t meant to be so inconsistent in his payments at the start, but it’s not like he’s ever been made of money, and he likes to eat out a couple times a week, and to buy something nice for whoever he’s seeing at the moment. Then he heard that Elsie had made millions, and he felt a lot less inclined to pay, and much more inclined to delete Elsie’s voicemails unheard. Martin supposes that at the start the voicemails were because Elsie couldn’t afford to hire a lawyer, but he thinks that once she had the money for a lawyer, she didn’t need or want the money, only an excuse to hurl profanities at him as a form of therapy or perhaps revenge. Either way, he was relieved when he no longer had to hear Elsie’s voice or her hatred.

He was curled up on his couch with a glass of red wine when the phone rang. It wasn’t Elsie, but it was about her.

___________

Detective Luther Jennings was interviewing the sobbing daughter of the deceased from his newest case. The daughter, Margot Joseph, had been the one to discover the body. According to her, the deceased, Elsie Joseph, hadn’t returned her calls for a couple of weeks, and because of this Ms. Joseph had visited her mother’s house to check on her wellbeing. When the deceased had not answered the door after Ms. Joseph had repeatedly knocked and rang the doorbell several times, she had used the key that the deceased kept under a plant near the door. Ms. Joseph had eventually discovered the deceased’s corpse in her bedroom with a pillow on top of her face. Ms. Joseph had then used her mobile to call 911, and was gently escorted to the police station, which is where Detective Jennings came into play.

“I had to leave th- the room to…” Ms. Jennings paused to let out a wail. “make the call, the smell was so bad, that I- I couldn’t breathe. Oh God, how long had she been there?”

“Forensics puts their best guess at a week or two. Now, when was the last time you were in with Ms. Joseph?” Detective Jennings was perhaps too blunt at times, but he has found that it is better to be direct and clear to avoid confusion and to make this whole process run smoother.

“I- I don’t know? A few weeks ago? How am I supposed to focus on this? My mother is dead!” Ms. Joseph fleetingly shifted into shouting, that quickly

devolved back into crying.

“Ms. Joseph, I am just trying to assemble a coherent timeline. Now, is there anyone you know that would want to hurt your mother?” Ms. Joseph resumed blubbering at Detective Jennings’s words.

___________

Elsie Joseph longed to comfort her daughter, to hold her while her tears leaked into her shoulder, like when Margot was young.

Her fingers slipped through her shoulder.

___________

Marin Joseph was outraged. He had had to cancel a date with his new girlfriend to drive down to a police station five hours away just to be interviewed about a woman he hadn’t seen in eleven years, hadn’t heard from in five years, and hadn’t thought about in four years and three hundred sixty-four days.

Martin marched up to the doors of the police station, yanked them open and nearly slammed them closed. The reason that Martin did not slam the doors of the police station closed was because even when mad, he wasn’t stupid enough to cause a seen in a room full of people all legally carrying guns, and who could shoot him, most likely escaping unscathed.

“Excuse me,” Martin tapped the shoulder of a nearby uniformed officer. “I was called here by an ‘Detective Jennings’ because my ex-wife died and he wanted to speak to me. Where can I find him?”

“He’s probably at his desk, but he could be out on the job.” Martin glared at the officer, who was nervous, and most likely younger than his daughter. “But I’ll go check if he’s here, and if he is, I’ll let him know that you’re here.” The officer smiled weakly in an attempt to appease Martin.

“That’s fine, but I can’t stay here long, I’ve got places to be.” That wasn’t true, Martin just wanted to press a sense of urgency upon the officer so that the whole process would move faster and Martin could leave sooner. It was a ten hour round trip and he didn’t want to stay overnight.

“I’m sure the Detective won’t keep you long.” The officer walked a few steps towards the elevator, before pausing and turning to face Martin again. “Oh, and sir?”

“What?” Martin huffed almost to the point of growling but prevented himself from it for the same reason he didn’t slam the doors.

“You need to sign in.” The officer reached the elevator and pushed the button.

___________

Detective Luther Jennings was just finishing up the paperwork from his most recent closed case when the Officer Lloyd jogged up to his desk. He was out of breath and rested his hand on Detective Jennings’ desk to steady himself.

“Officer Lloyd, why are you at my desk? And so exhausted?”

“There’s a man… here to see you… said you called him here, ... he’s downstairs and kinda rude.” Officer Lloyd completed his statement and took deep breaths.

“That must be Mr. Joseph, I’m interviewing him in connection with my latest case.” He provided an elaboration even when Officer Lloyd didn’t ask for one. “Also why are you so out of breath?”

“The elevator is broken and Mr. Joseph said he was in a hurry, so I ran up the stairs which was… a mistake,” Officer Lloyd seemed to have mostly recovered from his jog up the stairs.

“Is the elevator broken, I didn’t notice.”

“It's been broken for like two weeks. How have you not noticed?” Officer Lloyd looked at him in disbelief.

“I take the stairs to keep in shape.” Detective Jennings shrugged. “Now I best not keep Mr. Joseph waiting too long if he’s in such a hurry.”

___________

Martin Joseph was once again outraged. “This is insane!” The detective was absolutely idiotic in his opinion.

“Mr. Joseph, I just inquired where you were on the fifth, as that is the last day that your ex-wife, Elsie Joseph was seen alive. I am trying to assemble a cohesive timeline, and your whereabouts at the time of death of the deceased would help me do that.” Detective Jennings kept his face so blank and calm that Martin was actively fighting back the urge to punch the man in the nose, so that at least he would show some emotion and Martin could feel like he’d won something from being interrogated. “If you cannot provide your whereabouts, well, it does not paint a great picture, and raises suspicions.”

“I’m telling you that I didn’t do it! I live like five hours away from where Elsie died, there’s no way I could have done it!” Martin slammed his fist against the table that sat in front of the chair he stood up from.

“So you should have no problem informing me where you were, if there is no possible way for you to have done it.” The Detective’s face barely changed but Martin could tell he was smug, and that made him want to punch the guy in his glasses, so that they would break and cut his eyes. “Now, where were you on the fifth.”

Martin wanted to grab at the sides of his own greying hair in frustration until he no longer had hair there. “I didn’t kill Elsie, I didn’t care about her enough to kill her! I hadn’t even heard from her in five years!” He was shouting louder now, practically screaming in the Detective’s face. He knows that he should calm down and stop shouting because he’s screaming at a cop, someone with the power to arrest him, taze him, or shoot him. Martin has always had an issue with

controlling his anger, it was one of the only things he shared in common with Elsie, and right now he’s too high on pure, unbridled rage to care about consequences.

The Detective looked slightly weary, and Martin took some satisfaction in that. “Mr. Joseph, I just need your alibi, and if you are as innocent as you claim, there should be absolutely no problem with giving me an alibi.” He corrected his already straight glasses and gestured for him to retake his seat. Some part of Martin snapped at that.

“I don’t where I was or what I was doing!” Martin hadn’t meant to say that, in fact, he had been specifically avoiding saying anything like that. He sat back in his chair, exhausted all of a sudden. His head fell in hands and a few tears slipped from his eyes onto his palms.

“Mr. Joseph... Martin, why don’t you explain to me what happened on the fifth?” Martin peaked out from one of his hands and saw that Detective Jennings had a small smile that almost made his eyes kind.

“Like I said, I didn’t kill Elsie, but I was nearby when she was killed.” Martin shakily sighed and gave into telling the truth, knowing the consequences. “I was there for a business trip, and I met up with an old friend. I knew him from when I lived there and was married to Elsie. This friend is part of the reason Elsie and I got divorced, you see, because he was my weed dealer, and Elsie found out. She said she wouldn’t tell anyone if I quit, but I didn’t, and she kept nagging me about it until it was all we talked about when our daughter wasn’t around. Eventually it got to the point where I was just tired of her nagging, and her, and the life we’d built. I think I was tired before she found out, I think that’s why I started smoking weed, because I was-”

“You’re getting off topic, Mr. Joseph. We are talking about the fifth of this month, when Mrs. Joseph was killed.” Detective Jennings’ lips thinned. “We are not talking about what lead to your divorce.”

“Oh, sorry.” Martin ran a hand through his hair. He had been stalling, he knew the outcome was inevitable, but he hadn’t been ready to talk, still wasn’t, to be perfectly honest. “So, I was in town and I met up with my weed guy for the first time in eleven years and did weed for the first time in eleven years. I quit weed when I divorced Elsie and moved away; I switched to alcohol because it’s legal and I wasn’t so tired all the time. Anyway, I smoked weed with my friend for ‘old times sake’ and then he said that he’d started selling harder stuff since I last saw him. He offered me some pills, I don’t what he called them, but he used the street names, so I didn’t know what was in them. I was high and didn’t care about health risks, so I popped three or four, I’m not sure the exact number. The next thing I knew…” Martin stopped his story to take a moment to prevent his tears from reaching his chin. “...the next thing I knew, I was lying in an alleyway on the other side of the city, my watch was missing, and it was early morning the next day. I went back to the hotel that the company I work for booked, bought a new watch in a nearby store, and barely made it on time to a meeting at eight o’clock that morning.”

“What is the name of your old weed dealer?” Detective Jennings leaned in slightly, his pen ready to write in his notepad. “If we can find him, he could your alibi, and you’ll probably only get some probation, a small fine, and maybe some jail time for possession of Marijuana. I’m not sure about the consequences for the other drugs, but if you don’t know what they are, and it’s been long enough that most drugs would have left your system by now. A good lawyer could make a case to get you out of that part.” Detective Jennings placed an arm on Martin’s upper arm.

“He goes by Mark, but he never gave me a last name, it’s probably a fake name.” Martin wiped more tears from his eyes.

“Do you know where to find him? Or anything that might help us find him?”

Martin shook his head.

“Well, that’s not great.” Detective Jennings removed his hand from Martin’s arm.

___________

Bryce Marshall bought the local newspaper, he always liked to get his news through that medium because he wanted to newspapers as an information delivery system, he thought it unfair that they were being run out of business by the internet. What he read on the newspaper that he bought was very pleasing to him. Martin Joseph had been convicted of the murder of his ex-wife, local multi-millionaire, Elsie Joseph, and sentenced to life in prison. The paper praised the ‘brilliant detective’, Luther Jennings, who had solved the case based on Martin’s of the day that his ex-wife was murdered.

“His story was so full of holes, it seemed obvious that he was guilty” quotes a statement made by Detective Jennings on Martin’s conviction. Bryce huffed out a laugh, he really had gotten away with everything.

Martin’s arrival had been the perfect opportunity. When Bryce, or ‘Mark’ as the people who he dealt drugs to called him, had told Martin that he had started selling harder stuff, he hadn’t just meant drugs. He had also meant that he started selling things that were more difficult to procure than drugs, like expensive

jewelry stolen from a very rich woman. All he had had to do was get Martin high, and pretend to do so as well, then he gave him drugs strong enough to knock him out for a while. After that he had had to load him into the trunk of his car, drive to an area near his ex-wife’s house, and dump Martin in an alleyway, stealing his watch so he couldn’t give any cops that may get involved an exact time for anything, plus the watch looked nice. The only thing that had been left was quietly breaking into Elsie Joseph’s house, smothering her with a pillow in her sleep, and grabbing as much expensive jewelry as possible to carry in his escape. All the jewelry was sold long before the police even knew to look for it.

Overall, Bryce considered the whole business a job well done, after all, he had made almost a hundred grand in cash.

___________

Elsie Joseph standing in front of her own grave that read ‘Here lies Elsie Joseph, Beloved Mother.’ and the start and end of her life. She was okay with this, in life, mother had been her favorite title. She knew that if she still had a heart, it would be warmed by the ‘beloved’ in front of her favorite title. Her daughter had written her tombstone and said things at her funeral that would have brought tears to her eyes, had she still been able to cry. Elsie knew that her daughter would be okay because she had had the foresight to write a will that left Margot everything as soon as she had made millions. She wished with all the feeling that remained in her that she could have been there for her daughter when she still had had time. Elsie couldn’t have that, so she only wished Margot a life full of happiness, success, and love. Then the dried-up river within Elsie Joseph began to slowly fill with water as she was lifted up.

THE END

Hell of a Way to Start the Day

by Kathleen Lopez

Bloodstains on the carpet and screaming down the hall. That is how my morning starts. It certainly is the screaming that gets my attention for starters. At first, it’s just a sound off in the distance that my sleep-riddled brain justifies as a bird or a car’s screeching tires. But soon enough, I make the connection that the sound is indeed someone screaming.

Suddenly I am startled awake, panting, with my heart racing. I bolt to a seated position in my bed. My hand flies to my chest as if to keep my heart from bursting through my ribcage. Another scream. My head turns to my bedroom door. I debate. Of course, I feel an immediate need to find out where the screaming is coming from, but then reason seeps into my thoughts, smothering me like a warm and heavy woolen blanket. The need is there, but there is no desire.

Screaming means danger. Don’t go towards danger. Run away.

I look around the room and realize the only means of escape is my bedroom door. Then upon closer inspection, I realize a terrible reality. That is not my bedroom door. This is not my bedroom. I am struck with the sudden awareness that I have no idea where I am.

I scramble from the bed and recoil in horror at the thought of lying there just moments ago. All thoughts of fleeing disappear from my mind. For some reason, I have an overwhelming sense to check my person. I begin patting my arms, legs, and my back pockets as my hands are on a mission of their own. What I am looking for, I don’t know right away. I soon realize that I am without my cell phone. I am not surprised by that discovery, for some reason. It seems to be a foregone conclusion that if I were made unconscious in some manner and placed in an isolated location, the loss of my cell phone would have transpired in my relocation. I try and rack my brain about the last thing I .

All I know for sure is my head is throbbing.

Was I hit on the head? If I wasn’t hit on the head, was I drugged and hit my head after collapsing for some reason?

I am pulled away from the introspection of my most immediate history by yet another scream from the other side of the door. This one not as robust as the other screams I heard, but it is a scream all the same. This scream sounds more tortured than the others seemed to be out of sheer fear—more of a reason for me not to open that door.

The windowless room in which I find myself gives away no clues as to where I am. The place is simply furnished, only outfitted with a table and what seems to be a glass of water, a twin bed with sheets that make my stomach turn, knowing I was in with them, and a lamp on the floor in the corner. The light is on, but either due to being on the floor or the bulb is near the end of life, it merely casts a dim glow into the room.

The wallpaper that is peeling in the corners is dingy, and the faint lighting does it no favors. I am pulling in on myself as my arms reactively cross my chest as I

breathe in deep. The initial smell that hits me is dank and stale. It is something like cast-off, long-standing dirty water. A more metallic smell soon follows that scent. It is so strong that it is palatable, and I feel in the back of my throat. That, too, makes me subconsciously step further back from the door.

There is nothing about this situation that rings as anything good. What is on the other side of that paint-chipped door? I continue to walk backward slowly, my eyes fixated on that door. I stop short of hitting the wall behind me. I tense up at the mere thought of touching the wall. I don’t want to touch anything in this room, this house, if that is where I am, after all.

As the repulsion of touching anything in this room starts to fades, it dawns on me. It is now eerily silent. The screaming has stopped.

Now what?

I swallow hard. Now I am torn. Do I stay here, in this room, where I am somewhat safe, or do I try and make a break for it? Then I wonder if I am safe. Perhaps whoever brought me here intends for me to be next. Maybe I am next to experience the horrors that whoever had been screaming about moments ago had just gone through.

Is that to be my fate? Is it now my turn?

I take a steadying breath and decide my next move.

The hell with it. Run.

I stride purposely across the room towards the door. I commit to opening the door and bolting out of it so I won’t chicken out. I grab hold of the tarnished brass knob firmly, take a deep breath, and turn it. It surprises me that the door appears unlocked. While I notice there are no locks visible from the inside, I assume there would be some padlock situation on the exterior of the door. Since there isn’t anything trapping me in the room, I ease the door open slowly. The first thing I see is a long hallway. There seems to be a door or two opposite each other at the far end of the hall. Old wood ing lines the hallway, some spots scared by large scrapes. More of that dank, stale smell hangs in the air. I peer down the hall to see if there are any signs of life. I narrow my eyes as the light here is also much too dim for the space.

My gaze then drops down to the floor, and there I see dark patches on the tan carpet. My gaze starts down at the far end where there is a large pooled stain and drifts back up the hall, following the smaller spots connected with a few swipes where someone either was dragged or tried to scramble away.

I stop following the stains as my view ends at my own feet. That’s when I realize what I am looking at now. It takes me a moment to recognize these patches and smears are bloodstains.

I grab hold of the door jamb to steady myself. The silence concerns me. I hear no sounds of life from anyone anywhere. The screaming has undoubtedly stopped. Whoever was causing the screams is not making any sounds, either.

Where are they?

I let go of the doorway and venture slowly into the hall—I take a few steps, and my stomach rolls. There is a sickening squish with each footfall. I try not to think about why, just to save myself from getting sick. I move slowly down the hall, staying close to the left sidewall. I have no plan. I am just walking down this hall, hoping there is another option, like a turn to take instead of trying to open either visible door.

Doors just lead to other rooms, not necessarily salvation.

I am approaching the first door on the left side. I slow to a stop so I can listen. I ease my head towards the door in case this mysterious person is behind door number one.

Silence. I am about to sigh aloud but am afraid to make any sounds. I slip quickly past the door as quietly as I can. Now I am directly in front of the door on the opposite wall. I turn, face the door, and freeze in place.

Someone is in there.

I hear muffled movements.

Is that the person who was screaming? Is that the person making them scream?

My foot involuntarily moves backward, my heel hitting the floorboard. While the sound is not loud, it is enough for the muffled sounds coming from the other side of the door to stop. I spy that the hallway does continue to the right. I need

to get out of here before someone decides to investigate the noise I just made. I make a move towards the turn in the hallway. I push off the wall and quickly cross the hall, avoiding the door, and enter the new portion of the hall. This portion of the hall is considerably shorter, with the walls giving way on the right to a wooden railing and a staircase leading up. It suddenly makes sense to me why everything is so dark; I’m underground, in a basement.

I make for the stairs in hopes they lead to a way out of this house. Nothing looks at all familiar so far, so I am not sure what is in store for me at the top of those stairs, but has to be better than where I am. At least, that’s what I assume.

I reach the stairs and see that they are wood. My heart sinks at the possible sound that is going to be made with each step. If Murphy’s Law is in effect, then each step should squeak and creak with my every movement. I figure if I go slow, perhaps it will be okay; it just means that my escape will be that much slower.

I take my first tentative step on the first step. I am happy to feel that the step is solid. As I transfer my full weight and lift my other foot from the carpet, I suddenly realize that walking down the blood-soaked carpet has made my shoes incredibly slippery.

I slip slightly, almost losing my balance as I plant my other foot. Holding tightly to the railing, I tried to determine if my sudden acrobatics made any noise. I am so focused on not falling I don’t immediately recall if I made any noise. I can’t imagine that it was utterly silent. My worry now is that since I heard movement in the room I just ed, and this staircase is located near that room, perhaps even shares the back wall with that room, if there was any noise, whoever was in the room certainly heard.

I pause for a second, waiting to hear any movement, to see if the door slowly open, but nothing comes. I catch my breath and try to venture up the stairs once more. I am considerably more careful now, realizing I am slightly hindered by blood-soaked shoes. With each step, I am methodically slow. This makes me more and more anxious. Not only do I not know where I am, but I also have no idea what I am walking towards.

Was that noise the person who brought me here? Are they upstairs?

Then a pang of fear jolts through me.

Were they alone?

I freeze again. There is no real way to know what I am slowing trudging toward now. I shake my head to rid myself of the thought as I know I have no other choice at this point.

I may indeed be slow walking to more misery, but my only other option is to sit and wait for trauma to find me. At least I am somewhat in control right now. I feel a bit of confidence; taking a few steps and temporarily forgetting to take it slow, my foot slips out from underneath me entirely. I come slamming down onto my shin before I can grapple for the handrail.

The echoing thud followed by my muffled cry has to have been heard by whoever is still in the house. This is confirmed as I suddenly hear sudden movement from the room I ed on route to the stairs. I am reeling from the pain of my shin, holding onto it as the pain is excruciating. I hear the doorknob of the second room jingle, and my mind goes into overdrive.

Get up.

I try to wind myself from the mock fetal position I curled into upon hitting the riser with my shin.

GET UP. They’re coming.

I hop to a standing position once more. I haven’t tried to put my weight onto my injured leg.

Get moving! They’re coming soon.

I put my foot down, and the pain shoots up my leg, causing me to whimper.

Get over it. Run!

I realize someone is now out of that room and has made it to the stairs, where I am standing mid-way up now. The sudden fear of being caught allows me to scramble up the stairs. The blood my shoes collected from the hall now works in my favor as whoever behind me is slipping on the stairs. The traction slowly comes back to my shoes as most of the moisture was deposited on the steps behind me.

I now start to move in earnest up the remaining stairs. At the top of the stairs is a door. I try not to panic, thinking that the door I am now running to is locked. I pray that it is not. I am now within a few steps of that door.

Reaching for the knob, I pull myself up the last two steps. This door is also unlocked. Whoever brought me here had such faith that I would not even try to escape that they didn’t bother securing anything. It amazes me momentarily, but then my thoughts return to the urgency at hand. I pull myself to the door and push through.

While there was no hint of it down in the basement, when the door opens, I am in a larger room bathed in sunlight. My vision is all but blurred, and it takes a moment to get my bearings. The thudding sound from the stairs behind me brings me back to my mission, to get away from them and escape entirely.

I slam the door behind me. I realize there is a swing latch on the outside of the door, but no padlock is available. I frantically look around and notice a random screwdriver on a shelf. Not concerned as to why it is there, I grab it and drop it into the loop, locking the door just in time, as whoever is on the other side has just reached the top of the stairs.

There is no way that one latch is going to keep whoever it is behind that door for very long. I rotate, looking for an exit. With the sudden surge of adrenaline that got me up those stairs in such a hurry now depleted, the pain of my leg returns in full force, and I drop like a stone. I instantly curl up and grab my leg. Unshed tears threaten to fall now as I half crawl in the direction of more sunlight. I am hoping that it is a door to the outside.

All thoughts of whether there could be an accomplice are now the furthest thing from my mind. I have nothing to grab hold of here on the bare wood floor. I lift

my head and look around, and I see a sparsely furnished living room ahead of me. I sluggishly make my way around the corner and into the room. I spy a chair to my immediate right and grab hold of the leg.

I work myself up to a standing position once more. The pain in my leg is almost too much to bear. The pounding on the door behind me is growing faster. I hear the fatigue in the wood as it starts to give way with each slamming effort. I feel panic setting in.

Where the hell is the door out of here?

There, to the right, is a door. The main door opens into the room, and a wooden screen door is all that stands between me and freedom. I start to take a step in that direction, and what feels like fire shoots up my leg. I double over in response. The pounding on the basement door grows louder. I am not sure if it really is, or my utter fear is making it seem louder than reality.

I try another step. The pain is terrible, but I must make it to that door. I have no other plan right now. I have no way to communicate with anyone since I don’t have my cell phone with me.

As I limp along, I take note that there are no phones in the room. The mad man behind the door apparently hasn’t left his cell phone lying about, nor does he have a landline.

Oh, how very modern of you.

I trudge along across the living room with nothing to steady myself as I have ed the chair now. I grit my teeth with each step. My eyes firmly fixated on that screen door. I wince as I try to peer out the door. It must be midday, as the outside is incredibly bright. That, combined with light-deprivation and isolation in the basement, makes it difficult to make out much of the outside view. I can see some trees, but honestly, the only real thing I identify is the color green, with minimal distinguishing characteristics.

I try to gain a bit of speed now as I trek towards the door. I know that the basement door is going to give way at any moment. Again, I have no plan. I cannot run. I am not sure why I am so utterly convinced that once I get outside, I’ll be all right.

I have no idea what is waiting for me out there. All I do know is that it must be better than what is trying to get at me from the other side of that door behind me. Just a few more steps, and I’ll be able to push that screen door open. I begin to grow accustomed to the light and see a hint of what I think is blue? I shake my head. I am no longer worried about what lies outside the door. I just need to get to it and get out.

Finally, I reach the screen door. A smile breaks across my face. I lean against it as my eyes slip close. I feel as if I have run a marathon instead of merely walking twenty feet. Panting, I loop my fingers around the metal door latch and push. There is no give. My eyes spring open in surprise. I try it again.

The door latch won’t budge. The panic and fear surge once more. I try multiple times to no avail. Then I abruptly stop and realize the small metal lever under the latch is set to the lock position. A sense of foolishness washes over me, and I slide the lever to the open position.

Seriously, of all the doors in this place, this one is the one that is locked?

I try the latch again, and the door creaks open. Metal springs complain as I push the door open to a wooden patio. I step outside and allow the door to close softly behind me.

I did it. I’m outside. I look to either side of me and notice that the porch seems to wrap around the house. I also notice something else. Water. There is water that lies several hundred yards to the left. I turn my head slowly towards the right, following the shoreline until my head once again faces the right side of the porch. Water.

There is water surrounding the front half of the house. I start off to the right, following the porch, all the while with my eyes towards the water. I make the first turn around the house. The shoreline is a bit further, but it is still there. Water. I grab hold of the porch railing as I continue around the house. I round the next corner. Again further back, off in the distance, yes, more water, just beyond the tree line. I pull myself along the railing as I round the next corner and follow the shoreline that creeps slowly inland until I come to the front of the house again. I stop.

I stand and stare at the water. I am facing the left now, full-on gaping at that water. I’m in some cabin-like house on an island. Even if I had the strength to run, there is nowhere to go. In my state of shock, nothing else s other than the piercing blue of the water that encircles the house.

“So, here’s where you got to. Hell of a view, huh?” The voice comes from behind me. I am frozen to the spot. My breath catches in the back of my throat. I hear heavy boots thud as he makes his way towards me. A large callused hand grabs me by the back of my neck as he leans close to my ear.

“It’s just you and me now. I’ll let you take one last long look before we head inside. Least I could do. Not like you’ll be seeing anything like it again.”

His voice is foreign to me. His stature feels as if he towers over me, certainly outweighing me. His breath, hot on my cheek, carries the stench of decay on it. The briefest of moments goes by. Tears stream down my face as my eyes slip close.

All that effort simply prolonged the inevitable. And I’ll probably never know why any of this is happening to me.

“Time to go now. Work to do,” he says as he pulls me back towards the front door.

THE END

Descending

by Kim Plasket

Chapter 1

The sound was similar to the hum of electricity. The smell I could have done without. When I first started this path it was just a rumor, nobody would believe I would find anything, especially me.

The sound was what put me on this journey. It was faint at first and most people chalked it up to the line of storms known to be building up offshore. Weathermen predicted severe thunderstorms rolling in, some resulting in tornado activity. After weeks of these predictions, the weathermen threw up their hands in disbelief, they couldn’t understand why all their predictions were wrong.

The town where I lived was nothing special. We were about ten miles from an unnamed mountain. We were one of those towns that had a single road coming in and going out. If you were driving past that intersection and blinked, you would miss it. We had the usual coffee spots, a couple of bookstores, and the mom and pop stores that seem to be very prevalent in smaller towns. Our police force was forty men most of them had been on the force since they graduated high school when the school first opened.

Everyone was putting so much fear into the so-called impending storm that people began to shop online for things they thought they needed. The next city over was bigger so some townspeople went and shopped there as if preparing for the end of the world. Nothing could have prepared them for what was coming. I noticed while the storms never came, other things began to happen.

The birds that once flew over the town vanished; the feral cats no longer wandered around the streets. If someone walked their dog, the animal would do

its business then whine and whimper until their human took them back inside.

Most evenings children would play outside but after the humming began, they remained inside. Parents who used to let their kids’ bike or walk to school were rushing them there in cars before and after school.

The only reason I noticed all of this was because I was out of work. I started feeling sick, dizzy, and weak. The doctors had no idea what was wrong so they put me out of work for a few months; they called it “unspecific fatigue.” I’m sure if I was still working, I would not have noticed at all. I would have gone to work, kept my head down at my computer and gone straight home, too exhausted for anything else.

But I did notice. So, I began to take notes. At first, they were vague such as:

the humming seems to increase in the middle of the month.

the birds were the first animals to vanish.

there is an odor associated with the humming. As more people died or left town the smell seems to increase.

the elderly seem to die more rapidly than any other age group.

While it’s true old people die every day, this was more excessive. The retirement home that lay on the outskirts of town talked about closing for a couple of weeks because they thought some sort of virus had been unleashed. In one week, they lost forty patients, out of six hundred. The next week, that number doubled. They were finally going to close at the end of the month but in the third week, one of the patients set the whole place on fire killing everyone including himself.

Yes, it could very well be a coincidence, but it was strange to me. A seemingly normal elderly man who decides to suddenly kill over three-hundred people isn’t normal.

The humming had been going on for a couple of months when I decided to do something about it.

A long-forgotten dream resurfaced in my memory. It seemed as if my subconscious was trying to tell me something, but it was having trouble deciding what that would be.

The dream started out quite normal, I was walking near the mountain. It was still light outside, but all too soon that light faded into darkness.

Voices began to speak, faint at first. I only had to listen to understand. As fast as the dream came it was gone.

My first stop was the library. I decided that if this had happened before then the history books might tell me. I went right to the second floor where all the old books were kept. I wasn’t looking for just any old book. The books I was

looking for were the old journals.

I found it interesting because the official books talked about war and famine, the law that was present at the time and how some people tried to change things either for the better or the worse depending on who it was.

The journals, however, talked about how those wars and famine affected people. They also talked about who was sleeping with whom, what marriages were failing for whatever reason, and more revealing details. I knew if the answers to the humming were somewhere, I would find it in those journals.

Chapter 2

I pulled up to the library a few weeks later, I saw someone who looked familiar standing at the top of the steps. When I stepped out of the car, he looked at me then ran. I had no idea how, but he seemed to resemble Josh, which was impossible.

My mother told me that Josh died in a car accident. If that was the truth, then why didn’t she give me any details? He was a few years older than me, but still, I think I would know my brother even though I hadn’t seen him since I was a teenager.

I tried to run after him, but he was a block ahead of me. Then a truck got between us when I reached to the corner. By the time the truck pulled away, he was gone. I had no idea which way he could have went. I was pissed but headed back to the library as there was nothing I could do.

When I entered the doors of the library, I knew just what the popular opinion was. There were several books showcased about alien abductions and government conspiracies. I didn’t think it was aliens or maybe something the government was covering up. As far as I knew, it could be natural. I wasn’t going to guess without real knowledge.

The humming started to permeate walls. When it first began, the only time anyone could hear it was when they were outside. Even in vehicles or houses with open windows, the noise couldn’t be heard, but it soon grew louder. I tried to tell myself it was simply because of my weakened state. I was putting things together that normally I would not have done so.

The journals gave me nothing concrete, just a single age mentioning a slight disturbance to the various farm animals. One of the journals mentioned some men they didn’t recognize, it said they had on black suits but it wasn’t Sunday so they figured they were up to no good. There was nothing about humming or smell so I knew this probably hadn’t happened before, so I began to dig for more information.

I started to see if any new factories were in the area since I knew machinery could cause strange noises. It a solid lead, but I had to find out what was going on. Research was something that always came easy to me, but I wasn’t able to find anything.

The dream came again. I was walking near the mountains and the light grew dim. The voices were speaking in a whisper, they seemed to be telling me where to go, or were they telling me to be careful as if trouble was ahead. I wish I knew what they were saying. A sense of foreboding overtook me.

The humming was so loud by the sixth week it was next to impossible to have a conversation outside. If you spent more than ten minutes outdoors your ears would start to bleed and you would become deaf for a day or so.

It was a constant hum never stopping, people started to move out of town at an alarming rate. Businesses just up and closed overnight, houses were empty. I am not saying they were cleaned out or anything, no moving trucks going through town they were devoid of human life, their stuff was still there but the people were gone. I wondered if they looked around and said “Screw we are out of here” or was it something more.

I wondered if the people left because it became too much or was something sinister going on. It was logical to think if they had moved, they would have taken their things. I went into one of the houses that I knew was lived in not four hours before the owners disappeared. The door was open a little so I went inside.

The plates were sitting on the table as if they were getting ready for a meal, the food was set out on the table ready to be served, but it was covered in dust as if the people hadn’t been there for weeks not just a few hours. I looked around but there wasn’t a clue as to where they went. I did notice the humming sound wasn’t as noticeable in this house, so I went and checked out the other houses in each one where the people were gone and the dust-covered everything. The humming was less in those houses, too.

I thought about taking some of the dust to see what it was made of but decided it would be better if I just let it be. So far only about thirty people were gone. It made me sad, but if they no longer had to hear the humming for whatever reason, they were one of the lucky ones. I wasn’t counting the retirement home because that was murder so it didn’t count as far as I was concerned.

I was running out of ideas about what the humming could be, but then something happened. I went to sleep and had another dream. I knew I was getting closer to the truth but how far I would have to go to end this I had no idea.

In the dream I was walking close to the mountain, it was quiet which should have told me something was going on. The voices I had heard in all the other dreams were gone. There was just dead silence. Not even the wind was blowing. It was as though my ears had been muffled. The only thing I was able to hear was my own breathing.

I felt as if I was being watched. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling at all.

The closer I got to the mountain the feeling got worse as if I were supposed to be back in town. I could tell I was getting close to an answer then I woke up.

Chapter 3

I knew as soon as I awoke what I had to do. For some reason, I was being drawn to the mountain. There was a path that led outside town. When it got close to the mountain, it swung off and led out of town. I knew I hesitated in going mainly because I still had no idea if the voices were leading me to or warning me against going.

The longer I waited and put it off the more people would vanish. So much time had elapsed from the first time I heard the humming, I wondered how long it had been there without anyone noticing. There was no pattern in how the people were disappearing. One day they would vanish was from one side of town, then the middle, and then the other side. I was still trying to decide what to do. The dreams became more and more frequent and almost the same each time, but sometimes more was added.

The humming was what made me wonder exactly what was going on. Near the mountain the hum was the loudest, so, to my mind that was where it was originating from. It made no sense how a sound could kill someone... unless the sound was resonating from something that could kill.

Although if that were true, why would it be killing people? There was nothing ever about humming having the ability to kill. If it was the humming that killed, then half the grade schools would be dead especially since I didn’t know many grade school children who could sing all that great but boy could they hum.

I wasn’t feeling any better since I saw the doctor all those weeks ago. If I were being honest, the longer the humming stayed around the worse I felt. It was

getting to the point that if I wasn’t home, I had a bucket or bag for when I had to throw up. My hair started to fall out but I chalked it up to whatever illness I had.

I went to the police station only to be told everything was normal, then they asked if I was being treated and if I still felt as if there was an issue, then I should just call my doctor because the town was fine.

“We don’t want you to cause panic in the good citizens of this town,” the deputy said.

I was pissed. Why wouldn’t the police be interested when half of the town was disappearing?

It was twelve weeks after I first realized something was going on, the humming only seemed to be intensifying. I noticed a couple of cars which seemed out of place. They were black range rovers the kind of cars you see in those movies about aliens coming to take over the world. So when the men in black suits showed up, it was obvious they were looking to see what happened here, but I stayed away.

I thought about following them or trying to talk to them, but one look at their faces told me there was nothing I could do to get them to listen or tell me anything. I found out they had taken a room in town so against my better judgment, I went to the hotel. I hung around in the lobby for part of the evening until I was sure they were gone, the desk clerk was your typical sleaze with long greasy black hair, eyes red-rimmed from either the smell of pot or his own body odor, if the smells assaulting my nose were any indications.

When I asked him if I could see the guest he told me, no. But when I turned on the charm, he decided he would let me see it but only after I had a few drinks with him. He said he would get the drinks so I used that time to sneak behind the desk.

I found the names and rooms of the men in black suits. It was an older hotel where people still signed the . The desk clerk would put the room numbers next to the names. The doors still took keys which hung in a box located behind the desk. This hotel was so backward, most hotels used computers and key cards, this one was ancient. In a way it was good since there was no way of knowing just who took the spare room key, I planned on leaving it in the hall as if the maid or one of the men dropped it.

I knew they were out drinking; I saw them leave and heard them talking about how drunk they were going to get so I knew I had some time. The local bar watered down drinks so much it would take them hours to even get a buzz on. I didn’t waste time though knowing my luck they would come back early. I got into the room, not really knowing what I was going to find. I wasn’t even sure if I was going to find anything, but I had to look.

I lucked out. There was a laptop on the desk and it was open. I got a thumb drive out of my pocket; I still had no idea what I was looking for. I saw the email was open so I read through a couple then saw the one I thought would be best. I quickly copied it to the drive then opened a couple of other files trying to get as much information as I could even though I had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy for me to understand. At least I would have more information than I had now.

I’m not sure why I was so sure they were government types. For all I knew they were cosplayers on their way to a convention. One of them seemed a little out of it. He mentioned he had a headache, but they told him they would give him something at the bar. I glanced at my watch figuring I better hurry up. They had been gone about thirty minutes so far.

When I exited their room, I heard a small noise next to me. When I glanced over, I swear I saw my brother Josh standing there, but there was no way he could be since he was dead. Even though my mom was too sick to give me much information, she did tell me he was definitely dead.

“Josh?” I knew it was just my imagination so when he was gone, he really wasn’t there the only thing looking at me was a cockroach and I was pretty sure he wasn’t my brother. It didn’t strike me as anything massive so I kept going.

I thought back to what the desk clerk was saying when the men in suits were leaving. He was asking them all sorts of questions as if to get information from them. I knew he was just trying to make it seem as though they could confide in him. So, if I were to take information and they found out, he would be the one accused. Especially since he was the one who had access to the keys.

I wish I could say this made me feel bad but in reality, I felt nothing. There was something going on and it had to do with the area around the mountain. I needed all the information I could get even if I had to steal to get it. This was my town so I had to protect it.

I smiled to myself. It was the first time I ever tried to do anything like this and it seemed to be working out. I took the staircase that led to the back of the hotel so there was no chance I would have to see the desk clerk.

I was nervous but kept going. I got to my car without an issue and by the time I got home everything seemed normal. I could still hear the humming but it was to the point it didn’t faze me anymore.

Chapter 4

I sat at my computer and loaded up what was on the thumb drive. What I read shocked me to the core. The government knew about the humming. It was caused by a massive asteroid that landed inside the mountain years ago. They had been slowly increasing its power with some weapon. If I was to hazard a guess, I would say it was nuclear but I wasn’t sure.

The AHC is preforming to stated parameters. The town is reacting as we expected, we have cleared the bodies out, most of them were dead or dying. There haven’t been many who have expressed concern. We left the houses empty as was ordered.

After 10 years of no progress other than one or two cases, we have increased the power past the maximum levels. The knowledge J displayed regarding radiation and human anatomy has proven beneficial. As we continue to see the progress, we will let you know when to increase it to the next level.

That email made me sit up in shock. They knew what happened. This whole town was just a guinea pig for the government. What the hell branch of the government was this?

A couple of the scientists have become ill, we have sent one or two to the base hospital. Awaiting the results from the tests but we are pretty sure it is radiation sickness. As soon as we finish with the tests and further study, we will inform you as to what is going on.

“Radiation sickness?” I was stunned. These guys were studying radiation as a form of weapon. If this test has been going on for ten years no wonder there have been unexplained illnesses like the flu epidemic that hit the school a few years ago. All of it could be explained by this testing.

There were no real specifics as to where this asteroid was, I looked for coordinates or even a location, but I guess it was in an email I hadn’t taken. I could go back but I had a feeling if I went back to the hotel there would be no chance of me finding out what was going on.

When I went back to the library, I had gotten several topographical maps of the town. I was trying to figure where in the mountain the humming was coming from now, I had to decide how the “AHC” was put in the mountain and exactly where did they dispose of the bodies. The humming was so bad it was giving me a headache. I felt as if my head was going to split in two It made it hard to concentrate. I knew there were certain things I needed to get done before I tried to find the source of the humming and quite possibly the smell. It didn’t bother my ears as much since I started to use earplugs if I was going to be out for a long period of time. When I was younger, my grandmother would often tell me to sit down, relax, and let the world slide by for a while.

“If you keep going at the rate your brain is wanting you to go, it will wear you out before it’s time,” she would sit me on the couch near the window.

“That’s silly Gran,” every time I would tell her this while sitting there and watching the clouds race across the sky.

“It might be silly, but it’s needed. You watch the outside for a while and maybe you will get the answers you seek,” she would pat me on the head.

I thought about her words now as I stood there. Maybe if I pulled a chair up to the window and “watch the world slide by” I would come up with the answers I was looking for.

Was I searching for answers for myself or the town? When I first started out on this path, I was determined to find out what was happening. There was something going on but nobody else would even entertain the notion.

Even I ignored the signs for a while. I decided to go back to the journal I brought home with me. There had to be a reason why I decided to bring this particular journal home. So I sat in the chair by the window and started to read.

“It seems as the town has been befallen by a sickness unlike any has been seen before. Our physician has no idea how to treat those who have been stricken. Our Church Elders say it is because of sin but everyone knows Elder Baker is the biggest sinner in town.”

I knew this was important. I glanced further down the page and saw something interesting. There was an underlined age. If it were faded as the rest of the ink, I would have just let it but it was newer ink, so I knew it was important. The age was written in different handwriting.

The noise is faint, but I know it is there. I saw the thing from the sky land near the hill outside of town, soon the men came. They were from the government. I may just be a simple country doctor but I know government types when I see them. I was the first one to suspect it was something more than just the flu.

Whoever wrote this was someone like me who suspected something. Whoever this was wrote how they saw the thing fall from the sky, but what hill was he talking about? There were no hills near here, just the mountain. But what if the mountain really was the hill? If the government knew about it then maybe they somehow over the years built the hill up so it was now the mountain.

I was going to keep reading. There was a chance that no matter what I did now wouldn’t make any difference if I wasn’t aware of what happened all those years ago. I had no idea who it was that underlined it but I was grateful.

When the townsfolk first started to show symptoms, it was normal such as nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea so it was overlooked. But when their skin started to show unusual marks, their hair starting to fall out. I wondered exactly what was going on. I noticed other things as well but then I had to stop looking as a letter was delivered to my practice telling me to stop or else, I will regret it.

That was it. Nothing else but then written in a different color pen was “Go to the edge of Main Street and turn left, from there follow the road until you come to the end.”

I did see there was a word crossed out. “Your” was written there, then crossed out. I thought maybe someone had just messed up a word, after all it had to be important if someone was willing to deface a very old journal. Right after the note was the initial “J” as if someone was telling me who did it but was trying to remain quiet about it.

Chapter 5

I closed the journal with a snap figuring I would head out as soon as I could, but when I looked outside, it was dark. I knew going anywhere in the dark was a very bad idea especially since I really didn’t know where I was going based on the directions in the journal. I went to bed telling myself that I would head out first thing in the morning.

That night, I had the worst nightmare of my life.

I was standing in a field just outside town, the humming was so bad my ears were starting to bleed. I was dizzy but I could see figures in the distance. They seemed to be looking at something so I knew I had to get closer to see what it was.

Each step I took I knew was bringing me closer to death. There was a smell in the air which I couldn’t figure what it was. The sky darkened as they tend to do in dreams. Then there was a fog swirling around my legs. I was somehow in a forest even though when the dream started, I was simply on the path, just outside of town.

I was tripping over branches on the ground, or what I thought they were branches. It felt as if they were reaching up to grab me, so maybe they were skeletons, but that made no sense. I had to wake up, but how was I going to when the fog was swirling around me? The darkness was so overwhelming I had no idea where I was going.

I tripped and was falling. I kept falling. I wondered if I was going to fall right through the earth when suddenly, I heard a shrill noise as I landed on my ass right off my bed.

“Damn.” I was miffed as I got up and brushed my now sore butt off. “What a strange dream.”

I reached up to push my hair out of my face and ended up with a handful of it.

“Please tell me this is part of the dream,” I muttered then brushed my hand on my rear. When I felt the pain, I knew it was no dream.

“I need to get going.” My chest was tight. There was one thing that could cause this to happen: a massive panic attack that was starting to brew. So much had happened in such a short time, how could I be the only one to see it?

“Instead of going now let me see if there is anyone else who feels the way I do?” I muttered as I was trying to decide what to do next. This had to be a government thing, as they used to make fake towns and destroy them with atomic bombs. Maybe this was something they were doing here, but instead of a huge explosion, they were just going to take everyone out slowly.

The first place I stopped at was the library. Maybe there were entries in other journals. Now that I had a date with which to go on it might make my search a little bit easier. If I could see who checked the journal out then maybe I could talk to them. It was as if there were breadcrumbs being left for me but by whom?

The library was cold and dark when I entered. It normally wasn’t too bright, but at least there was some light. I knew the staff had been shrinking down and down but it was scary to think they were all gone.

Was this just another disappearance that would soon be forgotten? The shelves and floor looked normal, nothing out of place, and no mysterious dust covering everything so it was easy to figure whatever happened to the others didn’t happen here.

I went back outside. It felt very strange to be in the library when there wasn’t another soul around, just the humming. I saw the same guy standing across the street speaking to one of the men from the hotel. They both stopped talking and looked at me. They weren’t close enough for me to make out much detail, but still the feeling of recognition remained with me. Every fiber in my being told me to run back inside the library and barricade the door, but I walked to my car as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

I was going to head home but as I was driving, I saw more houses sitting empty with the same black range rovers parked in front of the houses. Some were also on the streets driving slowly as if they were trying to decide something. I looked and the sun was still high in the sky so I would have time if I wanted to go and try to find where the directions were sending me.

I followed the main street until the road was gone. There was a fence that had been there for as long as I could recall but I saw there was a broken spot in the fence and tire tracks in the dirt as if some vehicles had been going over that spot for a while now.

“Could this be where they came through with the AHC?” I thought out loud.

Then I wondered something. It seemed as if this experiment had been going on for a long time but only recently things changed.

I saw the trees no longer looked as healthy as they once did. I had no idea what the effects of radiation was on plants, but it didn’t seem good. My head was pounding. I had to stop several times because I felt weak. I thought I heard Josh calling my name but I had to remind myself he was dead.

I heard the wind whisper. It was cold which was strange since it was pretty warm out.

“Rayna,” I heard my name on the wind.

I quickly looked around trying to see if someone was playing a trick on me. I didn’t realize how much time had ed but it was nearly dusk. I knew it was too late so I told myself it was better if I head home. I wasn’t sure just what was going to happen to me the next day, but I was going to come back here and find out the secrets of this town once and for all.

When I got home, something didn’t feel right. Everything seemed to be in the right place but I felt as if someone had been here looking through my things. I even tried to see if anything was moved but it all looked just as I left it.

At this point, my head was pounding. All I could hear was the humming. Sometimes I think I have become immune to it - after all, I have no idea how long I had been hearing it before I really stopped to listen - other times it’s all I

can hear.

I sat down at my computer, thinking I would go over the emails and things I collected but first I had to find out if Josh was still alive.

I checked through old newspapers online but there was not a single mention of his accident. It was as if it never happened. Then I had an idea. I would check the obituaries. I must have gone through months of records after the time of his death but there wasn’t even a mention of him.

Chapter 6

As I was staring at the emails trying to get some answers to all my questions. I thought about the guy who had been popping up everywhere I went. I knew he had something to do with the government men since he was staying at the same hotel. He was the reason the town was dying. He gave them the information they needed to push this past whatever stage they were at.

I don’t know why they had to force things to go faster, unless of course it was to make money. Since the government was involved the only outcome would be more money. Like they don’t have enough already... but it was not my place to figure that out. I had to find a way to stop them or die.

I noticed an envelope sitting there that wasn’t there before. I saw my name on it, the handwriting looked familiar so I opened it.

Rayna,

You are getting too close to the truth. I have tried to keep you away for your own good. You have to be careful they know all about you. I wanted you to stay out of this but you always were determined. You are aware there is something going on in this town and has been for a long time.

I never wanted to stay away, but everyone thought it was better. When this town was first built, the first settlers knew about the meteor. They were unaware of just what it would be capable of creating. The scientific branch of the

Government knew. They made arrangements with the town’s leaders to let them run their tests in return they will receive a lump sum.

As the town grew the original history was soon obliterated in hopes of covering the truth. The meteor that landed near the hill was radioactive. We built a machine that will increase the gamma rays. The AHC is short for Atomic Hydrogen Charge. The specifics are not important. What is important is for YOU to stop looking.

I cannot protect you much longer.

Your brother,

Josh

I crumbled the page then decided to burn it. There was no way this could be from my brother no matter what he said. I was furious how they could think I would be so gullible to believe my dead brother was really alive.

I was more determined than ever to find out what was going on. The next morning, I was up before the sun. I had my coffee and backpack ready to go as soon as the streetlights went off.

It took less time to drive to the fence than the first time, partly because I was angry so I drove a little faster and also because I now knew the way. The fence

was the same with the gaping hole, so I guess they hadn’t realized how far I really got. I was sure if they did, the fence would be repaired to keep me out.

Other than yesterday, I hadn’t been this close to the mountain in a very long time. The trees were all dead and it sounded like the snapping of bones each time I stepped on a branch. It felt as if I had eyes on me but I told myself I was being paranoid.

As I got closer to the base of the mountain, I began to smell it. The putrid smell of decaying bodies. The humming could very well have been from all the flies, but I knew better. I was so close to the mountain that I could reach out and touch it, the very ground seemed to be moving.

I found a crevice in the mountain’s rock face. It was large enough for a person to squeeze through. I put my hand on a rock in the wall and it slowly began to move in. I could hear the whine of a motor. I guess it was a type of hidden door because suddenly there was an opening wide enough to drive a truck through.

There was an unearthly glow bouncing off the cave walls, the humming was horrible, the smell barely tolerable. Each step I took drew me closer to the cause of the humming but I was scared.

I saw a path leading off of the one I was on, the flies were thicker there. I carefully entered this area knowing full well once I entered here there was no going back. A part of me knew what the ending was going to be, but I still had to press on.

I saw a huge pit in the middle of the room, the humming was horrific, it vibrated

my whole body causing me to stumble almost falling into the pit. When I looked inside of it, I almost ed out from shock.

There in the pit were the remains of the townsfolk. Most of them from what I could see were dead but I swear I saw some of them move and stare at me with rage in their dying eyes.

“You are the reason we are dead,” their eyes seemed to say.

“I will avenge you,” I heard myself say as if I was some heroine in a thriller.

I backed out of the room, figuring I had seen what was left of the town now I had to find out why this happened to them. The main room, I guess is a good word for it, was brightly lit, there was machinery around the edges of the room, but what had my attention was the one that seemed to be connected to the massive rock in the middle of open space.

The humming was vibrating off the walls of the cavern. My knees threatened to give out, but I pressed on. I could hear something else but the humming was so bad I didn’t just what was going on. I was a few feet from the rock when the humming seemed to increase. This time when it vibrated my body, I had no choice but to fall. When I collapsed, I guess I slammed my head because when I came to again, I sensed people around me. They didn’t seem to care about me being there or they just didn’t realize I was there.

I peeked and saw a large group of men staring at the rock, they were all wearing hazmat suits looking like a group of alien hunters from an old movie. I crawled to get a closer look.

The humming was causing me such pain, I couldn’t think straight. I fell to the ground once more. My eyes were slowly opening, the room was cloudy, the humming seemed to finally stop.

The last thing I saw was my brother standing over me.

“I tried to warn you, Rayna.”

THE END

The Dark Assent

by Angela Dunham

Michigan, 1920

Exhausted from a hard day’s work, Edward Griffin wiped his sweat-ridden brow with the dirty sleeve of his shirt. Ushering his horses back to their stables, he surveyed his dying farmland with a heavy heart. He was getting older and the demands of the farm were becoming too much for him. One person could only do so much. Times were changing, and the new farming equipment he desperately needed came with a heavy price tag. He and his wife had four children, with a fifth on the way. It made him sick to think about what kind of future they might have if he couldn’t figure out a way to turn things around.

Heading back to his modest farmhouse, he spotted his youngest child, Anna, playing on the front porch. Her mass of fiery curls fit her equally wild personality. At only four, she already exhibited some of his family’s traits. Traits he hoped to never reveal to his wife. She was an amazing and loving woman, but he wasn’t sure she would understand. Edward wished his magic could revive the farm, but sadly, his gifts didn’t include the power to manipulate nature. Instead, he and Anna had both been blessed with the power of telepathy. She was the only one of his children with magical abilities, and it made him feel more connected to her.

Years earlier, Edward had been drawn to this land. The earth itself seemed to

give him a power boost. Now, it felt like the land had given up. He barely grew enough crops to sustain their daily food supply, let alone make money. At his wits end, Edward decided it was time to take matters into his own hands, and with his family fast asleep, he snuck out to the barn. Casting a circle in the middle of the hay, he sliced his hand with a knife, offering his blood to whoever might be listening. With tears in his eyes, he begged for a way to save his farm. When nothing happened, Edward dropped to his knees and wallowed in what felt like another failure.

Three days later, while Edward’s wife and children were busy tending to the animals, there was a harsh knock at the door. He opened the door to find a strange woman standing on the other side. She had a beautiful face, but her body was cloaked in a long, flowing black robe; that seemed to be hiding a large deformity on her back. Unsettled by her presence, Edward demanded to know why she was at his home.

“I am here because you summoned me,” she purred in a low raspy voice.

Her voice was seductive, somehow sending simultaneous waves of pleasure and pain throughout his body. Shocked by the revelation, Edward let her inside. She seemed to glide over the floor. “Clearly, you do not understand the powers that you play with.”

Irritated by her accusation, Edward huffed. “I was never taught how to use them properly. But you still heard my plea. How exactly can you help me?”

Laughing, she countered, “Who said I was here to help you?”

Dropping to his knees, he begged, “I can’t lose everything. Please help me! I’ll pay any price.”

The women scoffed at him, “Stand up and be a man. Wallowing is disgusting.”

Rising to his full height, Edward struggled to find his voice. “Is this better?”

“Very well,” The stranger replied. “A time of great sorrow and war is upon us. I can guarantee your family remains prosperous, but in exchange, you will give me your life and the life of another witch every fifty years hereafter. Failure to comply will result in the death of every member of your blood line. Moreover, it will release the evil I hold at bay upon the world. What do you think of the price now?”

Tears filling his eyes, Edward thought about the consequences. “How can I guarantee the future generations will comply?”

Cackling, the stranger headed for the door. “That is of no concern to me. I will give you two weeks to get your affairs in order and then I will return for you.”

Stomach churning, Edward held back the urge to vomit. “What if I refuse?”

Turning around, she pierced him with an evil stare. “Then I will take your youngest child as payment for my summoning.”

Roaring, Edward grabbed the stranger by the shoulders, shaking her. “You will not touch Anna! Do you hear me?”

The women looked at Edward’s hands and with a flick of her wrist, sent him flying across the room. Snarling, she revealed a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth. “Do not trifle with me, mortal!”

Horrified, Edward struggled to stand.

“Did you know your land rests on a Hell mouth? No? The same power that drew you to this land, that is the pulse of pure evil that lies beneath. I was able to escape it; however, my siblings remain trapped, and for good reason. If released, they would be a plague upon this Earth. An Earth I have rather come to enjoy. I will return in fourteen days.”

The stranger disappeared into thin air, leaving Edward with only one choice.

He spent the next two weeks focusing on his family. His days were spent laughing with his children, while his nights belonged to his beautiful wife. Lying next to her, he rubbed a hand over her distended belly, feeling a wave of grief wash over him. He would never meet the child she carried. Tamping down his emotions, he faked a smile. No matter how gut wrenching this was for him, keeping them safe was worth it.

He also struggled with the idea of ing down a death sentence onto his future generations, but he had to focus on the people he could save today. Anna was his only child with magic running through her veins, and Edward knew her children, and her children’s children would be the ones to bear the brunt of the curse.

Every fifty years, it would be their responsibility to fulfill the bargain. It was a sad fate to bestow upon anyone, but for the sake of his own family, and the fate of the world, he had to do it. On the evening of the fourteenth day, Edward kissed his sleeping family goodbye and walked out to the barn to accept his sentence.

The stranger was waiting for him. “Have you made your choice?”

Finding strength, Edward met her stare straight on. “I have. Take me.”

The sound of bones cracking and splitting skin echoed through the barn as Edward watched the beautiful women morph into a hideous creature. Her face stretched and elongated into a bird-like beak, while her fingers curved into razor sharp talons. Ripping the cloak off her shoulders, she unfurled two large scaly wings from the back of her emaciated body. Descending upon him with the speed of the wind, she ripped out his heart, and as his life blood soaked into the cursed earth, the dark pact was sealed.

Chapter One

Michigan State University, Present Day

Emma Griffin stared into her tiny closet, lost in thought. Her sophomore year was officially over, and to celebrate, she planned to take her besties on a weeklong trip to her family’s cabin on Lake Michigan. Emma had grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, so to speak, but was determined to carve out her own plot in life without the use of her family’s money. That being said, she refused to deny herself a little fun in the sun at their expense, especially since her birthday coincided with the trip.

“Hey, E? Can you please stop being such a basic bitch and wear this dress to the party?”

Her roommate and self-proclaimed best friend Sara, no H, asked, as she held up a tiny sparkly number Emma wouldn’t be caught dead wearing.

Rolling her eyes, Emma huffed, “Seriously, Sara, it’s like you don’t know me at all!”

“I know you hide that hot little body under baggy clothing, but honestly, I can’t figure out why?”

Smiling, Emma raised a brow. “So, you think I’m hot?”

Sara back-pedaled, red infusing her cheeks. “Well, yeah, I mean, no. I mean, just shut up and wear it to the party!”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I already have an outfit picked out.”

“Let me guess?” Sara replied sarcastically, “Overalls with a bolo hat?”

Annoyed, Emma glared at her. “Do I bother you about your barely-there fashion choices? No! The answer is no. So, back off! I like my style.”

“Has your style gotten you a date with Sebastian yet?”

Emma cringed at the name of her crush, who seemed forever out of her league. “That was a low blow, even for you.”

Frowning, Sara walked over and pulled her in for a hug. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just you’ve been drooling over him since freshman year, and I think it’s time to make your move. While wearing something other than overalls.”

“If Sebastian doesn’t notice the real me, then he doesn’t deserve a made-up version.”

“Touché, my friend, touché,” Sara joked.

Gesturing to the empty suitcases sitting by the door, Emma asked, “Why do we have to go to this stupid party, anyway? We should be packing.”

Dancing over to their shared closet in the small dorm room, Sara pulled out her own bright yellow mini dress. “Because it’s the summer kickoff party, and Alpha Kappa Alpha knows how to throw down. More importantly, you know Alex will kill us if we don’t show!”

Emma hated sorority functions, but their third, Alex, was an official sister and took her party planning responsibilities seriously. “Fine, but do you have any Tylenol handy? I feel a migraine coming on.”

Fishing through her purse, Sara pulled out a small white bottle and tossed it to her. “They’ve been getting worse lately. Have you made an appointment with the doctor yet?”

Downing the pills, Emma lied, “Yup, it’s set for the Monday after we get back.”

Emma knew the doctors couldn’t do anything else for her. She’d been plagued by migraines and auditory hallucinations her entire life. But over the past three months, everything had really ramped up. Especially the voices. Her family had a history of mental illness, and that was the main reason she’d chosen to major in psychiatry.

“What time do we have to leave?”

“Seven,” Sara called out from the bathroom.

Laying down, Emma tried to shake off the headache before being dragged into Greek Hell.

Chapter Two

Alex answered the door wearing a flashy, seventies style dress that put both their outfits to shame. Looking them over, she frowned. “Sara, you look fab. But, Em? Really?”

ing an evil look to Sara, Emma stated, “You didn’t tell me this was a themed party!”

Rolling her eyes, Sara skirted around her to go inside. “I tried to dress you, but you refused. And would it really have mattered?”

Alex grabbed her by the hand, pulling her through the front door. Emma wanted to be annoyed, but Sara was right. Inside the party, the pounding bass only managed to make Emma’s head feel worse. Faking the need for a bathroom break, Emma stomped upstairs, pushing through a sea of drunken bodies, to find the bathroom.

Shocked by the lack of a line, Emma promptly locked herself inside. Wetting a washcloth, she patted her forehead, while staring at her overly pale reflection in the mirror. Reaching for the doorknob, she heard a voice whisper right next to her ear. Normally, her auditory hallucinations were just random sounds, but this time, she heard a clear, masculine voice say, “Emma, I’m waiting...”

Startled, she pulled back the shower curtain to make sure she was alone. Sara’s boyfriend Jax was notorious for playing tricks on them and there was no telling

where he was. When it came up empty, Emma wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or more freaked out.

Rushing from the bathroom, Emma slammed face-first into the man of her dreams. Sebastian. Six feet of pure male perfection stood in front of her, smirking. Rubbing her throbbing head, Emma faked a smile, “Sorry. I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

“What?” Sebastian yelled over the booming music.

“I said, SORRY!” Emma shouted, while trying to side-step around him.

Sebastian held out his arm to stop her. “Are you sure you’re okay, Emma? You keep touching your head.”

Stammering over her words, Emma mumbled, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a headache.”

Sebastian looked concerned but moved out of her way. “It’s way too loud in here. Do you want to go wait outside and I’ll grab you some water? You look a little pale.”

Stunned by his kindness, and the fact that he knew she existed; Emma nervously ran her hands through her hair. “Sure. I mean, yes.”

Walking downstairs with Sebastian earned her a bug-eyed look from Sara, and a thumbs up from Alex. Ignoring her friends, Emma navigated through the sea of gyrating bodies to follow Sebastian out the back door. Turning back, he muttered, “Shit. Stay out here while I go get you that water.”

Not wanting the moment to end, Emma touched his arm. “No, no. I’m fine. The fresh air is helping.”

Leaning against the railing, Sebastian looked like an Abercrombie model. His face was all high cheekbones and perfectly straight lines. Normally, Emma preferred rugged looking guys, but something about Sebastian had always called to her. “I’m surprised you’re here. You normally don’t come to Greek events.”

Shrugging, Emma responded truthfully, “The whole sorority thing isn’t for me. But Alex begged, so here I am.”

Smiling, Sebastian took a slow sip of his drink. “I get that. It’s not really my thing either. I do it to please my parents. My dad was a legacy and blah, blah, blah. One more year of this petty crap, and I’m done.”

“What’s your major?” Emma inquired.

“Anthropology.”

Interesting, Emma thought. She’d pegged him as the business or marketing type.

“You?” he asked.

“Psychiatry.”

“Nice,” he replied before changing the subject. “Any fun plans for summer break?”

Wrapping her arms around her mid-section, Emma suddenly felt shy. “Yeah. I’m taking Sara and Alex to my lake house for a week.”

“Jax mentioned something about that. Is he coming with you?”

“Yes. Against my better judgement.”

Initially, Emma wanted it to be just a girl’s trip, but Sara had begged her to let Jax come. Caving, Emma agreed to let him stay, but only through Sunday night.

“What about you?”

Sebastian stared across the yard. “I’m not sure yet. My family can be difficult, and I don’t feel like going home this year.”

Feeling a surge of courage, Emma blurted out, “Well, you could always come with us. I mean if you don’t have anything else to do.”

Before Sebastian could answer, Jax came barreling out of the back door, sloshing his beer around everywhere. “Sebastian Fucking Hurst! There you are! Dude, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Adam just showed up with his super-hot cousin, and I want to introduce you. Oh, hey Em! What time are we leaving in the morning?”

Emma threw up her hands in exasperation. “Ten o’clock, Jax. I’ve only told you like a hundred times.”

“Right?” Jax joked, “Well, now it’s a hundred and one.” Grabbing Sebastian by the arm, he dragged him inside, leaving Emma feeling utterly stupid. Had she really just invited Sebastian to come with them for the weekend? Like that would ever happen. In a strange way, Jax’s unwanted interruption had saved her from a horrible rejection.

More than ready to go, Emma headed inside to say goodbye to her friends, who were all too tipsy to argue. Walking back to the dorm, she felt a strange sense of unease wash over her as she ed by the istrative offices. It felt like someone was watching her.

Increasing her speed, Emma raced up the stairs to the third-floor dorms. Rushing inside, she locked the door and sprawled out on her bed, heart racing. The logical side of her brain screamed that she was safe. But no matter how much she reasoned with herself, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was coming for her.

Chapter Three

The next morning Emma was awakened by Sara’s loud snoring. The girl was still wearing her party dress and looked like a hot mess. Throwing a pillow at her, Emma stalked into the bathroom.

“What was that for?” Sara groaned.

“Not packing last night. We have to leave in an hour.”

Stretching, Sara mumbled, “Fine. Fine. But do you mind tossing me a water from the fridge? My mouth feels gross.”

“I’ll bet!” Emma said as she tossed her the water. “How many shots did you take?”

“I lost count after six.” Sitting up, Sara downed the water in three gulps. “Thanks. Hey, are you sure you don’t mind Jax coming for the weekend?”

Emma shrugged. “No. As long as I get the rest of the week alone with you and Alex.”

Sara planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, Em, you’re the best.”

“Thank me later. You now only have forty-five minutes to get packed and ready.”

“Shit, shit, shit!” Sara muttered as she beelined it to bathroom.

Forty-five minutes and a lot of complaining later, Sara was ready to hit the road. They picked up Alex first, then Jax, whose apartment was off campus. As they pulled in, Sara frowned. “That’s Sebastian’s car. I wonder why he’s here?”

Alex piped up from the backseat. “Maybe he drove Jax home last night after you ditched us. You know he isn’t much of a drinker.”

Jumping out of the SUV, Sara flicked Alex the bird. “Rude! And for the record, I didn’t ditch you. You were busy making out with some blue-haired chick and Jax was annoying me, so I left. Speaking of my irritating boyfriend, let me go see what’s going on.”

Stomach in knots, Emma drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

Alex picked up on her anxiety. “What’s got you all uppity?”

“I may or may not have invited Sebastian to come with us last night.”

“WHAT?” Alex yelled. “Way to grow some lady balls. I’m so proud!”

Rolling her eyes, Emma sighed. “Don’t get too excited. He didn’t say yes, and honestly, I don’t need that kind of rejection right now.”

“Give yourself some credit, Em. Sebastian would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, but -” Emma stopped talking when she saw Sara reappear, grinning like a little kid on Christmas.

Skipping toward the car, Sara squealed, “I can’t believe you invited him!”

Placing her head on the steering wheel, Emma groaned, “He’s not coming, right? I get it. Don’t rub it in.”

Opening the door, Sara hopped into the front seat. “That’s just it, Em. He is coming. He stayed with Jax last night so he could ride with us.”

“Shit!” Emma exclaimed. Her stomach had been in knots over his possible rejection and now it was in knots over the fact that he was coming with them.

“Looks like the weekend just got interesting,” Sara announced as Jax and Sebastian headed toward them, bags in hand.

Chapter Four

The drive to the lake took about an hour, and as Emma pulled up to the massive front gate to punch in the code, Jax let out an appreciative whistle. “Holy shit, Em! I didn’t know you rolled like this.”

Emma cringed. She had purposely kept her family’s money a secret from most of her college friends, and her initial apprehension about letting Jax come along had been more about this than anything else. Inviting Sebastian had been such a spur-of-the-moment decision, she hadn’t even considered his reaction. “It’s not something I like to brag about. My family has money, not me.”

Parking in front of the massive four-car garage, Emma noticed Sara’s mouth hanging open. Emma understood, the house was impressive. It was all white wood ing, mixed with floor to ceiling windows that let the never-ending view of Lake Michigan pour through the house. It looked like something straight out of Architecture Digest.

After unloading the car, Emma walked her friends inside. The front entryway led into the main living area. With thirteen-foot-high vaulted ceilings, white walls, and gray washed wood floors, the room was bright and inviting. The adjacent sunroom was completely made of glass, giving an unbridled view of Lake Michigan’s epic sunsets. Upstairs, a catwalk lead to five bedrooms and a master suite. The back porch provided views of both the lake and the dense forest that surrounded both sides of the house.

As Emma showed her friends around, Sebastian stopped in front of one of her mother’s prize paintings. It depicted a scene from Greek mythology, where

Orpheus ed the expedition of the Argonauts and sailed across the sea on his ship, playing his lyre to save the men from the call of the sirens. “I’ve always liked this one.”

“My mom has a strange addiction to Greek mythology. There are other paintings like this scattered all over the house. Why do you like this one in particular?”

Sebastian shrugged. “The concept that something as simple as music could thwart pure evil is intriguing. Think about it. One man, with one lone instrument, defeating a sea of powerful sirens? It’s fascinating.”

Not as fascinating as you, Emma thought.

Clearing her throat, Alex interrupted them. “Hey, Em? Can we pick our rooms? Or do you already have ones in mind?”

“The master and the last room in the hall are off-limits but take any others you like.”

“Dibs on this one!” Jax called out, ducking into the first bedroom.

Glaring at her phone, Sara huffed. “I’m not getting any cell reception. Can I connect to your Wi-Fi?”

Sad to let the moment , Emma turned away from Sebastian. “Yeah, it’s Celaeno. That’s spelled C-E-L-A-E-N-O.”

Grunting, Sara called back, “What kind of is that?”

“Like I was just telling Sebastian, my mom’s obsessed with Greek mythology, and it has something do to with that.”

“Great! The ’s not working either. Anyone else connected?”

“No,” Jax and Alex called out in unison.

Ignoring their complaints, Emma headed for the stairs. “Look around guys. We have the entire outdoors to enjoy. On Monday, I’ll call the cable company and see what’s up with the Wi-Fi, but for now, I think we can do without it.”

“Emma’s right. Look at that beautiful water out there,” Sebastian added.

“And a fully stocked bar!” Jax yelled, taking the stairs two at a time.

Pouring five shots, Jax pounded his down. “Let the games begin!”

Chapter Five

Running to the beach, Alex and Jax laid out a blanket, while Sara popped in her ear buds to get in a quick circuit workout. When Sebastian gestured to the tandem kayak, Emma happily took him up on it. The wind was a soft kiss on her face as they paddled out together. The conversation didn’t flow as easily as it had the night before, and it left Emma feeling a little self-conscious. Paddling harder, she tried to relax while listening to the soothing sounds of the waves, but nothing eased the knot in her stomach. Pausing to wipe sweat off his brow, Sebastian finally broke the silence. “Is everything okay? You seem a little nervous?”

Turning to face him, she feigned a smile, “I’m fine. Just enjoying the peace and quiet.”

Eyeing her suspiciously, Sebastian pressed, “I think you’re lying.”

Dread spread through her body.

Chuckling, he added, “See what I mean? Your entire body is tense. Look, I think you like me, and just so were clear, I like you too. I’m not one to play games, so I want to be up front with you.”

Swallowing hard, Emma calmed a bit. “Was I that obvious?”

“No, but Jax has a big mouth.”

Smirking, Emma dipped her paddle back into the water. “That’s an understatement. If you want the truth, I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

“Then we should consider this weekend an extra-long first date?”

Elated, Emma nodded in agreement.

Changing the subject, Sebastian asked, “How long has your family lived here?”

“My parents built the lake house when I was about three years old, but the land’s been in our family for generations.”

“Did you know Lake Michigan was ranked the deadliest of all the Great Lakes? With forty-two reported deaths last year alone.”

Startled by the comment, Emma glanced at him. “Morbid much?”

“Sorry. Did I forget to mention that I love random facts? Yeah, I’m a big collector of useless information that doesn’t contribute to society in any way, but always wins major points at Friday night trivia. Any weird quirks you want to tell me about to make me feel better about over sharing?” Sebastian mused.

Like the fact that I hear voices? Emma thought. “Nope! I’m perfect and normal, so you’ll just have to get used to it.”

Laughing, Sebastian splashed her with water before paddling back to shore.

Chapter Six

Emma wasn’t surprised to find her friends already knee-deep in alcohol when she and Sebastian made it back to the house. ing in, they took a few shots before the grilling extravaganza began. For a few precious hours, Emma felt relaxed and highly entertained by Jax and his never-ending jokes. She laughed, she drank, she ate, and at midnight, when it was officially her twentieth birthday, her friends toasted her with a glass of champagne. Downing it, Emma swayed on her feet. Sara caught her, proclaiming, “Looks like the birthday girl had too much to drink. What a lightweight!”

Head spinning, Emma ignored the jab. The pressure inside her skull didn’t feel like a normal migraine. No, this was something else. Multiple voices overtook her senses. Voices of her friends mixed with voices she didn’t recognize. Her body felt like a live wire. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, per se, but it also wasn’t welcomed. Excusing herself, she stumbled inside, somehow navigating the stairs without falling.

Sprawling on the floor of her room, Emma grasped her head, willing the voices to stop. When they refused to comply, her stomach lurched, and she rolled over to vomit. She wasn’t drunk like her friends suspected. She’d been hell bent on keeping some measure of control around Sebastian, so she’d purposely dumped several shots in the bushes. Dizzy and nauseated, she crawled toward the cold tile of the ading bathroom and prayed for whatever this was to .

An hour later, she woke up, still on the floor. Desperate to wash the lake water out of her hair, she stripped and turned on the shower. The nausea was gone, but she still felt uneasy. Testing the temperature of the spray, Emma stepped inside the large enclosure, hoping the warm water would wash away her bad feelings.

Stepping out of the shower, Emma heard a strange scratching sound coming from inside her bedroom. Wrapping a towel around herself, she tip-toed out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of water in her wake. She waited for a few seconds, but when nothing else happened, she convinced herself it was just another one of her auditory hallucinations. Heading back into the bathroom, she stopped short when she heard it again. This time, she walked around her bed toward the window. It was nothing but the wind, she thought. That was until she saw the glint of yellow eyes staring back at her through the darkened window.

Terrified, Emma stumbled backward, tripping over her bath towel. Crab-walking away from the window, she stayed on the ground, breathing heavily. After a few choppy breaths, she found the strength to look up again. The eyes were gone. Had they ever really been there? Or was this another sign of her deteriorating health? The idea that it was all in her head was much easier to digest than the truth; there was no balcony outside her bedroom window. If those eyes had been real, then they belonged to something that could fly. Something large that could fly. Shivering, Emma pulled the curtains closed. Throwing on her pajamas, she cleaned up her vomit and jumped into bed. Despite her anxious thoughts, she fell asleep quickly and dreamed of strange bird-like creatures with human faces and emaciated bodies, who were angry, undulating, and trying to break free of a fiery prison.

Chapter Seven

The next morning Emma woke with a start. ing the creepy yellow eyes, she turned to face the window where sunlight streamed in through the open curtains. Curtains she had closed the night before. Jumping out of bed, she tiptoed toward the window. There, on the glass, was the silhouette of a large handprint. Using the sleeve of her pajama shirt, she tried to rub it off. When that got her nowhere, she realized the handprint was on the outside of the window. Covering her mouth to stifle her scream, she stumbled backward toward the bed. This couldn’t be real! The handprint had elongated boney shaped fingers, just like the beings in her dream. Laying back down, Emma pulled the covers up to her chin and tried to calm herself. Glancing at the clock, she was shocked to see it was well past two in the afternoon. How had she slept so late? A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts.

“Are you doing okay?” Sebastian asked from the other side of the door.

Startled, Emma kicked off the sheets and ran into the bathroom. “Just a sec!”

Glancing at her reflection, she frowned. She looked like complete shit. Pulling her hair into a low ponytail, she splashed some water on her face and sighed. The dark circles under her eyes stood out in contrast with her pale skin, but this was as good as it was going to get without an intense makeup intervention.

As soon as she cracked open the door, her mind was assaulted by frantic whispers. Pinching her nose, she tried to focus. “Sorry about that, I’m still not feeling very well.”

Sebastian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I figured since it’s so late. Is there anything I can get for you? Water? Tylenol?”

Emma tried to play it cool against the onslaught of voices. “Thanks, but no. I’ll be down soon. I just need a little more time.”

Nodding, Sebastian blew her a kiss before heading downstairs. Stepping into the hallway, Emma felt a sense of relief as the whispers subsided. Grabbing a few fresh towels from the linen closet, she paused when her ears picked up on a noise. It sounded like birds squawking. Turning around, she became fixated on the one painting in the house that had always given her the creeps. It depicted four women with beautiful faces, emaciated bodies, claws, and elongated jowls. The painting reminded her too much of her dream from the night before, and she shuddered. Reaching out to steady herself, Emma accidentally bumped the side of the painting, causing the stupid thing to fall. Bending over to survey the damage, she cursed when she saw the thick frame was broken in several places. Her mom was going to kill her. Leaning the offending piece of art against the wall, she found a small brown package underneath it. Unwrapping the stiff paper and twine, Emma was surprised to find a small journal inside.

Sitting on her bed, Emma thrummed through the worn pages. Mid-way in, she noticed a handwritten date in the top corner of the page, that read, Summer, 1970. The journal was in great shape for being almost fifty years old. Intrigued, Emma read on.

My parents think I don’t know, but I’ve figured them out. How could they do this to me? I’ve been trying to escape ever since I learned that they plan to sacrifice me to that thing, but someone is always watching. Eyes everywhere. I’ll kill myself before I let it take me.

Scanning the pages for a name, Emma stopped short when the last page read; This journal belongs to Farrow Griffin. This person was related to her. The better question was, how had this journal ended up in her family’s lake house? And what in the Hell was Farrow talking about? Going back several pages, Emma tried to keep track of the frantic entries, but none of them seemed linear. Stomach growling, she placed the journal under her pillow, and headed downstairs, surprised to find the space empty. Laughter flittered through the room and Emma looked out through the wall of windows to see her friends enjoying the beach. Grabbing a banana, she thought about ing them, but decided against it. She felt compelled to read more of the journal. Settling in bed, she tried to make sense of Farrow’s rambling.

Tomorrow is my twentieth birthday, and then it’s over. They’ve locked me in my room with no hope of escape. My mother claims I will come into my powers on my birthday and that feeds the monster. It waits for me.

After several vague entries, Emma closed the journal. Nothing made sense. Closing her eyes, she drifted back to sleep, praying she didn’t end up like Farrow.

Chapter Eight

Emma woke to the sound of yelling. Running downstairs, she found Alex and Jax arguing in the kitchen. Alex was white as a ghost.

Emma’s stomach dropped. “What’s wrong?”

Sobbing, Alex sputtered, “It’s Sara!”

“She just went out for a run. Calm down!” Jax interjected.

“Then where did all the blood come from?”

Emma went stiff. “What blood?”

“I’ll fucking show you what blood. Come on!” Ushering them outside, Alex walked down the stone path toward the beach. Veering off into the woods, she pointed to a spot a few feet away.

Emma walked past her to find a section of the forest floor stained with red. A lot of red.

Jax was right behind them. “It’s probably animal blood. We’re in the middle of the woods, for God’s sake.”

“Just shut up for a minute! Alex, why do you think this is Sara’s blood?”

Visibly shaking, Alex said, “I dreamed that something bad happened to her.”

Emma inwardly recoiled. Alex’s ission reminding her of her own horrible dream. Sighing, she pulled Alex away from the blood. “Sara loves to run and the scenery here is gorgeous. Maybe she just got distracted? Let’s give it a little more time before we officially freak. Okay?”

Reluctantly, Alex nodded, tears brewing in her bright blue eyes.

Back inside the house, Emma brewed two cups of calming tea. “Have any of you seen Sebastian today?”

Digging around in the fridge, Jax stated, “Yeah. He hung out with us for a little while this morning but went back upstairs hours ago.”

Sitting next to Alex, Emma handed her a cup. Smiling, her friend declined the tea. “Thanks, but I have something a little stronger for my anxiety. You want one?”

“Want one what?” Emma replied.

“Xanax. I only take them when I have to and today is one of those days.”

Taking the pill, Emma hesitated. “Any strange side effects I should know about?”

“They make me tired sometimes. But you look like you could benefit from a few extra hours of sleep. I mean, no offense, but have you seen the dark circles under your eyes?”

Emma knew Alex was right. She still looked like shit, even after the afternoon nap. She was hesitant to take medication, but after the last two days, she thought to hell with it, and downed the pill before laying down on the couch. Closing her eyes, it didn’t take long before she fell into another strange dream. This time, it was about a farmer.

He looked to be in his mid-forties, with sandy blonde hair and eyes the same hazel color as her own. She watched as he lovingly tended to his animals, pausing for a moment to kiss a small child with vivid red locks that fell in a wild mess around her tiny face. The love that shone between them was a beautiful sight. Then, without warning, the handsome farmer transformed into a horrific bird-like creature. It stalked toward the tiny girl with snapping jaws and devoured her before turning to stare at Emma, it’s disfigured maw dripping with fresh blood and gore. Eyes wild, the man inside the beast screamed a warning. RUN!”

Jolting out of sleep, Emma found Alex peacefully curled up on the other end of

the couch. Glancing around the dark room, she felt disoriented and groggy. The pill, she realized, must have knocked her out. How long had they slept?

“Guys?” she called out tentatively.

Sebastian walked into the room, and at the same time, flashes of the emaciated bird creatures flittered through her mind. Pausing to stare at him, Emma swore she saw the fuzzy outline of wings behind his back. Shaking her head, she looked again, and this time, they were gone. Blaming the drug in her system, or her overactive mind, she brushed it off.

Sebastian’s stark eyes told her something was wrong. “Sara still hasn’t come back, and it’s almost ten. Jax went out to look for her a while ago, and I went by your neighbor’s house to try to borrow a phone. No one was home, so it was a dead end. I’m going to drive to the police station now. I seeing it when we drove into town. Stay here and keep the doors locked!”

“Why didn’t you wake us up?” Emma yelled, angrily.

Pinning her with a piercing stare, Sebastian confessed, “Honestly? I didn’t want to worry you if we found her.”

Enraged by his lackadaisical attitude, Emma shook Alex awake. “I’m not waiting here! Alex, wake up! Sara is still missing, and we’re going on a quick ride to the police station.”

Alex sat up, her mousy brown hair a tangle of knots. Fumbling, she slipped on her shoes and followed them out the front door, still half asleep. What they found in the driveway stopped them dead in their tracks.

Chapter Nine

The engine of Emma’s car sat in shredded piles of metal, scattered all over the driveway. The hood was missing, and deep claw marks marred the driver’s side door.

“What could do that?” Alex gasped.

Staring at the decimated car, Emma felt something inside of her snap. Her dreams, the voices, the journal; they were all connected. Something was coming for her, something she instinctually knew had been coming all along.

Backing away from the car, Sebastian motioned toward the front door. “Get back inside. I’ll run to the police station and get help. It’s only a few miles.”

Grabbing him by the arm, Alex pleaded, “Sebastian, you can’t! Whatever did this could still be out there!”

For some reason, Emma’s gut told her to get Alex far away from Sebastian. Giving in to her sixth sense, she gently pulled Alex towards the house. “Come on!” she urged. “My parents have a gun, and I’ll shoot anything that tries to hurt us.”

Emma made sure to stare right at Sebastian as she spoke the last words.

Smiling in a way that made her feel uncomfortable, Sebastian picked up a long piece of jagged metal off the ground. “Don’t worry, I know how to protect myself.”

Nodding, the girls locked themselves inside while Sebastian sprinted toward the woods.

Running around the house like the Energizer bunny on speed, Emma triple checked all the locks before ducking into the garage. “Shit!” she screamed.

“What’s the matter?”

“The gun. It’s not here!”

Jogging into the kitchen, Alex pulled a large butcher knife out of a drawer, slashing it around in the air a few times for practice. “Well, we have this!”

“Good thinking,” Emma praised.

Running upstairs, Emma grabbed Farrow’s journal to check the entry dates. Farrow had said that someone had to be sacrificed every fifty years. Thumbing to the correct page, Emma’s world crumbled as realization washed over her like a storm. Today marked exactly fifty years since Farrow’s last entry. Today was her birthday. She was the sacrifice.

Dropping the journal as if it had the plague, she yelled, “Alex, get up here!”

Alex’s heavy footfalls bounded up the stairs. “Did you find something else we can use?”

“No! But sit down, please. I don’t have time to explain everything, and even if I did, I don’t think you would believe me. Just trust me when I say that Sebastian isn’t who we thought he was.”

Ignoring her request, Alex paced in front of the bed. “What in the hell are you talking about? We’ve known Sebastian for two years.”

“Yeah, and how much do we really know about him?”

Pausing, Alex mulled over the question. “Not much, I guess.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little strange that he never uttered a single word to me over the last two years, but the night before we come here, he magically realizes I exist? It’s not like he’s a stranger. I mean, we’ve been to tons of parties together.

“No, not really -”

A loud banging sound from downstairs interrupted Alex.

Emma pinned her friend with a harsh stare. “Give me the knife and lock the door behind me.”

“No way! If he’s really a danger to us, then two of us are better than one.”

Emma couldn’t argue with that logic, but she also didn’t want to see one of her best friends hurt. “Fine, but if the shit hits the fan, I want you to run!”

Chapter Ten

Sebastian frantically banged on the back door, his face and shirt covered in blood. Acting against Emma’s warning, Alex rushed to let him in. Emma tried to stop her, but it was too late. Sebastian barreled inside, quickly re-locking the door behind himself.

“Emma, where’s the first aid kit? He’s bleeding!”

Emma didn’t move. Sounds shifted in and out of her ears, reaching a part of her she hadn’t known existed. Focusing, Sebastian’s thoughts became a clear and concise voice inside her head. His mind was a sickening place, his desires causing her to visibly recoil. He was the creature from Farrow’s journal. A beast in disguise.

“Emma, what in the hell are you doing? Help us!” Alex screamed.

Her frantic voice broke Emma free from the mind meld. “Get away from him!”

Cocking his head to the side in a very bird-like manner, Sebastian narrowed his gaze on Emma. “Looks like someone finally figured me out! Surprise!”

Alex didn’t have time to process anything before Sebastian reached out and grabbed her by the throat. His fingers elongated into claws, cutting into the tender flesh on her neck. Gasping, Alex’s eyes went wide with terror.

Shaking Alex’s body like a rag doll, Sebastian scoffed, “Emma and I are going to have a little chat now, so keep those annoying breathing noises to yourself.”

Emma was shocked by the scene in front of her. Sebastian looked human, except for his arm, which had completely transformed. Straightening her spine, Emma dug deep to find strength. “I’m listening, just don’t hurt her.”

Sebastian blinked, his once hazel eyes turning to a bright yellow. “How much do you think you know?”

Clearing her throat, Emma told him the truth, “I know you come every fifty years to demand a sacrifice. What I don’t know is why?”

Cackling, Sebastian tossed Alex’s body across the room before stalking toward Emma. “Because I have to. The rest of my kind are trapped in Hell. Like I told your great-great-grandfather, your sacrifice keeps them there, while I rule here.”

The farmer, Emma thought as memories flooded her mind. Sebastian’s memories. “Yes,” he hissed, “See how he cursed you all.”

Like a movie, it all played out in her mind. The past, the present. Her family’s history of witchcraft. The most disturbing part was her parent’s role in it all. They knew this day was coming and had set her up by offering her the lake house for the summer. Her family worshiped this thing and were wealthy because of it.

“Not thing, Emma. My name is Celaeno.”

Cleary Sebastian, or Celaeno, could reciprocate the mind reading. And what the actual fuck!? His name was her mom’s Wi-Fi . Heartbroken over her family’s betrayal, Emma turned to check on her friend. Alex was ed out cold, but still breathing. “What exactly are you?”

Celaeno smiled cruelly, flashing a mouth full of sharp teeth. “That part of the story didn’t magically come to you? Well then, let me elaborate. I’m a Harpy, and your magically enhanced blood holds the key to my kin’s fiery kingdom. Now come to me, so we can end this!”

As he reached for her, his entire body transformed. His perfect nose morphed into a crooked shaped beak, while his once muscular body sunk in on itself. Long, mangled hair sprouted from his head, and oily black wings sprung from his back.

Voice gravely, Celaeno taunted her, “I can take any form I choose, but this is the real me. You wanted this body before; do you still want it now?”

Emma wanted to run, but she refused to leave Alex behind. Celaeno must have read her thoughts again because without warning, he grabbed Alex by the hair and ripped out her throat with his sharp beak. Spitting blood and chunks of flesh, he dropped her lifeless body to the ground. “You stupid witch! Every nonmagical soul that I kill feeds my brethren in Hell. Yesterday, when I mentioned the death toll at the lake, it was a humble brag. Every soul I take gets sent down to my siblings to play with.”

Horrified at the fate she had inadvertently inflicted on her friend; Emma picked up the butcher knife. Hands tingling, she threw it at him. The knife flew so fast, it was a blur, embedding right between Celaeno’s eyes. Screeching in pain, he dropped to his knees.

This time, Emma ran.

Pulling the knife free, Celaeno shifted back into the form of Sebastian as the gaping wound in his forehead sealed itself shut. “I see your powers have activated. That will make this more fun. Do you know what happens if you fail to die?”

Emma paused at the front door.

“My siblings will break free from Hell, and you see, they are not as civilized as I am. If you want to jump start the apocalypse, then that’s your choice. But if I were you, I’d lay down and die already.”

She didn’t trust him, and in the end, self-preservation took over. Opening the door, she darted out into the warm night.

Chapter Eleven

Running down the long driveway, Emma had no idea where she was going. Darting into the woods, she pushed her legs as fast as they could go. The flapping sound from above, made her stop short. Staring up between the darkened trees branches, she watched the huge shadow overhead. The moon was full, illuminating the shape of the monster stalking her. Turning around, she ran back towards the house, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Alex was dead! Jax and Sara probably were too. She needed to figure out a plan. Celaeno’s memories had told her what she really was. A witch. But what did that mean? And could she use her powers to stop him? The house was in sight; her plan, get the journal and hide. Since Farrow had been the last one to be sacrificed, that meant she was a witch as well. Maybe the journal held some insight into how Emma could access her own powers.

She was almost to the front door when Celaeno landed in front of her in full harpy form. With an angry squawk, he shot out a clawed hand, raking it across the right side of her arm. As the warm blood trickled down, Emma’s rage boiled over. This monster had taken her friends from her. Her family had betrayed her. Images of what Celaeno planned to do to her body tore through her mind. Sickened, she screamed back at him, letting go of all the hate in her heart. The shock wave blew him away from her, turning his clawed hand to ash.

As he bellowed in pain, Emma took advantage of the distraction, bolting around to the back of the house. Locking the door, she sprinted upstairs to grab the journal. Dripping blood, she also grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her arm as a make- shift tourniquet. Heading back downstairs, she turned off the lights and waited. Staring out through the wall of windows, she knew she was a sitting duck. With a deep breath, she ran out the back door, headed for the beach.

Stumbling through the thick sand, Emma dashed down the beach, looking for a spot to hide. Finally, she spotted a large dock surrounded by rocks. Scooting herself under it, she opened the journal, but it was too dark to read. Burying her face in the blood-stained towel, she broke down. Her entire life had been a lie. Looking out over the moonlit water, she felt a sense of resolve wash over her. Her parents didn’t deserve her tears. Instead, she would kill Celaeno, break the curse, and spare future generations of this horror.

As she watched and waited, the waves on the lake intensified in height, rolling, and surging in violent bursts against the rocky shore. Emma had never seen the water so rough. Mesmerized by the hypnotic motion, she didn’t notice the shadow over the sand.

Celaeno landed softly on the dock above her. Jumping down, Emma screamed while he laughed. “I can smell your blood from a mile away.”

He grabbed Emma by the hair, dragging her out, before tossing her on the hard sand. A wave rolled in behind her, and when the water washed over her hand, it burned. Crawling away from the surf, she gaped at her blistered palm. “What’s happening?”

Celaeno stalked toward her, his emaciated body seeming to grow larger with every step. His hand had already regenerated, and in it, he held the butcher knife. “I warned you. If you live, the Hell portal will open. It’s already begun. The water is boiling from the heat.”

Emma searched his mind for the truth, and what she saw made her blood run cold. There were thousands of harpies. Hungry. Angry. Waiting. She didn’t want

to die, but who was she kidding? If those vile creatures got out, it would mean the end for everyone. Decision made; Emma focused all her anger on the knife. It shot out of Celaeno’s hand like a torpedo, landing in the middle of her chest, the impact putting her flat on her back. As her blood flowed, the treacherous water lapped around her body. Water that was no longer boiling. Relieved, Emma let the dizziness overtake her.

Pulling the knife free from Emma’s lifeless body, Celaeno ripped out her heart, once again fortifying the dark curse. Satisfied, he vanished into thin air.

Epilogue

Jax headed back to the house feeling defeated. After hours of searching, he still hadn’t found Sara. What was even stranger - out of the almost twenty doors he had knocked on, no one had answered. The entire thing felt off, like he was stuck in some kind of loop. Feeling nauseated, he trudged up the driveway, only to stop short when he saw the dismantled car.

Tiptoeing inside the open front door, he saw Alex’s body lying in a pool of her own blood. His stomach revolted, emptying its contents onto the rug. Scared shit-less, he called out for his friends, praying they were still alive, “Emma? Sebastian?”

It was Sara’s frantic voice that he heard instead. Heart-leaping with joy, he ran into the sunroom, just as she barreled in through the back door covered in blood. Worried, he ran his hands up and down her body. “Are you hurt?”

“No, it’s not my blood. It’s Emma’s. Sebastian he... he’s gone insane.”

Unable to comprehend what she was saying, Jax shook his head. “Your telling me that Sebastian killed Alex?”

“And Emma!” Sara said in a shaky voice. “We have to get out of here!”

Grabbing his girlfriend by the hand, Jax led her out the front door. What he

didn’t see was the insidious smile spreading across Sara’s face as she walked out behind him.

THE END

Deja Motel

by Valerie Puri

Chapter 1

You know the sensation that you’ve experienced something before, but you know you really haven’t?

Every time I dream, I get that feeling.

And each dream is always the same.

I’m sitting on a bed in a hotel room with an old tube-style TV. Scratches large and small scar its faux-wood case. It’s turned off. The only program is my muted reflection on the dim screen, illuminated by what little sunlight could fight its way into the room. The lamps by the bed didn’t work—I’d tried before. There’s an AC unit by the door, rustling the nicotine-stained curtains.

There would be a fly behind those curtains, vainly attempting to reach the freedom of the outside world. It would fly headlong into the windowpane, only to be pushed back by the impact. And then it would try again, over, and over, stuck in its repetitive loop, hoping the next time would be different.

The buzzing and the pang! of the impact on the glass eventually reach me as I stretch out on the familiar cream bedding, dulled from age. There is a tear in the comforter near the edge of the bed, exposing the rough padding inside. Its placement had always struck me as strange. The green carpet has a large stain by the bed, its color difficult to discern with what little light can find its way into the room. Everything smells musty — it’s overwhelming. There’s no one else in

the room, but I feel like I’m not alone.

Heavy footsteps approach outside. Somehow, I know that whoever is out there is coming for me. I have to get out before they reach the door, before I’m trapped, but when I try to stand, the bedding wraps around me like a straitjacket. I try to wriggle free, but I’m unable to untangle myself. It feels coarse, like rope. The more I squirm, the tighter the blanket squeezes and the more it digs into me. It’s starting to burn.

It’s suffocating me.

I gasp for air, but the sheets gag me, tightening on my throat.

The fly’s incessant attempts to escape seem frenzied and desperate now, it’s strikes against the window coming faster and louder as the footsteps get closer.

pang!

pang!

PANG!

I can’t breathe.

The hotel room door creaks open...

I wake up.

Those are the nights when I can’t get back to sleep. When the next day is torture and there’s not enough coffee in the world to keep me energized throughout the day.

Last night I had the dream again, and I woke up this morning in a cold sweat. I checked the clock on my phone. It was already seven in the morning.

“Crap… I missed my alarm.”

I was running late for work. I threw my phone on the bed and tossed the covers aside.

I pulled my long, brown hair in a ponytail, dressed quickly, and drove to the restaurant.

On the way, I put my makeup on using the rear-view mirror. Not even my concealer and foundation could hide the bags under my eyes. Eyeshadow and thick mascara barely helped to draw attention away from my bloodshot eyes. Red veins grabbed at my brown irises.

My manager, Mindy, must have noticed my baggy eyes, despite my extra heavy makeup.

“Same dream again, Candice?”

“Yeah,” I clocked in and put on my server’s apron.

“Too bad those melatonin vitamins didn’t help you sleep better.” She checked the server assignments on the computer. “You’re in section three today.”

“Thanks.”

I tried the vitamins she suggested, but they didn’t work. In fact, they only made me have the dream more often. Go figure.

I went about my day serving tables at the restaurant. At the end of my shift, I sat in an empty booth counting my tips—pretty darn good for a Wednesday.

As I was hanging up my apron, my cell phone rang. I furrowed my brow. The Caller ID simply said ‘UNKNOWN’.

I answered it with a tentative, “Hello?”

“Hello?” a woman said. The buzzing of static made placing the voice difficult.

“Who’s this?”

“It’s your mom,” she said, her voice distorted through the bad connection.

“Oh, sorry, Mom. There’s just a lot of static on the line. I didn’t recognize your voice at first… Did you get a new phone?”

“Listen, I’m calling fro-… your great aunt just -… away,” she said, punctuated here and there by static. “The funeral’s on Saturday in Springfield at —” More static.

“Mom, where?” I asked.

I guessed she was experiencing the bad connection too, because she kept talking as though she didn’t hear my question.

“…it’s important you come-… leave as soon as you can.”

“Okay. But where in Springfield? What time on Saturday?”

“I have to go.”

Click. My mom hung up.

I stood in the back room of the restaurant, dazed. My great aunt ed away? That was really sad, but I didn’t even know I had a great aunt in Springfield. It’s possible I never met her, or if I did, I just didn’t .

We had a big family spread all over the states. I could only a fraction of my cousins, aunts, and uncles. Every year we had a big family gathering. Different families would host it, so it was always in a different place. Come to think of it, it was a cool way to see various parts of the country. But I’d never been to a family reunion in Springfield. I bet my great aunt traveled around, like mom and I did. It was hard for one or two people to host the whole party by themselves.

I didn’t catch my great aunt’s name, because the phone was so staticky. Family was family. If my mom wanted me to go to Springfield, I would go.

“Hey Mindy?” I knocked on her office door. It was never completely closed, but I still always knocked. “I need to ask a favor.”

“Sure, what is it, Candice?”

“My mom just called… there’s been a death in the family.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Were you close?”

“Not really, but my mom said it’s important that I go to the funeral. It’s all the way in Springfield on Saturday. Would it be okay if I take the next three or four days off to attend?”

“Of course, take all the time you need. I’ll find someone to cover your shift.”

“Thanks, Mindy.”

I headed home and packed a weekend bag for the drive.

Chapter 2

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Busy tone…”

The line was busy when I tried to reach my mom on the unknown number she called from earlier. I guessed she was busy with funeral arrangements or calling the rest of our family.

I put the town of Springfield in my GPS because my mom didn’t give me the exact address. At least I’ll get on my way and figure out the details when I get there. I turned on the radio and got underway.

My little blue Corolla didn’t do so great at high speeds on the interstate, so it was a relief to go through the country highways. I avoided the interstate when I could. It was not fun going seventy miles per hour with my car shaking the whole time. The slower speed limit on the country roads was much better.

The only things around were either corn fields or cow pastures, along with the occasional gas station. Every now and then I would come to a random stop sign marking the middle of a ‘town’—if you could call two buildings and a shack a town.

Even the radio stations out here were country. Every station was some form of

country music: twang, bluegrass, pop country, you name it. I settled on the last since the music wasn’t too bad.

I hated being in the middle of nowhere like this. I missed civilization. The city was my home. My mom still lived up by Springfield, so it would be nice to see her again. A reward at the end of this long, boring drive.

It had been too long since I visited my mom. The last time I saw her was at Christmas. My dad hadn’t been in the picture since I turned thirteen. Seven years later, and he was still absent.

My mom was my rock. So, if she told me to drive six hours across the state for a distant relative’s funeral, I would.

As I drove along, I had to change the radio station a few times. Each time I would reach the edge of the broadcast range of one station, the static would cut in. I hated static. It wasn’t a big deal, I just messed with the tuner until another station came in clearly, but it still drove me nuts.

Shortly after setting a new station, the scattered puffy clouds morphed into a mass of dark ones above me.

“Oh great, rain.”

I didn’t like driving in the rain. Plus, I should have replaced my windshield wiper blades a year ago. Now they were little more than rubber squeak

machines. I hated that sound.

A big droplet pelted my windshield. Splat… Splat. Heavier and heavier, the rain started pouring down.

I flicked on the wipers and gripped the wheel as the rhythmic screeching and the increasingly stronger downpour drowned out the music.

The sky grew so dark, it almost looked like night, not mid-day. I turned on my car lights and leaned forward, peering up through my windshield. The clouds looked threatening, and almost black. Either it was the downpour of rain, or the clouds were creeping lower to the ground.

I swallowed, uneasy about being the only car on the highway in the middle of a bad storm. It was getting so dark I could barely see. There were no houses around, just endless cornfields.

How many acres do these farmers have? I wondered.

My car radio blasted the emergency alert tone. The ominous siren drowned out my wipers. I turned up the volume to hear better.

“A tornado watch is in effect until two p.m. Take shelter immediately.” The robotic voice repeated over and over.

My stomach plummeted. I looked at the sky ahead of me: the clouds swirled, pressing their way lower.

“Oh crap!”

A gush of wind forced my car into the other lane. Gripping the steering wheel, I regained control. My heart raced as I saw the funnel-shaped clouds kiss a cornfield in the distance.

Hail pelted my car. The constant rapping of the little balls of ice was deafening. I wanted to speed up and get out of there, but with all the hail and rain coming down, I could barely see past my headlights. And I definitely didn’t want to hydroplane and spin off the road…

Just up ahead, a beacon of hope appeared. It was a light, and it appeared to be attached to a building. Shelter!

I couldn’t see much through all the rain, but it had to be a farmhouse since there was no other civilization around. I practiced what I might say to the homeowners.

“Hi, there’s a tornado coming! Can I come in?” I bit my lip as wind pushed my car onto the shoulder. I fought to keep it on the road. “Hi there, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a tornado headed right this way. If I could just come in...”

I shook my head. Anything I said sounded desperate. Probably because I was. I could only hope they weren’t already in the basement and unable to hear me. The last place I wanted to be was pounding on someone’s door as a tornado ed by.

The lights grew brighter and I praised my good luck. It wasn’t a random person’s house; it was a motel. Even if they couldn’t hear me, I should be able to walk right in, no questions asked. I couldn’t really just barge into someone’s home, but I could with a motel lobby.

I pulled off the road and skidded to a stop right in front of the main door. A red neon “Vacancy” sign flickered in the window. They had to be open if they had rooms available. I turned off the car and grabbed my purse.

Holding it above my head so the hail wouldn’t pelt me, I dashed up to the entrance. I tugged on the worn metal handle and swung the door open.

I stood on the dull linoleum floor, dripping wet. Even though I had only run about ten feet, I was soaked.

The reception area wasn’t much to speak of. It was a drab room. Along the wall, there were a few chairs upholstered with cracked green linoleum. The walls were adorned with white paint, dirt smudges, and some faded travel posters. The counter facing the windows and glass door had a little silver concierge bell. Behind the counter, a board with pegs sticking out hung on the wall. Each peg was numbered and held a key. There were only a few missing. I wondered how they could stay in business out in the middle of nowhere.

Next to the key rack was a door. No one was around, so I hoped whoever worked here was behind the door.

Crack!

Hail hammered against the glass behind me, reminding me to ‘take shelter immediately’ just as the message said. I rushed up to the counter and dinged the little bell frantically. If no one answered, I would hide from the tornado in that room. If the door was locked, at the very least I would huddle behind the counter. The last thing I wanted was a tree or something to rocket through those windows and hit me.

A desk clerk emerged from the back room. His eyes darted over my face and body. The corner of his mouth twitched into a fleeting smile. It was creepy.

“Hi there, miss. Come on back and hunker down.” He went to the end of the counter and swung a open so I could come through.

“Thanks,” I rushed after him and through the windowless door to the back room.

It was some sort of storage room combined with an office. There was a desk with a towering stack of skewed papers on top. The ones towards the bottom were yellowed with age. Wire shelves along the walls with towels, sheets, and toiletry items occupied most of the cramped room.

A frumpy woman in her fifties was sitting on the floor. She had a pointy nose

with short, matted black hair and was wearing a long, starched grey dress that looked more like a dull tablecloth. It was baggy, and definitely not form fitting. Her short legs were sticking out lazily as she reclined against the desk. The dingy white apron she wore did little to improve her look. I guessed she was the maid.

“This young miss is going to stay with us here ‘til it’s safe,” the clerk said with that same flicker of a smile.

“Have a seat.” The maid nodded to the floor in front of one of the metal shelves. A gleam flashed through her eyes, but it faded out in an instant.

She picked at a loose thread on her dress, as if she were bored.

I lowered myself down to the ground, the metal wires of the shelf digging uncomfortably into my back. I tucked my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them.

The desk clerk sat against the wire shelf opposite me. He stretched out his legs, his clunky, large work boots invading my personal space. I pulled my feet in closer until I was practically a ball. He didn’t seem to notice—or care—that he was crowding me.

He picked under his fingernails as if it were the most entertaining thing to do. He was a stocky middle-aged man with a greasy comb over. His faded blue polo had holes and pit stains.

These people really don’t care how they look.

As we waited the storm out, the whooshing outside grew louder, almost deafening. People aren’t lying when they say a tornado sounds like a freight train.

The single, bare light bulb in the room flickered, then went out.

“Power’s out,” the maid said without inflection.

I felt wind rushing from beneath the door and squeezed my knees tighter to my chest. How could these people be so calm when a tornado could rip their motel apart? The papers on the desk fluttered around. The metal rack that was digging into my back trembled as the walls shook. My heart pounded.

What if the roof gets ripped off? What if the walls cave in?

I buried my face in my knees, trying to steady my nerves.

Shortly after we were cast in darkness, a massive BANG! and the sound of shattering glass came from the little lobby.

“Somethin’ broke the window… again…,” the clerk grumbled.

“Mmhmm,” the maid rolled her eyes.

As the tornado moved on, the walls stopped trembling. The air was calm in the room again. Someone got up and shuffled toward the exit in the darkness.

The maid opened the door casting us in light. The air smelled wet, just as it does after a storm es.

When I stepped through into the lobby, my jaw fell open.

My little blue Corolla was in the middle of the room. The tornado tossed my car right through the front window. The windshield was smashed and the tires were folded under.

The old chairs were strewn about the room and those faded posters were torn to shreds. Half of the keys were ripped from their hooks and flung on the floor. The wood on the front of the counter was chipped from the shards of glass that pelted it.

The clerk spoke up, hands-on-hips. “Welp, guess you're gonna’ need a tow.”

Chapter 3

After the tow truck driver hauled my car away, I was feeling anxious. I had had that car since I turned fifteen and got my learner’s permit. Now it was totaled and being towed down the road like a pile of scrap metal.

With the storm gone and the sky clear, I could make out my surroundings outside. There weren’t any other buildings for miles. All there was to see was the two-lane highway cutting through endless farmland—the same thing I had already seen for hours. How a motel could survive in a place like this was beyond me. And I was stranded here.

I pulled out my cell phone. I had a weak signal—only one bar—but I tried to call my mom anyway. The unknown number was still giving a busy signal. I tried her old number, just for good measure. It rang a few times and went to voicemail. I didn’t bother leaving a message. She was probably still helping prepare for the funeral and couldn’t answer. I wished I could reach her… I didn’t know where I was going beyond just “Springfield.”

Before putting my phone away, I dialed the number on the business card the tow truck guy gave me. It was a rental car company in the next town over. I hoped they could get here with the rental soon; I had to get on my way again. I needed to be there to help my mom prepare. It was already Thursday and the service was in two days. That wasn’t much time to get everything in order.

I looked around as the phone rang on the other end. There was nothing but flattened cornfields and this battered motel. The front really took a beating. Glass was everywhere from my car smashing through the front windows. It

looked like the tacky turquoise paint had been sandblasted off in places from the wind. Other than that, the building was in pretty decent shape.

“Star Car Rental, how can I help you?” a cheery voice said through the phone.

“My car just got destroyed by a tornado. I need a rental car.”

“Oh dear, the one that just ed through? I’m sorry to hear that. Will you be picking up the rental or do you need it dropped off?”

“I’m kind of stranded at the…” I turned around to look at the sign hanging above the shattered door to the lobby, “Deja Motel, so dropped off please.”

“Okay, I need your name and a valid form of payment.”

As I told her the information, I heard the click of the keyboard as the woman typed.

“We can have a car delivered to you as soon as tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!?” I gasped. “As in not today?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but our office is about to close,

and your location is over an hour away. We can’t leave to deliver rentals after three o’clock on a weekday.”

I was speechless. My stomach dropped out. I really was stranded here. Not just for another couple hours, but overnight.

“Well, what time can you deliver the car tomorrow?”

“We should be out there to you by eleven a.m.”

I blew out a puff of air. I wanted the rental as soon as the sun came up, not in the middle of the day. But there wasn’t much I could do about it. I was stuck in the middle of the miserable country, my car was totaled, I couldn’t get a hold of my mom, and I had to stay the night in this slum motel… could this day get any worse?

“Okay… thanks.” I mumbled.

With my head hung low, I went back into the motel lobby. I tried not to step on any of the shattered glass, but it was near impossible. Every step I took, it crunched under my feet.

The clerk was sweeping glass off the counter with a brush into a dustpan when I approached. He already put all the keys back on their pegs. He also straightened out the chairs. They were even more torn up than before if that were possible.

“So, I guess I need a room for the night,” I said, deflated.

“You got it. One night’ll be twenty-four bucks.”

I fished the cash out of my purse. At least the hotel wouldn’t break the bank, but at a price that low, the room had to be a dump.

After taking my money, the clerk placed my room key on the counter.

“Room 204, just outside to the left, ‘bout halfway down. The rooms up near the front got some cracked windows from that dang tornado. But 204 should treat ya well enough.”

“Thanks,” I plucked up the key.

The old plastic tag with the number ‘204’ embossed on it was sticky with dirt and grease, gummed to the edges of the numbers. I cringed, dreading that the room would be as nasty as the key chain.

I left the half-destroyed office and followed the clerk’s instructions. After turning left, I saw a handful of beat up vehicles in the parking lot. They probably belonged to the motel employees and the people staying here. Many of the dings and dents had rust around the marred paint, so the damage had probably been there for a while. At least their old junkers weren’t destroyed like my Corolla.

Leaves and debris from the cornfield were scattered across the parking lot and sidewalk. As I walked along the building, I saw the rooms with cracked windows where tree limbs made . I had to be careful where I stepped so my feet wouldn’t get tangled in the branches. The further I went, the less damage there was. I wondered if the other people staying here were in any of the damaged rooms.

The clerk under-exaggerated. Room 204 wasn’t “’bout halfway down,” it was the room all the way at the back.

I groaned. I didn’t feel comfortable being in such a secluded room. What if creepy people snuck up to my window from the cornfield behind the motel? I shuddered, trying to ignore the thought.

I was trapped here in an isolated room. Great.

I unlocked the door and let it swing open. Frozen on the spot, I was overcome with a mix of sensations I had trouble processing. Disconnected memories. Fear. Panic. Uncertainty. Familiarity. The most prevalent feeling was knowing that I had unlocked this exact door before. I had stood in this exact spot. But it wasn’t possible—I had never been here before in my life.

Trying to dismiss the troubled feeling, I entered the room. A musty smell smacked me in the face as if I collided with an invisible wall. I screwed up my nose as I kicked the door closed behind me. The sheer curtains were drawn shut, letting filtered light into the dim room. The power was still out, so there was no point turning on the lights.

It suddenly hit me that I had to pee, badly. I had been holding it while the tornado raged outside and the tow guy hauled off my car. I really had to go.

I raced through the room to the far end where I knew the bathroom was. I flung up the toilet seat and pulled down my jeans. After sitting down, I breathed easy with relief.

Frowning, I paused to think. How did I know where the bathroom was? I hadn’t been here before, but I knew exactly where to go. All hotel rooms had a similar layout, right?

That must be it.

I finished up and flushed.

While washing my hands, I glanced up in the mirror. The little bar of soap slipped right out from between my palms. A human-shaped shadow stood at the foot of the bed… watching me. It wasn’t near any wall where my own shadow could be cast. There weren’t even lights turned on to cast a shadow in the first place…

I spun around. There was no one there.

The shadow was gone.

Shaking my head, I turned off the faucet and dried my hands.

It’s just my imagination.

But the feeling was paralyzing. Just to be sure no one really was in the room, I checked the shower in the bathroom where I just had been, opened the closet, and checked under the bed. I was all alone.

Down on my hands and knees by the bed, I was overcome with nausea. Maybe it was because the musty smell was worse by the carpet or because I hadn’t eaten since I left my apartment… but I felt like I was about to vomit.

I sat up on my heels and rubbed my temples to try and calm myself and my churning stomach. Looking down, right under my knees by the bed, was a large stain on the floor.

Oh yeah, that’s always been there, I thought.

I blinked, ing that I’ve never even been here before. And if I’ve never been here before, how could I know that’s always been there?

My eyes watered. Something was terribly wrong here. I put my hand on the bed to pull myself up. My legs were shaking like I might collapse. As I sat on the bed, I actually looked at the room, the whole room, for the first time since

entering.

I had been here before, almost every night of my life. This was the hotel room from my nightmares.

Chapter 4

This was definitely the room from my nightmare. It had the same cream blanket on the bed, the same old tube-style television, the same green carpet with the same brown stain… even the stain was the same oval shape.

Chills rushed up my arms.

Just like in my dream.

Even the tobacco-stained curtains above the window unit were exactly as I had seen it a thousand times before.

“Screw the rental car.”

There was no way I could wait till tomorrow. I would call a taxi and get out of here. At that point, I didn’t care how much a long-distance ride would cost. If getting away meant the cab fare drained my bank , so be it.

I ran to the phone on the nightstand by the bed. Even though the power was out, I had a desperate hope that the phone might still work.

I picked up the receiver and put it to my ear. The line was dead. I tapped the

hook a few times, hoping for a dial tone. There was nothing.

“Crap.”

I grabbed my purse off the nightstand. I sat down on the bed and pulled out my cellphone.

Just like earlier in the parking lot, I hardly had any signal. The strength flickered between one bar and no bars. I couldn’t waste any time, I had to get a hold of someone.

“It’s worth a try...” I dialed my mom’s number.

The phone rang and rang. Finally, my mom answered.

“Mom!”

“Candice? What’s wrong?” My mom’s voice was choppy, probably from the poor signal out here, but she could hear the fear in mine.

“Mom, listen,” I blurted out. “I got stranded on my way to Springfield because a tornado totaled my car. I need you to call a taxi for me. The power and phone lines are out. I’m at the Deja Motel,” I picked up an information card by the phone and read off the motel address.

“Okay, but Candice, what are you doing out there? Why were you going to Springfield?”

I frowned.

“Because of the funeral. The one you told me about.”

“What are you talking about?” my mom asked, her voice breaking up from the poor reception. “Who died?”

The revelation made my blood run cold. My mouth went slack, and the phone slipped from my hand. It landed on the bed with a soft thump.

I felt numb. This was all wrong.

I couldn’t breathe.

I felt like I was being suffocated… just like in my nightmare.

Chapter 5

I could hear my mom faintly through the phone as it lay on the bed.

“Candice, are you there? What happened? Are you okay? Candice!?” Her voice got staticky. The call dropped.

I couldn’t move. I was stunned. This was all wrong. If my mom didn’t know about the funeral, then who told me to go to Springfield?

And then I heard it.

There are certain sounds that make the blood run cold. The inexplicable sound of someone, or something, breathing heavily behind you was certainly one of those sounds.

Not only could I hear it, I could feel icy breath on the back of my neck.

“I… called… you… here…” a woman’s voice whispered in my ear.

I jumped up from the bed. When I spun around, I was hit with a chill so cold, my chest hurt. The air in the empty room turned as frigid as the walk-in freezer at the restaurant.

Nope. Nope!

This wasn’t happening.

I was inside my nightmare.

Rushing to the door to get as far away as possible, I gripped the handle.

Pang.

Pang!

PANG!

I looked down to towards the sound. The fly from my dream. Just as frantic to fight his way through the glass and escape as I was.

Heavy footsteps approached my room from outside, snatching my attention away from the fly and the window. My eyes stung and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. The foot falls were slow and malicious, just like in my dream.

The doorknob rattled.

Someone was unlocking my door.

My eyes darted to the security chain dangling down, unfastened.

I had to secure it. I raced to the door and scrambled to grab the chain as the door opened.

Crack!

I yelped, jumping back, and grabbing my nose. My eyes stung from the impact.

“Sorry! Sorry about that, miss,” the maid in the grey dress said. “I brought you a vanity kit and a toothbrush. It looked like you didn’t have anything with you, so I thought you might need this.”

She was right. My trunk was crushed, and I couldn’t get my suitcase out.

“Oh, thank you.” Maybe my nightmare wasn’t really coming true. It was just the maid bringing me something thoughtful.

I held out my hand to accept the items. My eyes went wide. There was blood on

my hand.

“Oh no,” I pinched my nostrils.

When the maid opened the door and hit me in the face with it, she gave me a bloody nose. I rushed to the sink at the back of the room to wash the blood off and grab some tissues.

“I’ll just leave these here on the table,” the maid said, her tone still as dull as ever. As she walked across the room, her footsteps were light. She was a petite woman. How she could make the heavy foot falls I heard outside my room; I had no idea.

Maybe I just imagined those heavy footsteps.

Once I cleaned up most of the blood, I used a handful of tissues to try and stop the bleeding. When I turned around, I expected the maid to be gone. But she was still there, watching me. The desk clerk was in my room, too, standing right next to her and blocking the door.

“I’m fine, really.” I said with a nervous laugh. “Thanks for the toothbrush and all, but I don’t need anything else.”

The clerk calmly shut the door behind him, confining the three of us inside the room. This is beyond creepy!

“But we do,” the maid said, her voice taking on a low, menacing tone.

The desk clerk sneered. He reached behind him and pulled out a coil of rope.

Did he have that down his pants? I wondered vaguely as I backed away, my legs hitting the bed.

He rushed me.

My eyes grew wide. I tried to weave around him, but he was too fast. He grabbed me and threw me to the ground, my face pressed into the stained carpet. He pulled my arms behind my back and tied my wrists together.

I screamed, squirmed, and kicked, trying to break free. It was no use. The maid grabbed my feet as the clerk tied my ankles together. The fibers cut into my skin. I squirmed but couldn’t break free—the more I struggled, the more the rope bit in.

The clerk hoisted me up and tossed me on the bed. I was tied up like a hog and couldn’t do anything about it.

“What are you doing? Let me go! Let me GO!”

The maid only laughed.

“Why are you doing this?”

The maid bent down near my face. She smelled of rotten onions. She stroked my pony tail.

“Such beautiful brown hair.”

I shuddered, pulling my head away.

“And pretty brown eyes,” she crooned. “And those lips…”

I pressed my lips together, trying to hide them.

“Just like the others,” the clerk growled.

The maid stood back up, looking down at me. Studying me. “We don’t get too many young ladies like you these days. We’re always ready just in case, though.”

These freaks tied me up and trapped me in the hotel room from my nightmares. This was far worse than any dream. Despite the frigid air, I was sweating.

Were my dreams really a warning? I ended up in the exact place I had dreamt about for as long as I could .

Maybe this was just another one of my nightmares...

I clenched my eyes shut, hoping against hope that when I opened them, I would wake up. I opened my eyes. It didn’t work. The maid and clerk were still there. I was still tied up in this hellhole.

I felt the cold breath on my neck again. There was something else here with us. Chills ran down my arms.

“Look at the floor,” the voice from earlier whispered. “Help me…”

It was not a good sign to be hearing voices. I was losing my mind. These crazy people were driving me off the cliff of insanity.

I wriggled on the bed so I could see over the edge. The stain was right there, where it had always been. The way the light hit it from this angle, the dark brown stain looked like dried blood.

The maid had said “these days.” Something about those two words troubled me. Tie that together with the blood stain… this wasn’t looking good for me. If I had to guess, they were planning to kill me. And it wasn’t the first time they did this.

I had to try and keep them talking, maybe then I would have time to figure out a way to escape.

I swallowed, tasting iron. My nose was still bleeding. That was the least of my problems, though.

The clerk approached me with a hunting knife in hand. It was menacing with a serrated edge close to the handle, but the tip was smooth… and it looked sharp. He touched the point lightly to my cheek.

“Why did you have to hit her with the door? You know I like to draw first blood.”

He grabbed my hair and wrenched my face closer to his. His breath smelled like the musty room and rot. Gripping my head so I couldn’t move, he pressed the knife into my cheek. Hot pain shot through my face as the skin split open.

Tears poured from my eyes, mixing with the blood covering my face.

I was never going to see my mom again. I was going to die.

Chapter 6

“Stop hogging her,” the maid sneered. “My turn.”

The clerk stepped aside, handing her the knife. She stroked it down my upper arm, drawing blood.

I screamed and squirmed, trying to wriggle away.

“Stop! Please!” I sobbed.

She hit me in the jaw with the handle end of the knife, then gave it back to the clerk.

Good God. They were taking turns slicing me.

Crying, I tried to curl into a ball, but being hog-tied made that difficult. I tried making myself as small as possible. Maybe then they would have a harder time getting to my skin. These people wanted to cut me to shreds.

Someone banged loudly on the door.

“County Sheriff, open up!” a man boomed outside.

The clerk stood up to face the door, bloody knife in hand.

“Help!” I screamed.

The maid slapped me across the face… right on the gash the clerk gave me. I yelped, trying to squirm further away.

“Open up!”

BAM! The sheriff kicked in the door. Three men poured into the room with their hands on their gun holsters. They froze when they entered, their eyes darting from me—the bloody girl on the bed—to the maid, then to the clerk.

The clerk roared angrily. Brandishing his knife, he charged at the armed men.

“Stop. Stop now or I’ll shoot!” the sheriff shouted, drawing his pistol.

The clerk didn’t stop. He raised his knife, ready to strike.

Pow. Pow. Pow.

The sheriff fired in rapid succession, dropping his attacker. The clerk collapsed on the floor, his blood pooling on the carpet next to the brown stain.

The maid backed away with her hands raised in the air. A deputy raced over to clasp her in handcuffs while reading her Miranda Rights.

“Help me!” I screamed from the bed.

The sheriff approached me, kneeling down and radioing for an ambulance in the walkie at his shoulder.

“You're safe now. They can't hurt you anymore.”

The sheriff untied me and helped me to my feet. Looking down at the dead clerk as we walked by, I rubbed my raw wrists, thinking that that was the man who almost killed me.

The other deputies led the maid out of the room. I watched as they put her in the back of a squad car.

“An ambulance is on the way, but I’ve got a med kit in my cruiser,” the sheriff said, taking me gently by the arm… the one that wasn’t bleeding.

I blinked at him, trying to comprehend what just happened. The shock of everything… it was blinding… deafening… My head felt fuzzy, like it was stuffed with cotton…

“Here, keep the pressure on it,” the sheriff said, pressing gauze to my face with a gloved hand.

I held the cotton in place as he opened up another gauze packet. He held it on my arm. I didn’t even coming outside with him. Good thing he was helping me walk, otherwise I might have tripped over the storm debris.

When the ambulance arrived, the sheriff got me seated in the back. An EMT cleaned the cuts on my face and arm. It stung when she dabbed them with alcohol.

As she stitched up my arm, I zoned out. My mind drifted to nowhere, yet everywhere. I couldn’t help thinking about all the events that lead me here. The dreams, the mysterious phone call, the tornado… the voice that said she called me. Who was she? It wasn’t really my mom. Was the owner of the voice… a ghost?

The EMT tied off a stitch on my face. I winced, trying to pull away.

This isn’t a knife… it’s just a needle… they’re just stitches…

“I know it hurts, but we’re almost done.”

She finished up and taped a massive gauze pad to my cheek and another two on my arm.

More deputies had arrived to take pictures of the crime scene...the one I had been laying in the middle of. I was glad to be alive and not another pool of blood on the floor.

“All done.” The EMT said. “You can sit here for as long as you need to. Let the shock wear off.”

I don’t know how long I sat dazed in the back of the ambulance. The sheriff came over and took my statement. I told him everything they did to me, the whole time staring at the cracked asphalt parking lot. Grass was growing between bulging cracks. How could life spring from such a dark place? This motel was full of death, I could feel it.

“You know, it’s a good thing your mother called us when she did.”

I looked up at the sheriff, as if hearing him for the first time.

“My mom?”

“Yes, ma’am. She was worried about you, and it seems rightfully so. We just thought you had maybe gotten injured with the tornado and all, but…” he trailed

off.

“Yeah. It threw my car through the window,” I said.

The sheriff gave me a sympathetic smile, though it didn’t seem to be about the car.

“Ya’ know, about twenty years ago, we had another young lady go missing in this area. I’m reminded of it, because she looked so much like you.”

I swallowed bile… the maid commented on my hair and eyes. When I took shelter from the tornado, the clerk and maid exchanged weird looks… were they planning to kill me even then? What would have happened if my car wasn’t wrecked… would any of this have even happened? What if they planned to never let me leave, even if my car was okay? Goosebumps prickled my arms at the thought.

“The woman was found bleeding on the floor next to the bed in the same motel room you were bound up in. The case was closed, the cause of death marked as a suicide.” The sheriff shifted his belt, sighing. “It never felt right to me. It was my first case. I was still a rookie and just went with what my superiors said. It dogged me for decades. I guess I have you to thank for cracking a cold case.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The maid just confessed to killing that woman in the same room you were

bound up in. A couple other missing persons cases too, for that matter. If your mother hadn't’ve called, we might not have gotten to you in time. We might not have found you at all.”

I shuddered from the implication. Meaning they might not have found my body.

“Because of you, we got a confession to a case twenty years cold. We can finally give the other woman the closure she deserves.”

I looked over at Room 204, the place of my nightmares. My stomach twisted in a knot. A translucent woman stood in the window. She was wearing all white with long brown hair—like mine. It seemed like I could recognize some of myself in her features. I only saw her for a few seconds, but in that short time, she nodded at me and faded away.

When she vanished, my body relaxed. I let out an exasperated breath.

Was it her all along? Did she know this would happen and had been trying to warn me in my dreams? Or… was she luring me to my death?

But she had said “help me” in the room. Maybe she needed me to come here for her killers to get caught. Would she have let me die to get closure?

I felt sick… I would never know for sure.

“Candice!” my mom leapt out of her car and ran over to me.

“Mom!”

I climbed out of the ambulance and rushed to her. She gave me a big hug. In her arms, I felt safe, like no one could ever hurt me again.

“I was so worried about you.”

“Thanks for calling the cops. Y-you saved my life.”

My mom squeezed me even tighter.

After the sheriff said it was okay to go, I got into my mom’s car, glad to finally leave the Deja Motel where I was almost murdered.

From that day on, I never had the nightmares again.

THE END

Secrets

by Vincent F. A. Golphin

Words hurt. The most painful are secrets – thoughts unspoken, hidden ideas, the bricks that are often used to build a wall to disguise real lives from the image shown to others. As a collector of stories, I have seen many such walls. Human lives are my hobby. I used to be a reporter. After retirement, I found what I craved most about the job I did for more than three decades was to solve the puzzles that persist in people. I dig out truths behind the incidents often missed in the news. Curiously, that is how this tale of secrets found me.

At the Beacham Hideaway, a lodge for those who seek charm with their privacy, my main goal was to get away from the usual retirement doldrums. Most days, back home in Florida, I fish, read, walk, watch, and write about the peculiarities of the human condition. So, during a recent Memorial Day weekend, I went to Upstate New York to just lie about at The Beacham. Then, I noticed Randolf Redd.

The usual sunny days I expected this time of the year were filled with showers. Many guests lounged or talked in spots across the first-floor lobby. I watched him walk into The Beacham, and was certain that man had a story because of the faraway gaze and excitement in his facial expression was so different from most other guests. As I observed and listened to staff and other guests’ rumors and recollections these truths emerged. Of course, as in many human encounters the real facts are knitted together with speculation.

There isn’t any change, Redd likely said to himself. That facial expression betrayed the thought. The Albuquerque architect had an eye for detail. His brown eyes scanned the room like radar. At six foot, three inches, he was half a head, or a full head, taller than many visitors. His ramrod posture was a giveaway to the stern disciplined life he maintained outside The Beacham Hideaway. The man’s stride was confident, yet I noticed a hesitation in his demeanor. Hidden in the enchantment evident in his survey of the quaint environment, I saw a quick appraisal of the inn where he planned a weekend romantic rendezvous. Redd did not totally buy into the Hideaway. Most of the lobby looked like a space outside time. I don’t know exactly what held him back from a complete trance.

Many other faces in the lobby ed emotions that ranged from bored to gleeful, but I could see that Redd discerned the uniqueness in The Beacham Hideaway’s late 19th century touches. I saw that unlike nearly all of us other guests, he eased into the atmosphere, like a muscle weary person into a heated spa. From the porch rail ornately carved with dragon heads that wrapped around the first level of the three-story structure like a fat man’s belt to a lobby whose arched walls conveyed a sense that the place was far more immense than it appeared from the road. The horseshoe shaped atrium disguised a semi-circle of small rooms with arched entrances whose privacy was guaranteed by double doors with white prism glass s.

As Redd strode to the front desk with a briefcase and a weekender, he scanned the nested chambers. The architect in him was probably curious about how such seemingly delicate cubby holes ed two floors of guest rooms. The layout of the atrium and lobby looked as if they were on the wrong building.

Maybe his mind puzzled the management’s choice of wallpaper with large black fiddlehead flowers set against a deep green background with burgundy trim. I saw how he marveled at how the wall covering complemented the highly polished oak woodwork, thick East Indian carpets, rosewood and walnut tables, carved mahogany cabinets, pillowed couches and chairs in deep red fabrics

dotted with shiny brass pins. The light from four, multi-color, Victorian stainedglass windows on the second floor over the main entrance with images of earth, wind, fire and knowledge, gave a soft feel to the environment. When charged with sun rays, the glass portals dramatized the height of the open area above the center space.

I did not come to understand until far later that the ex-Marine was not new in those surroundings. That Memorial Day weekend was not his sixth visit to the inn. To him everything appeared to be in the same place as the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that, back to the beginning. Redd was right. I checked.

It occurred to me that The Beacham looked the same on the day in 1901 that long dead railroad tycoon Josiah Beacham first opened the leaded glass entrance doors to what was then his new home. The structure’s sheer size made it hard to for most contemporary guests to grasp how it could ever be a house. It was. Now, the place remains a testament to forgotten luxury, comfort and the power of cash.

A pine smell radiated from the hardwood stairs, banisters, and the front desk whose wood shined as brightly as its brass fittings. The scent might have been obnoxious in more contemporary surroundings, but Redd took it as an aroma that evoked his beloved Victorian Age.

After six years, the desk clerk Mrs. McArcum’s chestnut hair with gray flecks remained unaltered. The strands were tightly pulled into a bun. The look smacked of past centuries.

It’s all the same, Redd likely thought as he stared closely at the flecks in her hair. The man found comfort in routine. Redd did not like surprises. The slender

woman’s head only came up to his chin. He could look down at the top of her head. From the look on his face, I could tell he thought, Exactly the same, not one strand more or less than last May.

The rest of her face, was draped with a sign of these pandemic times - mouth and nose covered by a white mask. The guests found the safety step familiar. Nose and mouth covers of different shapes and colors were everywhere. Newly minted signs at the entrance and on the main desk stated they were required. Barefaced, Redd smiled and chose to recall past visits when the gentlewoman cast a smile with a calm expression.

“Come to spend Memorial Day with us again, Mr. Redd?” Mrs. McArcum asked in a manner that seemed to him too cheery. He half-smiled and in a business-like manner handed her a completed registration card. Redd often told other guests that his habit was to not be familiar with, “the help,” as he called them.

I later learned that he did not struggle to pay the bills, yet the condescension in his thoughts was unmerited. The attitude was antiquated and un-American, like something from the British drama series Downton Abbey. Redd made more money than a porter or waitress but was not Bill Gates rich. That said, such an attitude in his case bridged eras, like the Hideaway’s registration.

Guests filled out cards with their names, home addresses, phone numbers, and preferred payment methods. That practice, as many things at The Beacham, nodded to a long-gone era of grand hoteliers. Victorian in look and manner, nonetheless the 21st century lodge also transacted business with computers and key cards.

The staff, other than the clerk/concierge Mrs. McArcum, seemed largely in their twenties by appearance. The porters, waiters, maids, and bellmen maintained late

19th Century customs and decorum. Guests were greeted by honorifics – Mister, Misses, Miss (no Ms.), reverend, father, doctor, or professor. “The help” always tagged them with a guest’s last name. Sir and madam were dropped like periods at the end of each response. Porters, bellmen, bartenders and maids had only one name, as in, “I am Barkley, sir.” Redd loved that.

Mrs. McArcum motherly tone was out of time, too. Her manner seemed younger than the late 40s, early 50s cast of her vanilla skin and brown eyes. Redd, who was close to 60, found her almost magical adherence to detail, attitude and tone therapeutic.

“The Beacham is like a fairy tale,” he told me in a brief exchange. “Mrs. McArcum is my fairy godmother.”

That seemed an odd thing to tell a stranger, but that happens at The Beacham. During the few days we shared, I only spoke with him twice. Redd was not alone in the way he was affected by the environment. I once overheard another annual visitor confide, “It restores my soul.” Anyway, Redd gave a hearty yes in response to the question.

“Yes, uh, Mrs. McArcum,” Redd said as he glanced at her name tag. “I’m back. I really like this place, especially this time of the year.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “Will your friend, that nice Mrs. Michaels, be coming, too?”

Redd’s face dropped. He thought his association with Alexandra Michaels was secret. I don’t know how he thought that by the couple’s second rendezvous, four

years ago, no one might notice that every Memorial Day weekend the pair separately arrived then spent days (and nights) together. Those who did not catch on in the second year had more than enough opportunity to catch on in the third, fourth or fifth year. Redd and Lexi, as he called her, acted as if each year was a first date.

The clerk checked the paper card against the information in the computer, then recorded his credit card, and prepared an electronic key. Redd searched his mind for how to respond to the Lexi question. At the same time, the man probably pondered how she or anyone might have made the connection.

It did not matter. The advantage of a getaway steeped in the 19th century is that employees know their place. The Beacham staff understood discretion in ways that 21st Century workers might never grasp. At the same time, they love to gossip and accept bribes. That was how I caught up on the background of much of this story.

The lobby tumult swallowed sounds of the storm and high winds outside. Redd was unnerved.

He did not want anyone at Beacham’s Hideaway to know his business with Lexi Michaels. I watched him consider whether to leave. He could tell Lexi to meet somewhere else. That was when he recalled that they chose the Beacham Hotel because it almost guaranteed they would never run into anyone they knew.

Redd stood frozen in thought for a discrete answer to Mrs. McArcum’s question. Meanwhile, a bellman with a name tag that said “Andrews” rushed up and began to master his bags. Redd reached for the case and weekender. His habit was to take on his own burden. The younger employee’s mind was doubtless focused on a healthy tip. After all, in Victorian fashion, people such as Redd are above the

transport of luggage. “The help” shot the gentleman a strange look.

“Would you like me to get you a mask, sir?” the muscular, twenty-something, in a black uniform with red piping asked. “We keep them on hand for safety. I know people have different opinions....”

“Masks are a strict policy at The Beacham,” Mrs. McArcum interjected from behind them. “There are several spares in the room.”

“Andrews,” she said to the bellman. “Help him, please.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” Redd dragged out the words to convey sincere insincerity. “I forgot about those things. In this state, you’re all still standing apart and hiding.”

“Yes sir,” the young man proudly replied. “I can get you a mask in a moment.”

“I.…” Redd, a rigid New Mexico Trump er, carefully considered whether to force his real preference or conform to the Yankee cautions. I hid my amusement at the sight behind a white mask. Redd’s eyes quickly scanned the room and noticed that all guests wore nose and mouth covers. I wondered that so detail-oriented a person missed that obvious fact. The man offered a thin smile.

“I might as well,” he said. “Sure.”

Andrews the bellman moved swiftly. Redd turned toward him and only saw the back of a figure dart through a door on the other side of the room marked, “Employees.” As quickly as he entered, Andrews rushed out with several plastic-wrapped packages.

“Here,” Andrews said slightly out of breath. “I got you three.”

Before Redd could thank him, Mrs. McArcum instructed in a monotone, “Number 17.”

Same as always, Redd thought. Same as always.

Before the weekend visitor could file that mental note, Andrews nodded toward Mrs. McArcum, grabbed the leather briefcase, weekender, and the electronic key. Stunned by the flurry of activity, Redd with no direct instruction stood in limbo.

I watched him continue to weigh options – run or stay. The assignations with the widow Michaels he thought secret were blown. The romantic rambled through a series of thoughts.

No one really knows what we do together, Redd told himself. They can’t. If they know that, do they know what we did? I wonder whether Lexi knows that they noticed us.

Andrews hustled Redd’s bags up the stairs. The closet-sized lobby elevator was

primarily for guests. The 1890s model electric vertical transport was one of the innovations that made the Beacham house such a spectacle at the opening of the 20th century. Most were in factories, warehouses or the tall business buildings or hotels downstate. Josiah Beacham wanted the same convenience.

Redd was oblivious to such details on that day. The architect’s quandary over the exposed secret threatened to eat up the best part of his morning, then Mrs. McArcum said, “Enjoy the weekend, sir.” The spell broke. The clerk looked back at her work. Redd scrambled up the staircase to Suite 17.

* * *

The storm raged outside his window, battering the glass as if it were to shatter at any moment. It was the most comforting thing he heard all night. The heavy rains allowed his mind to float back over the past six Memorial Day weekends at the inn. They banked on the relationship as secret. He came this year as every other year to meet a special friend, meanwhile rehearsed what he planned to say to Lexi.

Her husband died six years ago. In Redd’s plan, that sixth year was to end of a respectable waiting period. The pair did so much during the last half-dozen years to keep their lust, affection and intimacy discrete. Nonetheless, the designer who laid so many plans for structures and interiors was uncertain what Lexi might say to a proposal.

He could only hope to control what his devoted lover might plan for her life. She might prefer her current freedom. Friends and family in her Chicago hometown told me the businesswoman often said that. Whether she never shared those thoughts with Redd, or he was secure in their desires by everything they did to be together, the architect’s main interest was a legal bond. Redd planned for

them to leave The Beacham this year as an engaged couple. The New Mexico conservative hoped they might finally marry without too many tongues wagging.

The man stared at the streaks of water that slowly slid down the pane. Most of this part is from my imagination. He was alone in the room. By my measure, he began to feel lonely. His patience wore thin. He could not explain why. I understand that. You think you know where and who you are, and then something happens, like a clerk reveals that your secret is no secret. Usually, some small shift occurs. Confidence flees.

Where is she? he asked. She should be here by now. I have so much to tell her.

The man played love tunes from the Sixties. Johnny Mathis sang, “Chances are cause I wear a silly grin, the moment you come into view.” Redd’s panicked thoughts slowly eased downward like the tiny rivulets on the glass. The singer crooned in a pitch just high enough to seem ethereal and at the same time oddly masculine. Redd backed away from the window. He sat in a high-backed stuffed chair then stared at the weather.

“Chances are you think that I'm in love with you,” Mathis sang. Redd hummed. His thoughts drifted back to a time when life was light. Love was less of a burden. The verses spilled.

“Guess you feel you'll always be the one and only one for me, and if you think you could,” Redd began to sing. “Well, chances are your chances are awfully good.”

He played the track seven or eight more times. He and Lexi agreed to risk

in the midst of the pandemic. Romance made them crave more than the isolation and confusion outside Beacham’s Hideaway. In the music he could forget about the virus. He and his intended bride accepted that they could get the Coronavirus. They romantically agreed that their only shield against covid-19 is a lover’s trust.

“There is no way the fates could be so cruel,” Redd said, a friend of Lexi’s told me. My informant said his friend laughed then spoke as lovers do, “I would offer my life for him.”

Redd’s mind fixed on his romantic chances. There was so much he put into the spirit he hoped would infect them both. He hoped that would make her agree to his proposal. Their relationship was hot, but Redd was not certain that meant Lexi was ready to surrender herself to another marriage. The architect and she schemed hard to get her out of the previous marriage. Friends of them both said toxic was a far too polite description of the Lexi’s union. She called him her savior.

But, is that enough, he probably asked himself. He understood that saints and saviors are for altars, not mates. He did not need the woman to worship him, Redd wanted her soul.

The suitor listened to the storm as he hummed and crooned romantic tunes. In between, to kill time and distract the negative thoughts he checked emails and social media. The storm’s rage was the last refuge from his anxiety. Desire devoured him. Their 12-month hiatus between their trysts echoed a Victorian innocence. The romance was a hallmark of dignity, dedication and strength - his burden and benefit. They maintained an air of propriety for the outside world, but Redd came ready to challenge Alexandra Michaels.

Lexi, we’ve waited long enough, he rehearsed in his head. Waves of water crashed against the pane. We can get together. We can be with each other married or not. It’s like a normal romance. We’ve dated for years. Now, we can decide to make this permanent. No one is going to know or care what we did.

Lightning struck. The flash broke Redd’s thought. Someone knocked.

* * *

The door was supposed to slowly open. Unmasked. Redd wanted to be, “eye candy.” He planned to tantalize his lover like an unveiled virgin on a wedding night. Instead, a masked Alexandra Michaels shoved the open. Her eyes were wide with panic.

“He’s alive,” she hollered. She tore off the mask and repeated louder, “He’s alive.”

Redd’s arms raised to embrace her. She brushed them aside. He startled, and drew back like a disc jockey who dropped a needle on the wrong track.

“I saw Jason,” she announced. “He’s alive.”

“What?” Redd asked in a deep disbelief. “Where? How?”

The woman quickly paced in silence more than ten times, back and forth in a six-foot line before Redd came to grips that she was with him. Her movement and pace were machine-like.

“It can’t be him, but it was,” Alexandra mumbled the mantra as if under a spell. Redd never saw her in such a state. The five-foot seven, slender woman was wrapped in an inner dialogue with herself. There was an exactitude to the rhythms between the “It can’t be him” mantra and her steps. She wore a line into the carpet between the closed door and a high-backed stuffed chair.

“How? Where? What are saying? Talk to me,” Redd pleaded. The man tried to intercept her steps, to slow the movement. The mumbling lover pushed past. He was determined to break the trench Lexi seemed determined to wear into the carpet.

“C’mon!” Redd hollered. “You’re not making sense. You need to slow down and talk.”

Alexandra faced him. The man could see a faraway gaze in her brown eyes. Her terrorized look chilled his confidence. Redd began to look about the room. Her behavior put him on alert. He acted as if Jason Michaels might jump out of the shadows. He wanted to believe they had no reason to run or fight. Lexi made him certain something bad was on the way.

“What do you mean?” she responded. Their eyes connected. Any tinge of the romantic gathering Redd imagined vaporized. The couple were laser focused on what could only be a problem.

Redd eased behind her and wrapped Lexi in his arms. They fit together like two puzzle pieces. Alexandra was five inches shorter, but he leaned in and nuzzled her neck. The intervention was hardly enough. The surprised lover understood that, but felt compelled to act as if he could melt panic into a mist.

“Take it slow, sweetheart,” Redd whispered. “Calm down.”

Alexandra’s arms flung wide. “Get off,” she hollered.

Redd’s hold broke. His intended fiancée fell back into the stuffed chair.

“Calm down?” she shouted up at him. Anxiety ramped up a shrewish nature in her tone. “What the hell do you mean, calm down? When is the last time you saw a ghost?”

The man suddenly realized he was way off key. “All I meant was…” Redd responded.

“I can’t slow down, or calm down,” she angrily interrupted. “Get away from me. I am not interested in sex, or whatever you have in mind.”

Redd shot a quizzical stare. How did she know? he asked himself.

“Wait a minute,” he said in an effort to gain control of the situation. “What am I

supposed to say?”

That was when he began to pace. The movement was to maintain a grip on his emotions and exactly where they stood.

“You burst in here, yelling and mumbling something about Jason being alive,” he said with a bit of outrage. “I don’t know what to think. I am trying to gather facts. What happened? At the least, tell me what you think is about to happen.”

The brief pause gave her time to regain a sense of herself. Lexi took his right hand in her left.

“Pay attention, Rand,” she said in slow sincerity. “This is serious. I saw Jason in the lobby.”

Redd looked around the room to make certain that they were unobserved. As stated, I did not directly witness that and other scenes, but I am pretty sure of those actions. “The help” have ears at all hours. My knowledge of most things is pulled together from others’ observations, rumors, and speculation. Lexi and Redd were surrounded. In this instance, guests in ading rooms could hear the debate. Lexi was nervous and anxious. Redd was confused.

“This has got to be some kind of setup,” he said, as if in conversation with himself and the world at once. “Lexi is as hard as a rock and usually calm as a mountain lake. Nothing makes her unravel like this.”

“Is someone watching?” he asked her.

“Where?” she asked as the panic in her voice ramped up. “Listening? Where? How?”

“Maybe you saw a man who only resembled Jason?” Redd reasoned.

“Mrs. McArcum….”

“Is she behind this?” Lexi asked. She rose from the seat.

“Maybe the Beacham Hideaway wants to shake us down,” Redd pondered.

“Are we being paranoid?” Lexi asked with a panicked gaze.

“You know that is impossible, Lexi,” Redd sternly spoke with a father’s tone. “Your husband’s been dead for more than six years.”

Alexandra’s frustration loosed in a shriek. Her hands flew to her temples. Again, eyes closed, the businesswoman conferenced with herself. “It can’t be him, but it was,” she slowly muttered again and again, determined to work out the contradiction. “I know what I saw. A live Jason is impossible, but it is not possible that I did not see what I saw.”

“We....” Redd caught his tongue and tone. In a confident voice, with a conspiratorial tone just above a whisper, he uttered three words. “We killed him,” he reminded her. “You know that. Jason is dead.”

“His body was never found,” she said a little louder.

“Shhh! Keep it down,” Redd shot back. “Yeah, we planned that. Right after we supposedly left from our wonderful getaway, , darling?

“We did him. He is at the bottom of a lake somewhere in these mountains.”

“I know you think that,” Alexandra said in a plaintive tone. “So did I, but he was in the lobby.”

“C’mon, darling, ? We did not want him found. No one even knew that you two came here together. You filed a missing person’s report when you got home. You claimed to discover your husband did not return from his out-of-town trip. The whole thing went our way. It could not be simpler. We could not be luckier. Let’s enjoy the weekend.”

“I saw him, Rand. Why can’t you believe me?”

“I don’t disbelieve you,” he said in a sympathetic tone set to disguise his greater belief in the success of their plan. “I need more facts.”

“I need your ,” she said. “All of our romance and good times can’t make up for the fact that you don’t trust me.”

“Well, let’s see,” Redd said. “We share a bond. I have never failed to meet for these weekends since it happened. I have discretely shown my love for years. I’m here with you, for one thing – love. That fact must prove something.”

Tensions eased. The couple talked more calmly about their stolen moments during the past six years. Memorial Day weekends were fantasy retreat where they could openly show the love they hid out of guilt and fear of discovery. At that moment, the couple probably thought they underestimated guilt’s grip. I imagine they also said silent prayers that their criminal acts were not discovered.

“You have not heard anything from the police in years,” Redd said. “That’s another fact. The detectives who handled the case asked you to leave it to them, right? You have not heard from them since. That is a fact.”

Redd tried to be the voice of reason in what he viewed as Lexi’s hysteria. He did not betray any sense of the terror and guilt she felt month after month. At some point the woman wanted to be caught for the crime. That might end her existence in purgatory. On the good side, Lexi began to notice Redd seemed unbothered by the murder. She wondered if that was because his involvement was even more hidden than hers.

“We’ve come together on this weekend for the past five years without a sign of Jason. Right?” Redd continued his statement of facts.

Lexi gently nodded and opened her mouth to speak.

“You told me that Jason did not know anything about the Beacham Hideaway. Right?”

“But…” she tried to speak, then gently nodded.

“We were never arrested,” Redd explained. “Another fact? Don’t you think that if Jason were alive, we might be charged with murder?”

“Attempted murder,” she said.

They laughed. That brief hint of levity was enough to bring both of them down off the ceiling.

“Yeah, sure, attempted murder,” Redd shot back with a smile and guffaw. “Start from the beginning, darling. What happened downstairs?”

Alexandra paused. She stared at Redd who walked to the dresser. He grabbed a Jack Daniels bottle and tipped two portions into glasses. He moved toward a high-backed stuffed chair next to where she sat, then handed one of the drinks to her. The woman sipped the amber liquid.

There was pleasure in the taste and some comfort in the alcohol’s ability to calm

her. Nothing wiped away the truth she experienced, or eased her thoughts.

“I walked through the doors into the lobby,” Alexandra explained, as she methodically retraced the encounter. “It is amazing how little this place changes.”

“Yes, yes,” Redd said.

“It’s like it never changes,” he told her. “Until now.”

Lexi nodded assent, and continued.

“I began to chat with Mrs. McArcum. She hasn’t changed much either. We talked about how I visit every year. She mentioned your arrival. I guess she figured out that we’re together. I glanced out of the corner of my left eye at a man in one of the little rooms around the lobby.

“He looks like Jason, I thought for just a second. I don’t know what exactly made me cling to that idea, but I had to look closer. The man was around sixfoot, two, smartly dressed in a gun powder gray suit with a cloud blue shirt and red tie. That was Jason’s style. His shoes were Italian, I could tell.

The man had stood erect, as if he were British, but he carried himself and acted very American.”

Redd wanted to ask what she meant by the statement but resisted. Their conversation was on a roll.

“That tie might have caught my eye more than anything,” Lexi continued. “The red matched a mustang I once owned, slightly different tone than the lobby furniture. He was the only man with a regal red tie. The object might not have attracted my attention in another place, but I felt like I looked into one of those “what does not belong” drawings. That is why I noticed him. Oddly, he seemed to not fit in that lobby.”

Redd leaned over to give her a gentle kiss on the cheek. She raised her hand – an unspoken stay away. The reaction similar to when she arrived made him quickly obey. Redd touched her right hand, a gesture more ive than intimate. Her recollection halted. His eyes said go on. Not a word ed between them. Alexandra smiled.

“I walked toward the side room,” she continued. “Jason…. I mean the man, looked at me. Our eyes connected. I thought he was about to say my name. I swear his lips pursed to say Alexandra, in that formal way that made him sound more like my father than husband. His gaze blanked. I smiled out of habit.”

Lexi paused. For more than a minute she was alone in her thoughts. Perhaps she continued to measure the reality of the encounter.

“He knew me,” she said with a strong resolve. “Jason had that same paternalistic scowl on his face, as when he would say, ‘Alexandra,’ before he scolded me about something. His stare dripped with the same combined senses of disapproval and disappointment. The man recognized me. I could tell.

“The suspected Jason looked back toward a woman in the room. I didn’t see him move his lips or anything, but somehow, he told her what to do. She rose and closed the mirrored doors.

“I stood there. I froze. In the lobby. While the rest of the people with somewhere else to be moved around me, I looked at the side room. I probably appeared to others as a lone sculpture abandoned in a warehouse. No one seemed to notice.

“’You alright, madam?’ McArcum asked. My concentration broke.

“She appeared at my elbow; came out of nowhere,” Lexi continued. “One second I saw the woman behind the desk. Poof! She was right at my side. Of course, you’ll probably say, I was carried away in thought, but I heard no footsteps. You might be right; except I could swear I was aware. I knew who I was, what I saw, and what was going on.

“You forgot your key,” Mrs. McArcum said in that motherly tone. “Number 18, right across from that nice Mr. Redd.”

Lexi said, “You might not believe me.” Redd anxiously stared in suspense. “That key was in my hand. I knew it. I did not leave it at the desk.”

“Well, how….”

“All of a sudden she held it out to me,” Lexi interrupted.

“What?” Redd asked. “How?”

“I don’t know how.”

“Are you going to be OK?” the man said in a tone that betrayed his lack of confidence in the story. “C’mon, Lexi, I want to believe you, but this is a little hard to take in. Right? What about that man, I mean Jason?”

“He never came out of the room.”

“Why didn’t you go to the door and knock?”

“Sure, and ask what? ‘Hello, darling, why aren’t you dead?’”

“Yeah, I guess there is no polite way to come back from a situation where you shoot someone, dump the body, and run into them years later. Maybe…. You could have said ….”

“Let’s go back down there,” Alexandra interrupted. “I don’t know if he is still there, but I need to see. I need you to go with me. I am not going in that lobby alone again until I leave.”

“Ok, darling, alright,” Redd said in a patronizing tone. “I’ll go with you. Of course, as far as I’m concerned, we can spend the whole weekend right here.”

All of my informants and my own senses agreed that his suggestion probably fell as flat as an unrisen pancake. Lexi pulled away from another attempted embrace and went to the corridor.

Masked, Redd and Lexi took the elevator down to the lobby. The carriage about six-feet in each direction - moved at a snail’s pace compared with more modern equipment. Raines, the operator, guided engers on and off. Each ride was filled with a tinge of anticipation.

“Lobby,” he said, eyes ahead, with no acknowledgement of the engers.

“Thank you,” Lexi said as they exited. He gave a silent nod at the control .

Redd no doubt thought it curious that lobby seemed as busy as when they arrived. He figured the traffic might cut back at night. The doors were open on the side chamber where Lexi claimed to have seen Jason. Andrews and other staff moved about among the guests. Redd discretely quizzed Andrews and other staff about the man. Even though a tip was attached to every query, there was no sign of the person they sought. Redd marched Lexi over to the desk.

“Good evening, Mrs. McArcum,” he said with only the slightest notice that the woman was still on duty. “Do you keep track of the people who use the side chambers?”

“Good evening, sir, madam,” she said in her usual manner tinged with officiousness. “Yes sir, we remain aware of all that happens at the Hideaway. We never discuss the guests.”

Mrs. McArcum returned to her work. Redd felt a sense of relief at her news. He looked at Lexi and shrugged his shoulders. She pushed him aside.

“Excuse me, Mrs. McArcum, I saw someone that I think I knew in that room this afternoon,” Lexi said in a mixture of desperation and determination. “I need to speak with him. I know he will want to speak with me.”

“I see, madam,” she said. “Why didn’t you speak with him when you noticed him this afternoon?”

“Well, I wasn’t quite, I mean.… I didn’t think,” she stumbled in search of the right approach.

Mrs. McArcum stared, unmoved.

“I wanted to wait until he was alone,” Lexi confidently explained. “We came down to speak with him, but the room is empty. Could you tell me where he is staying in the hotel? Is he really a guest?”

“I am sorry madam, Beacham Hideaway policy forbids it,” the clerk said and placed a notepad on the counter. “Write him a note. I will place it in his mail slot. He can you.”

Lexi picked up the pad and pen. “What name is he here under?”

“I beg your pardon, madam,” Mrs. McArcum said. “You don’t know his name? You said he was familiar with you.”

“No, no, you misunderstand,” Lexi said to regroup. “If he is who I am almost certain he is, I know his name.”

I watched Mrs. McArcum’s stare a slight frown. I could tell by the furrowed brow and shift in the wrinkles around the eyes. Those signals and Lexi’s quandary made me want to laugh aloud. I resisted. I was only a chronicler, at most an observer.

“We are friends,” Lexi explained as she tried to recover. “But I did not see him with his wife. I am not certain what name he might be under during this stay.”

“The Beacham Hideaway is not a pay-by-the-hour motel,” the clerk sternly asserted.

Mrs. McArcum reached to snatch back the pad. Lexi, Redd and I saw more irritation in her eyes than her voice. “I do not know your game, Mrs. Michaels, but….” the longtime employee instincts seized her tongue.

Mrs. McArcum looked into Lexi’s eyes. She paused to measure the rest of the

response. “I have neither the time nor inclination to play.”

Mrs. McArcum turned to walk into the employee’s room behind the desk. The woman turned to Lexi.

“I am very sorry,” she said with a genuine tone of regret. “We cannot help you. Perhaps you will encounter the gentleman again.”

Lexi retreated up the staircase to her room like a wounded cat in search of a hideout. Redd followed. He tried to go into Suite 18. Lexi slammed the door. He stood alone in the hallway for less than a minute.

“Lexi?” he gently called and rapped a knuckle on the door. “C’mon, let me in, please.”

“Go away, Rand,” she said with more worry than tears in her voice. “Lexi, maybe together we can make a plan….”

“Your plan got me in this situation,” she hollered. “Your plans will be the death of us.”

“Hey, keep it down,” Redd said lightheartedly. “Let’s not disturb the neighbors.”

The man retreated to Suite 17 desperate to salvage the weekend he hoped would

launch his life onto a new path. He did not know what to say to Lexi. It was clear the only way to get to matters with which he was concerned was to help erase her concerns.

About 8 a.m., Redd knocked gently on Lexi’s door. He hoped a night’s rest might have left her calmer. At the least, he thought, she might offer him some comfort before she dressed. There was no answer. He waited another half-hour then tried again. The same result. He phoned Suite 18. No answer.

Redd went downstairs for breakfast. Lexi sat in the lobby and stared at the side room where she claimed to see Jason. I ran upon them about an hour to so later. The couple watched and waited for him to come into the room. They charted the faces of guests who ed. No one even resembled Lexi’s lost husband.

As the lunch hour neared, Redd and I grew hungry. He argued with Lexi. She refused to budge from her perch. I followed Redd to the Hideaway dining room. The man was about ten feet ahead. Literally, I saw his jaw drop as he peered at the diners through the glass doors. He sprinted past me back toward the lobby.

I went into the dining room, but before my seat could warm, the pair of them walked through the double doors. Redd raised a finger to point at someone. The table was a few over from where I sat, but empty.

The man rushed up to me, then asked in a moderate tone, “Good afternoon, did you notice the man seated at that table?”

I am sure he got the answer from the look on my face. “What man?” I asked. “Where?”

“Just before I ed you in the hallway, I saw a tall man in a gray suit seated there,” he excitedly revealed and pointed at the empty table.

“Maybe you should ask the waiter,” I responded with a shrug.

Redd again peppered, “the help,” with tips and questions.

The failure he was forced to report sent Lexi into greater turmoil. She ran back toward the lobby. While Redd returned to his suite, she stayed perched in the lobby chair until night. I had several activities lined up for the day. I could not swear, but according to the staff the woman never moved. Each time I ed through the lobby her attention seemed riveted upon the side chamber where “Jason” was sighted.

By late evening, Redd’s hopes for romance expired. His plan for marriage exploded. He called the manager’s office to discuss a partial refund. The architect built a weekend even grander than The Beacham Hideaway in his imagination and the dream collapsed. He wanted to cut and run from Jason’s unexpected ghost. His heart would not permit it.

Redd did not want to abandon Lexi, yet he mentally rehearsed what he would say to detectives if his lover’s husband’s disappearance were tied to him. The man knew no one could prove a direct connection between them. His involvement was secret. Redd was inwardly quite proud of that part of his plans. As the evening grew late, he decided to drag Lexi back up to her suite. He became convinced she was pummeled with guilt. All he had to offer was sympathy.

“Rand?” Lexi called as she rapped on his door. “Are you in there?”

Redd tried to make a show of calm. Inside his heart and mind raced, just about as quickly as he moved to the door.

“You came back,” he said.

“Yes,” Lexi replied with a little grin. She looked at the floor and let out a brief schoolgirl laugh, the kind she might have burst into years ago when noticed by a crush, a mix of embarrassment and joy.

Redd pulled her close. They were about to kiss when someone knocked.

The couple froze. I imagine how Redd must have thought the threat he sensed was upon them. He felt concerned, and at the same time protected by the many secrets that led to that moment. The knock came again.

“Yes,” he began. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Redd, I would like to speak you and Mrs. Michaels,” the strong male voice responded. “May I come in?”

The lovers stared at each other and back at the door. After a short debate in which they were assured that the stranger could not be the police, Redd masked up and opened the door. They saw “Jason” unmasked, with a smile.

Lexi screamed and ran into the bedroom. The men took stock of each other. Redd removed his face cover and waved “Jason” to enter.

“I am so glad you decided to open the door,” the man said as he strode across to a chair. “I wanted to speak with you earlier, but this is the first time I caught the two of you together. I removed the mask against caution. I hope you don’t mind.”

Redd stared and shook his head.

“I was not certain how you might respond to my appearance. I am Jonathan Michaels.”

“Oh, wow!” Redd exclaimed.

Lexi must have listened through the bedroom door. She came back and ed her lover’s relief.

“You look and sound like Jason,” she said, and slowly paced around the stranger.

I imagine they both wondered what might be said next. Redd looked into the hallway to make certain there were no police.

“Now that I listen and see you more closely, there is a difference,” Lexi said.

“Well, I am far less serious than he,” the stranger said and laughed.

“Yes,” Lexi said. “Your face has more laugh lines and your tone is definitely lighter.”

The visitor roared with laughter and handed Redd a bottle of wine. Jonathan said, “Let’s have a sip and talk. I want to hear more about what you both have done since my brother’s disappearance.”

The mood change was slower than a snail’s pace, but the wine, pleasant conversation, and Jonathan’s seemly sincere concern for Alexandra and how Randolf came into her life opened their minds, hearts, and mouths. After hours, they opened up to him like an old friend. They shared matters that they never told each other. Murder was the only detail withheld.

Jonathan explained that he was in Kenya when the news reached him about Jason’s disappearance. American by birth, he explained that he was British by preference. He lived in a comfortable home in a small rural county outside London, England. The East African visit was business.

“I do odd jobs for various governments,” he divulged. “That time there were

some messages to deliver throughout Africa, a few private matters to clean up for Her Majesty. I checked with your investigators on Jason’s death. They offered nothing. When I had an opportunity to return to the America, I began look into the matter. I am afraid the official case remains unsolved.”

The trio drank wine and traded stories until the sun peeked through the window shades. Jonathan apologized for the intrusion on their romantic weekend, then began to leave. Lexi and Redd genuine expressed sorrow. They asked to see him again.

“Oh, that most likely will be impossible,” Jonathan calmly said and smiled. “My holiday here is spent. I must, as you Americans say, get back to work. I live in a world of secrets. I hide and uncover truths as a profession.”

Well, he told me were those last things he said to Randolf Redd and Alexandra Michaels. Sadly, as far as I can determine, those are the last words that anyone outside their tight circle spoke to them. They left The Beacham Hideaway the next day. In a few days, Lexi shifted her remote business activities and precious possessions to Redd’s home outside Albuquerque. That is where the police found them dead in an embrace in bed a week after their disappearance was noted.

Police added up all of the information they could discover about them. That included their odd half weekend at The Beacham. They returned to their respective lives sick. A couple of Redd’s friends and clients said they thought he had Covid-19.

“He probably got it from that mask they made him wear,” the grief-stricken man confided. “You never know what you’ll catch from them people up in New York.”

Redd endured bouts of nausea, a slight fever stomach cramps and aching ts. His spirits were high, though. He was engaged and expressed joy at an anticipated marriage.

Lexi returned engaged and enthused about a possible marriage, according to her Chicago friends and family. Some of her co-workers expressed surprise that the woman was not in the hospital.

She was tired, nauseous, achy, but despite the little fever and t pain, she expressed hope that a quick move to New Mexico might make her feel better. People who saw Redd and Lexi during their last week said they seemed elated, but grew weaker and weaker.

“You know, he absolutely refused to wear a mask,” Lexi’s sister, Cassandra recalled. “He probably forced her not to wear one. That’s what did it.”

The coroner’s report listed cause unknown. One of the detectives confidentially confessed to me that they have no idea how they died. Johnny Mathis music stilled played as the forensic technicians collected bits and pieces from the carpet. Amid political pressure and confusion, detectives closed what they still privately contend was a lover’s suicide as Coronavirus deaths in a last resort.

I always wondered whether the detectives’ first instincts weren’t right. Maybe the weight of their guilt and the fear that a knock might still come from the law got to them. That seemed too simple an end to a complicated set of circumstances. I suspect there must be more.

I recall the smile Jonathan gave me when I asked about Redd and Lexi. When asked whether he used his super-secret skills for revenge, the outwardly affable professional who hides and uncovers secrets laughed.

“Of course not,” he said and stared into my eyes. “Perhaps I had a right. You know, they killed my brother.”

“What?” I yelled. “How can you be sure?”

“Jason was a beastly bully, a miserable creature,” he blithely said. “I considered his elimination many times, but he was my brother.”

“Did you kill them?” I directly asked.

The tall, well dressed stranger drew in close, as if about to tell me a secret. I expected him to whisper yes.

“No,” Jonathan said. “I cannot tell you what happened after I left them at The Beacham. If I did kill them that is best kept secret. Right? Whatever they did, it was to themselves. Might have been Thallium.”

“Who?” I asked. Jonathan smiled. I watched him walk away.

I looked for someone named Thallium to satisfy curiosity and complete the story

of Randolf Redd. It turns out, Thallium is not a who. The name refers to a what – a colorless, odorless, and tasteless slow-acting chemical that grants the wish of death in a week.

To most people, the drug’s scientific name remains a secret. The lack of exact symptoms leads those familiar with the secrets of its many uses to call it, “the poisoner’s poison.”

THE END

Comfort of Nature

by Kim Plasket

Chapter 1

Watching the waves lap at the shore was peaceful. I hadn't had much of that lately. Most of my days have been spent trying to figure out what was real and what was a fantasy. I could tell you about the house that was struck by lightning or the truck that ran over a school bus but I’m told both of those things never happened.

There was the time I rescued a cat from a tree, but of course, it never happened. I wish I knew when my life became a fragmented shuffle of ideas, people I never met, and dancing inside of my mind. I could hear conversations and see things I shouldn’t have been privy to but still, they were there day and night.

I told the doctors who informed me it was nothing to worry about, even though I was telling “There is no such a thing as heaven or hell,” I told myself knowing damn well this was untrue.

Heaven was where everyone else went. I knew I was destined for hell; I had enough people telling me to go to hell regularly. Some stuck around me but as the insanity grew, they seemed to go away.

I would tell them about wars that happened, even murders that were going to happen if nobody did anything but they told me it was nothing.

“You are sane” was what they told me. “We will prescribe some medications which will help.”

I am still hearing the voices and seeing things but now I’m all drugged up so I know the difference between reality and fantasy.

I am looking at the ocean waiting to see the boat being ripped apart by the nonexistent storm, waiting to hear the crack of the lightning as it slams into the ship. All the people on the vessel will be killed as it bursts into flames then goes down.

Expecting to see a pirate ship heading to shore as the sun sets, the bridge between life and death is slowly opening. Fantasy and reality dim in the wake of my insanity.

I could listen to the doctors who tell me over and over I am sane but really what sane person would tell you a plane is going to hit the downtown area causing mass hysteria?

Then was the time I predicted a zombie apocalypse because of a medical mistake and it turns out it was simply the flu. I know I saw zombies unless they were just first-year medical students so it's hard to tell the difference.

When the thoughts were heading into fantasy territory, I was supposed to anchor myself into reality. Right now, I would focus on the crash of the waves, how they ebb and flow, they bring the water to splash around my feet then it heads back out to sea.

The call of the gulls as they dive for their dinners, the briny smell of the ocean,

hearing the music from the boardwalk. Knowing the smell of food was just under the smell of the sea, if I walked closer to the boardwalk, I would be able to smell the peanuts and popcorn.

My stomach rumbled reminding me I didn’t eat yet today but I didn’t want to be around people. For some reason when I saw them now, I could never tell if they were human or demons.

Yes, I know it's crazy to think people are demons after all this was what the docs told me I had to avoid. People are people, there is no such thing as demons if one was going to talk about demons then one would have to talk about angels.

“Focus” I concentrated on my breathing, ignoring the fact I could hear someone talking nearby.

I knew it was getting close to the time I had to be back at the hospital, they only gave me a day which meant as soon as it started to get dark, I was supposed to call them to come and get me.

The waves lapping at the shore were so relaxing, I spent the whole day between sitting and standing. My stomach was growling and I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. I figured I would head back up the beach and go on the boardwalk.

I could grab something to eat then call for my ride. I was glad I was making some common-sense decisions, normally I let the insanity in my head help me to make all my decisions but since they changed my meds it seems to have helped.

I failed to notice that even though I heard voices near me there was nobody around. I assured myself the sound just traveled, the conversation I was overhearing wasn’t one someone who was alone would want to hear.

“How do we kill her?” isn’t something most people would want to hear.

Chapter 2

I got to the boardwalk, loving how the wood felt under my feet, the music playing on the amusement piers. I could see small children pulling their parents to and fro trying to look at everything at the same time.

I smiled to myself as I saw the looks, they had on their faces as if they couldn’t wait to get home to a very large bottle of alcohol just to wake up the next morning and do it all again.

I got a small popcorn and went to the phone; I was glad there were still payphones on the pier after all not everyone carried a cell phone. I used to have one but then the voices came to me when I was on one and I threw it away.

I punched in the code they told me to use to call, I was relieved when Mark answered the phone. Mark was one of the orderlies who kept telling me I was sane the voices were merely something I was supposed to do, a higher calling if you may.

It’s funny if anyone else ever tried to tell me about a higher calling I would tell them they were the ones who should be locked away but coming from him it made me feel good. I guess because he has seen me in all ways yet he still talks to me like I’m a human, not a science experiment.

“Are you ready to come home?” he asked me. At first, when I would get leave, he would ask if I was ready to come back to the hospital until he realized how

long I had been there. Then he started asking if I was ready to go home. It was kind of nice but part of me wished I led a normal life.

I was just lucky my family had given so much money to them. They allowed me a few freedoms others might not have. My thing is I would never hurt anyone else the only one I was more likely to harm would be myself.

I wasn’t allowed outside at night since it’s normally dark when things would get worse. When the loudness of the day descended into silence. Some would call it the witching hour but for me, it was the thinking hour also by night my meds wore off. They gave me meds to sleep but only when I would ask for them.

I had a feeling tonight was going to be one of those nights where I had to ask for some. I saw a guy off in the distance and to me, it looked like he had no head. He was headed right for me and I was torn between finding out how he lost his head and getting away.

It was odd how nobody else seemed to see him, also how he seemed to be coming right for me when he had no eyes to see with. I closed my eyes telling myself to focus, it was just a hallucination.

I waited to open them knowing if he was real, he would have the perfect opportunity to get closer but if he was a delusion then me closing my eyes would cause him to go away.

I peeked and he was gone of course so I headed to the street. Mark would normally only take 20 minutes to get to me. Not a lot of people knew there was a hospital for insane people that close to the town.

It was far enough away that the “residents” would need a car to get around but not far enough that it was cut off. I had been going there since I was 16 so I was pretty well known. When I first started to go there it was because I was suicidal, so many voices inside of my head were killing me.

They tried to get me to journal but I always went off on tangents so they decided it wasn’t working. It was funny, Mark was the only one who told me to keep writing for some reason he assured me that I wasn’t crazy. He was my age and I wondered if there was something between us. I wouldn’t mind after all. I never had a date and we got along but I was sure there was a rule about him dating a patient.

“If you would get better maybe you could have a normal life” I heard someone say but it was just my own mind as usual.

I wanted to walk away but I knew he would be along soon so I had to tough it out. The voices all came at me at once, my meds must have faded faster than I expected them to.

Conversations all hit me at once but I stood there. Waiting for them to either stop or get to the point they made me scream.

They were making my head hurt which seemed to happen when they became too much. I could control the pain by relaxing my neck and rotating my head but I had a feeling it was going to get worse before it got better. I was doing my best to not move to let the conversations drift over me as though I was still standing on the beach staring at the water.

“Are you okay?” I heard his voice sounding so far away.

“Sydney, are you okay?” The male voice was familiar but my mind was trying to run off. “I got you kid” I felt gentle hands helping me into a waiting vehicle.

“Don’t speak. We will be back at home soon” I felt him reach over and hook my seatbelt so I would be safe.

I wasn’t able to see anything. It was as if I went blind which really scared me, I had to trust I knew the voice and it wasn’t someone taking me off to be killed or worse kept alive.

Chapter 3

I felt the car bumping and moving along the road but still, my eyes wouldn’t work, the voices were all around me. I wanted to throw myself out of the car and run down the road screaming until they stopped.

“I got you Sydney.” I felt a hand on my arm as if anchoring me to tethering me to reality. “Tell me the idea you had the last time we were heading back from the beach” I stopped trying to it

“Keep going” he was calm and I realized my sight was starting to come back a little.

“It was a story where the female main character fell in love with someone she shouldn’t have. They had to go through a lot to find out their love truly was destined.” I really couldn’t but that is what I was thinking at the moment.

“You told me they took a walk on the beach; she had been overtaken by an unexpected wave and that's what made him realize he was in love with her. Do you that?” His voice was calm and soothing.

The voices seemed to quiet down when he talked but for the life of me, I had no idea why. I guess because for once they had to listen to someone other than me or the doctors telling me I just had to relax for them to go away.

“Take this pill, do this do that” was what they all told me but I guess I needed someone to listen to me. I have no idea why I never thought anyone would really listen to me.

Unless it was because when I was younger my parents never stopped to listen to me, they would put me with babysitters or relatives who never had time for a child. Then when I was a teenager, they either took me to doctors, left me at school then finally put me in the mental hospital.

“Sydney, I need to stop and get something to eat. Have you eaten anything other than the popcorn you were holding when I picked you up?” the voice was still calm so I was able to answer it.

“No, and I’m hungry. I think I forgot to eat my popcorn.” I felt my stomach growl.

“Ok, let’s stop at our place.” I knew who it was. There was only one person who would say “our place” one time when he picked me up Mark took me to a little roadside diner. He teased me saying since it was our first date, he would pay for it. We talked for a few hours until he realized how late it was.

“I’d like that.” I blinked and was able to see more than shadows, I also realized the voices were gone like that. I thought about the last time we were together; the voices were silent too.

“What are you in the mood for?” he asked as he helped me out of the car.

“I have no idea. What do you recommend?” It was the same thing we did last time.

“I have no idea. Guess we will have to ask the menu,” he smiled because he knew what I was going to say.

“You know if the menu does talk to me, I will truly think I went around the bend.” I smiled to show him I knew he was kidding.

“You and me both but as long as we are together, I guess it doesn’t matter.” He took my hand to help me up the steps as I was still a little wobbly. His comment made my stomach flip and I felt warm inside as if something was started when he said that.

Chapter 4

We stepped inside and it looked as it did last time, like a left-over diner from the ’50s. The same checkered floor, smelling like burnt coffee and bacon. While it sounds like a rancid combination it was actually comforting.

“Seat yourselves dolls, I will be right with you,” The bleached blonde waitress said as we walked in.

“Thank you.” He led me to a table at the back of the diner, knowing full well I hated to be around people who might not understand what I was going through.

I had seen him carrying a bag in but I had no idea what it was for, he seemed shy about it when he handed it to me. I opened it and saw there were notebooks and pens.

“I talked to your doctors and nurses, they think having a notebook to write your ideas down is a good idea so I went and got you a couple” his ears turned red.

“Oh, Mark thank you.” I set them on the table. A part of me really wanted to see what I could do with them while another part of me thought maybe the voices would come back.

“Let’s eat then maybe we can talk some more,” he smiled at me causing my own face to grow warm.

We both ordered the same thing, eggs benedict with coffee and toast. It was as if we had been out many times before he even ordered an extra thing of sausage since I told him I loved their sausages the last time we ate.

“So, you got a day , think they will give you a weekend if you ask for it,” he waited until the waitress was out of earshot.

“I can ask Dr. Caruthers why what’s up?” I had seen enough shows to know how to act even though saying “what’s up” made me think of Bugs Bunny for some dumb reason.

“I wanted to take you to the lake but it takes about 3 hours to get there so it would be better to have more time. We will have separate rooms, I promise you I want to take you there because I think you will like it,” he blushed so red he reminded me of a tomato.

“I will talk to Dr. Caruthers” I knew it was a good idea. I needed to spend time with other people other than the patients and the nurses.

I had my hand on the notebooks, the pens just calling my name telling me “Come on use us” and I finally looked at him and said “Do you mind if I try it out?” made me think it was a musical instrument I had never heard of.

“Of course, I got them for you,” he told me he had his paper he could read.

I started to write a couple of things down then suddenly it was as if a dam burst, the ideas overflowed and I kept writing. I ate when she brought the food over but I was still writing. Mark didn’t say anything he seemed to really be enjoying the time we spent together.

I finally put the pen down not realizing two things, one how much time had really ed and two how much I truly wrote until I counted the pages. Somehow, I filled four pages full of words, there were conversations that I had heard, plans made for weddings, and some murders.

“Sydney, if we don’t get back soon, they are going to report us as missing,” I heard Mark say but it seemed as if he was trying so hard not to laugh. “Plus, I think it’s time the place closes.”

“Aww sweetie, don’t you worry none. If your girl wants to write she is more than welcome to in fact the next time you two come in here we will be sure to have your table cleaned.” she smiled and said our meal was on the house as she was just happy to see a young couple so in love but able to do whatever they wanted to no matter how long it took.” she told him he best be getting me home.

We pulled up to the hospital, I half expected there to be police everywhere since I saw it was after 2 am. I looked at Mark thinking he would be mad at me since it's his job. I looked and saw a security guard standing by the car.

“Gee Mark, next time tell us when you will be coming back. We will be sure to put the red carpet out,” he joked around.

“I am so sorry, it’s all my fault, I started to say.

“Miss Sydney, don’t you worry none. There is no trouble, the nurses know who you were with. They trust you both we are just glad you got home safe. Miss Betty was starting to worry.” He smiled and unlocked the door for me.

Miss Betty was the head nurse on the night shift, she was the oldest nurse here, and also the one I had known the longest. She didn’t act like the residents were ignorant even if some of them didn’t know a lot.

Some of them have been here as long as I have, I had seen older women playing with dolls, young men coloring, and to me, it’s all normal. I heard people talking to themselves but it gave me a greater understanding of people.

You never know what someone is going through or thinking about until you stop and talk to them. We had a very large guy staying here for a while, he looked scary. In fact, some of the younger nurses wouldn’t go near him unless they had an orderly with them.

“No way did you see how massive his arms are?” I heard one of them saying to another her eyes wide as she glanced in his room.

I was walking by and earlier I had heard him crying so I felt bad, ignoring their gasps of shock as I walked into his room. I waited until he looked up at me, his eyes red-rimmed as if he was ready to cry once again.

“Hi, I’m Sydney. Are you okay?” I really had no idea what to say.

“Hi Sydney, they call me Mack Truck but you can call me Albert,” he smiled. The first thing I noticed other than his size was the very large swollen part on the side of his head.

“Hi Albert, I heard you upset earlier. Is everything okay?” I sat next to him ignoring the fact his hands were the size of my head. He was a person in pain and I was going to do what I could for him.

“My head hurts and they won’t let me have a killer in here,” he looked so sad so I asked him who the killer was.

“Killer is my cat. He is the only thing I have other than my bike and I don’t think they would let me have that in here either.” He made a face like a child and put his hand to his head.

“I will talk to the nurse, could you tell me why you are here?” I had to know because I had a feeling there was something else going on. Sometimes doctors could make a mistake and if everyone was afraid of this guy, maybe they didn't stop to listen to him.

“I fell off my bike and got mad so they put me here,” he seemed so matter of fact as if getting angry would land you in a psych ward.

“Be right back,” I told him and I was stunned when he grabbed my arm, not hard but very firm “Are you sure? Most people tell me that and they never come back”

“Albert, I promise you I will be right back. I am going to go talk to Nurse Kelly. Do you need anything?”

“Red Jello would be nice. They gave me the green with my dinner and it’s yucky,” he giggled like a little kid.

I walked out to the nurse’s station, there were the young nurses talking to Nurse Kelly. They were telling her how he was holding me, hostage, threatening to kill me.

“Rubbish,” I said as I walked up behind them. “I’m the one in a psych ward yet they are the ones who are lying through their teeth.” I told Nurse Kelly that I needed to talk to her about Albert.

“Who?” she had just come on shift so I forgave her since it wasn’t always easy to keep up with everyone.

“Albert, room 243” I had no idea what his last name was.

“The biker feller” she smiled.

“Yes, can you tell me what happened without going against HIPPA.” She smiled and told me I had been around for so long I should apply to be a nurse.

“If she didn’t have to wear a strait jacket every few weeks,” I heard one of them say.

“Oh, really this from a woman who was scared to go into a patient's room because he “looks scary” are you 5?” I let the venom drip from my words.

“Brittany, you and Chloe head down to the first floor. I think they need help in intake.” They went off talking about how maybe they could see a cute cop.

“How can you handle them?” I knew they were around my age, maybe younger but they trained to be nurses to do what land a cop or doctor.

“It’s not easy. Now tell me what you think is going on with Albert. You seem to have a pretty good head on your shoulders” it was high praise from her indeed.

“He said he fell from his bike, got mad and they put him in here.” It made no sense to me especially since his head was so swollen.

“Have you been talking to him?” she seemed stunned.

“Yes, he is a very nice guy who only wants his cat and red Jello,” I smiled.

“I will come with you. I will be sure to bring the Jello if this is true then maybe he shouldn’t be here at all. Did he tell you if his head was hurting?” she suddenly became all business.

“Yes, he seems really lost.” I had no other word for it. It wasn’t like I knew any medical facts but I did understand people.

She walked into the room with me and right away I knew she picked up on it. She asked him if she could remove the bandages, telling him it might hurt but it would give her a chance to see what was under them.

It took a while but he let her look, she suddenly rushed out of the room after telling us she would be right back. To make a long story short it turns out when he fell, he had bleeding on his brain but the doctors were afraid of his size and when he became violent, they simply sent him here.

“Sydney, you saved a life,” Nurse Kelly told me.

Chapter 5

I stood at my room wondering if this truly happened or was I delusional again. It was so confusing. I did talk to a guy named Albert who wanted his cat and red Jello but suddenly everything about him was gone from the floor and from everyone’s mind.

I had to stop focusing on things like that, I had my notebooks and if I could get my mind to calm down then I could write more. I had to think about Mark, for some reason he seemed to calm my mind down as if it had been waiting for him to come around before it would focus.

“That is just silly.” I decided I had done enough. It was very late and I wanted to be able to talk to Dr. Caruthers in the morning. I normally don’t dream but the most remarkable dream came to me.

I even wrote it in one of the notebooks. In the dream, I was walking on the beach, for the first time in a very long time I didn’t hear the voices all I heard was the water crashing upon the shore, the cry of the gulls as they discussed whatever birds talked about.

I could feel the cool water as it splashed upon the shore, the mud as it squashed beneath my toes but for the first time in forever the anxiety that I felt was gone, the voices a mere whisper.

I knew then that I could reach that state of mind somehow, the pills weren’t

working other than to keep the voices from taking over but really it seemed as if the writing worked better than anything else.

When I woke up, I wondered if a combination of the meds and the writing would be better than anything else. I knew it was early because the sun was barely up, I could hear the nurses talking about who had which room. I got up and got dressed knowing I wanted to be at the desk as soon as possible. If I was still in bed Dr. Caruthers would skip my room until last and then he was normally in a rush.

I had my door open just enough that they could see I was awake, the light in my room was on since it was still pretty dark out. I even made my bed and had the curtains open. I knew what they would check for before they even spoke to me.

“Good Morning Sydney, after your late-night we didn’t think we would see you until this morning,” one of the kitchen crew joked as she brought my breakfast in.

“Word travels fast,” I smiled when she told me there was extra coffee in the kitchen for me. “I’ve already seen Mark, he made sure to tell us you would need extra coffee because he kept you out too late last night.” She leaned over and said in a whisper, “I think that boy is smitten with you.”

“Oh, go on,” I laughed and threw a ball of paper at her.

“Kids,” she was laughing as she left my room “Good Morning Dr. C.” She was the only one who would shorten his name and get away with it.

“Good Morning Sydney” he was all smiles as he came into the room.

“Good Morning. Are you here for a while or do you need to rush off?” I was going to test the waters before asking him.

“I have some time this morning. Would you like to talk on or off the record?” It was his way of asking me if it would be something patient to doctor or person to person. He had been my doctor since I first got here so he knew my entire life.

“On the record.” I sat up, my pen in my hand because I wanted to take my own notes. I learned early on it was better for me to keep things straight in my head. I had to take notes. I had notebooks but most of them were about my treatment, I never took the time to write the ideas I had or I hadn’t until last night.

“I’m sure you know I got back late from the beach but there is a very good reason.” I took a deep breath because I knew I was going to speak in one breath. “I started to write my ideas down thanks to Mark and it seems to be doing some good. I was able to get up early and do some writing. I am thinking between the writing and the med I might be able to get out for longer than a few hours.” I stopped and waited to see what he would say.

“I think we can try it depending on where you want to go and if you are going to be alone or not,” he glanced down at my chart in his hands, he had a smile on his face I couldn’t read.

“I wouldn’t be alone. Mark, asked if I would be able to go with him to a lake.

Since he knows how much I enjoy the water. He is the one who got me back into writing my ideas down. If you want to see them you are allowed so you see just how serious I am. I don’t know any real details yet but as soon as I find them out, I will let you know. I told him I would approach the topic with you.” I took a breath knowing I was speaking quickly but I was afraid if I gave him time to respond he would tell me no.

“How about this, we see how the rest of this week goes. If you participate in a group and take your meds etc., we will discuss it again next week. I would suggest you stick around the hospital grounds for the day next or so.” He took a deep breath as if he wasn't sure what he should or should not say to me.

“I know you prefer to be away but there was an incident at the jail and a few of the inmates escaped. The gates are closed and the only way to get in or out is through the main gate,” he said calmly as though he knew I was to be trusted with such information.

“Are visitors going to be safe? What about the staff who come in and out?” I was sitting there talking to a man who had seen me at my worst only now he was talking to me like I was an equal.

“Sydney, I’d like to come back after rounds and talk with you some more if that is okay,” he seemed a little puzzled as if I was someone he never met.

“Of course, Dr. Caruthers. As long as you bring back decent coffee, what they have at the nurse’s station is horrible,” I said with a smile.

“I will bring back good coffee. I promise you,” he told me that group started in

an hour.

“I will be there” I knew if it was the only way to get a weekend I would do it. The next few days ed without incident, I went to group, chatted with several people, and learned a little more than in the middle of the week my head began to hurt.

I was sitting in group when the pain struck, it wasn’t the pain I would have when the voices started up. This was true pain, I tried to keep in it as I didn’t want anyone to think I was trying to draw attention to myself.

“Sydney, are you okay?” Stella, the group leader asked me. “You don’t look good,” I heard her get up out of her chair but all I wanted to do was throw up.

I ran out of the room because I knew throwing up would either trigger others to do it or they would freak out. I didn’t want to be the reason for fear. I knew I could possibly get in trouble for leaving but I refused to harm others.

I guess I ed out in the bathroom because the next thing I knew I was on a stretcher going somewhere. I was in an elevator so I had a feeling they were taking me to the ER which was in another hospital. I wanted to tell them I was okay but I couldn’t speak.

The pain in my head was so bad, I wanted to feel better so I started to picture the water. The way it shimmered when the wind was quiet, how the moon looked reflected off the water. The smell of the ocean, the slightly salty tang mixed with the smell of sea life.

It wasn’t anything I planned; it was more my mind was trying to find something to latch on. Something concrete, something that has been around for as long as time could . It was something my grandmother said shortly before she died. She was laying in her hospital bed, no longer connected to tubes or machines because it was her wish to die as free as possible.

“While people can fail you and let you down, nature never will. The forest and beaches have been there since before time had a memory. They are the things that will continue even after man has gone. You only need to this one thing.” Her voice was shaky but her grip was strong.

“I’m listening.” I was even though I had forgotten it until this moment.

“Nature will guide you. Let nature flow through you. Allow it to set you free.” I never did understand this until I was in the back of an ambulance being rushed to the emergency room feeling like my head was going to explode.

I could feel the EMT trying to find a vein in my arm, he told me he was going to start an IV. It would pinch but he would try to do it fast, he kept calling me by name so he knew who I was but that's all I could tell. I couldn’t see and my head was hurting so bad I wanted to cry but if I cried it would hurt even more.

“It’s okay. I will give you something for the pain. I have already talked to Dr. Caruthers and he has given me the okay. You probably don’t because you haven’t had one in a very long time but you used to get really bad migraines,” he took a breath “Dr. Caruthers feels this is one of them, he has ordered tests to be done as soon as you arrive but we have to have the pain down some.”

I know he wasn’t expecting a response but I feebly put my thumb up even though he had to help me get it down again. I tried to smile but my face felt as if it was frowning. I hated that my own body wasn’t doing as I wanted it to.

“It’s okay Sydney, they will take good care of you.” He must have gotten the IV started without me even knowing because he told me he was injecting the medication and I might feel a slight burn or warming as it began to go in.

“K,” was all I could summon the strength to say, I wanted to say thank you but my mouth wasn’t working. I felt sick, I could hear me gagging so often as if I was going to throw up but nothing.

“I put some medication for nausea in with the pain killer. You are just lucky we restocked the rig earlier this afternoon. We must have known we would have a damsel in distress.” I knew he was smiling but all I could concentrate on was the pain.

“I know you aren’t in the mood for my humor, I promise we are almost there. Why don’t you take a rest. I won’t leave your side until we get there.” He held my hand and I drifted off to sleep.

I heard something just beyond my consciousness but I wasn’t able to open my eyes or figure if the voices were real. Something very strong assaulted my nose, it was some kind of cleaner so I figured I was in my room but something seemed off.

I wasn’t able to hear the yells and screams from some of the residents, I heard shoes squeaking every so often and then the quiet murmurs of voices. I felt the blanket on me, heard the soft whir of the air conditioner.

Slowly I opened my eyes, nothing looked familiar to me. Memories came rushing back in, running out of the group, and the ambulance ride. I thought maybe I was arrested as I wasn’t able to move my arm. I carefully looked again and realized it was because my arm was taped to a board where the IV was in.

“She opens her eyes,” I heard a voice say quietly as I realized several things at once. My head still hurt, I still felt sick and an older woman was sitting next to my bed. I had no idea who she was but her presence comforted me, if they let this old woman next to me it meant I didn’t get violent.

“Wh-what,” I tried to say but my mouth was so dry it was hard to speak.

“Hold on my dear girl, a drink of water will make it easier to talk. You have been here for a couple of days, they have been keeping you pretty drugged up if you don’t mind me saying,” she chuckled as she poured me a cup of water.

Trying to hold the cup proved to be moot as I kept shaking and spilling it on myself. She took the cup and helped me to get it to my mouth, not saying anything about the fact I drank like a 2-year-old.

“Why can’t I keep my hands from shaking?” My head was killing me but that was the one thing that was making me mad.

“It’s okay. Your body is trying to figure what is going on. You have had a severe migraine for a few days. You haven’t eaten in days, the IV can only do so much. Give yourself a break,” she patted my hand then told me she would be right back with some food.

I just laid there, still trying to get my bearings. She had said I was here for several days but I knew I was in the ambulance yesterday; my hair was cleaned and I didn’t stink so someone was taking care of me. I saw several bruises so there was a chance she was right; the bruises could be from them starting IV’s or taking blood.

The bed was comfortable but I wanted to get up at least until I went to sit up and the room started to spin and I felt my head explode.

“Ok, none of your gymnastics my girl,” I heard the door open and in the blink of an eye, I felt someone pushing me back down. “You need to take your time”

“Come on eat a little something then we will give you more painkillers,” her voice was sweet but firm the only issue was I didn’t want to spend any more time drugged up.

“No more drugs,” I was firm but she told me that if I didn’t let the medicine work then it could get worse.

“What’s wrong with me?” I heard the plaintive sound in my voice and hated it but failed to keep it from being there.

“You have a serious migraine. There is nothing wrong with your mind. You will be here for a few days until the pain stops and you are back to eating more than just toast.” While she had been talking, I was actually eating the toast she handed me.

“What is your name?” I finally realized I was sitting here talking to a woman who I had no idea who she was.

“I’m Trudy. I am one of the nurses’ aides here, in other words, I help the nurses to do their jobs but don’t tell them that.” She put her finger to her mouth as if to tell me to keep it a secret.

“You do know I live in the local psych hospital, right?” I was upfront and honest about my condition.

“Yes, you do realize you are about as scary as a newborn bunny, right? I know why you are there and if you pardon me but your parents were the ones who should have been caged up,” she sounded so angry it made me wonder if she met them.

“What do you mean?” I was confused and a little scared that they truly were waiting for me to wake up so they could come in and tell me what a waste of time I was.

“You had a huge imagination. I had seen the same thing in my own kids, all you needed was an outlet. Your young man came in and brought your notebooks yesterday. He told me that when you woke up you would want them.” She pointed where they were sitting.

“Mark was here?” I heard the excitement in my voice.

“Yes, he will be here later I imagine. Now you will take your pills so before he gets here, I can help you to sit up. I would say make you look better but honey you are in a hospital,” she smiled and handed me a little cup with two pills in it.

“I promise this isn’t as strong as what they have been giving you. Please trust me it will help,” she sat next to me asking about my writing until I drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later I woke up, my head felt better. It took me a while to open my eyes, it was as if I was floating on a raft. I could feel the water under the raft pushing it along. The air felt warm and I thought I could see the sunlight beyond my closed eyes.

I struggled out of the sensation since I felt there was something more important to see or hear. I heard Trudy speaking to someone but had no idea who it was.

“You know as well as I do this child doesn’t belong there,” she sounded angry and I wondered what child she was talking about.

“Trudy, I know, the nurses in fact the entire damn staff knows she doesn’t belong there. Her parents pulled strings somehow and she is there until the day she dies unless I can get her mentally stable enough for the lawyer to agree.” The voice sounded like Dr. Caruthers.

“Larry Caruthers, I have never known you to play the corporate game. What is going on?” she sounded so angry.

“I know what I’m doing Trudy, please trust me,” he slammed the door on his way out.

“Way to go, slam the door of a room where a woman has a migraine. Dumb Ass,” she muttered under her breath. I couldn’t help giggling compared to him she was tiny but he seemed afraid of her.

“I knew you were awake. Now your young man will be here very soon,” she helped me to change the hospital robes she said she would prefer me in a nightgown but for now, this would have to do. She brushed my hair and by the time he walked in the room we were chatting like a couple of college roommates.

“You two look comfortable,” he smiled when he saw me awake. “Hey there, you look better than before”

“I guess being awake is better than being asleep.” I smiled shyly not really knowing how I was the last time he was here.

“When you were awake you were crying so I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He seemed a matter of fact but I could tell it hurt him.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” I felt so bad, he was nice enough to bring my notebooks to me and yet I was barely conscious when I was crying yet I don’t recall any of it.

“Sydney, you were in pain. All I did was hold your hand and wait for the medication to take effect. I really didn’t mind, I just hated the fact I wasn’t able to take the pain away,” he frowned.

“Don’t worry about it, they are taking good care of me.” I realized I didn’t want to go back to the hospital. For the first time in my life, I wanted to have a real life. I knew I had no skills to enable me to get a job, my education was pretty bad, and I had a GED which I acquired in the hospital.

“I know and when you get out of here, we will talk more.” I thought he was saying he wasn’t going to come back so I got mad.

“Fine, if that is how you want to be. Just hang around me when I’m sick.” I couldn’t believe how angry I got, I waited to hear someone tell me I was wrong.

“Hold on Sydney.” Mark held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not going anywhere other than the coffee shop. I wanted to bring some up but I had to be sure you were awake.”

He left after touching my cheek, I think he wanted to kiss me but we never talked about that sort of thing so he just touched my cheek. I was stunned, I didn’t know what to say.

“You two are so cute,” Trudy said. “How long have you been a couple?” she really thought we were together.

“We aren’t or at least I don’t think we are.” My head was hurting again and I was confused.

“Take it one day at a time, my dear girl. Now I am heading back to the nurses’ station” she left and I grabbed one of the notebooks figuring I would get some writing done.

I lost myself in a story about a nurse who fell in love with a doctor merely to have him be a murderer. She was the one who figured out his patients were dying in suspicious manners.

He was chasing her around a dark hallway when I realized Mark was sitting in the chair just reading a book. There was a cup of coffee sitting next to the notebook, I guess I had been drinking from it without thinking, it was nice since he wasn’t forcing me to talk.

I wondered if this was what it felt to be in a relationship, just knowing the other was there if you needed to say something. Made me wonder why people thought relationships were so difficult, for me it was easy just be yourself.

I guess he realized I was looking at him, he looked at me and asked what I was looking at. I was never taught the games so I said “You”.

“Why?” he seemed puzzled by my response.

“I just noticed how handsome you were. I think I like you,” I wasn’t aware the words were going to come out of my mouth.

“Most guys would be offended that the woman they liked just noticed them. Luckily, I know the effect I have on women,” he buffed his nails against his shirt as if he was a stud.

“Sure Mark,” I tried to look mad but ruined it by giggling.

I was in the hospital for another week when they finally let me out; they told me I would be on a daily medication for them for the rest of my life. I had some pills for sudden attacks but the daily medication would help.

It was a few months later when I finally said goodbye to the hospital. Dr. Caruthers found me an apartment; he said the money that was paying for my hospital stay was going to pay for the apartment. I was working at his office as a file clerk, so I had money to do what I wanted to do.

I was dating Mark and still writing in the notebooks only now I was actually writing a story. It was based loosely around the hospital, the place I grew up. I had no idea if it would ever go anywhere but for now, I was loving life.

The voices all but stopped but I had a feeling as the years went on, they would come back. There is a season for everything, when I was younger those voices

helped me to survive. Then they became a bother until I wrote them down.

Years later, I stood back on the shoreline. This was the place where everything came full circle for me, this is where I realized something about the voices, and they weren’t there to harm me or have me cause harm they were there because they had a story to tell.

Now that time has come to an end, their stories are all told. I guess the only thing left to do is say goodbye to the ocean. Mark has been gone for a few years, he died in his sleep. He had cancer. He never told me until it was too late.

I have been alone and while the voices being silent is good, I have felt rather lonely so I come to the beach daily waiting to see what the next path for me is.

Each day it gets colder so I know winter is on its way but I knew I wasn’t going to see it begin. My heart was beating slower and slower with each ing hour.

“I want to die on the beach,” I spoke to the sky. “I spent most of my life in a hospital. While I know death is inevitable, how I die is my choice.” I knew this might not be practical but it was how it had to be.

I felt my chest getting tight, a whispering near me gave me comfort instead of fear. “Thank you for telling our stories,” I heard, knowing full well the voices knew I was about to die.

“You are welcome. May they be enjoyed for years to come.” The sun was

starting to set on what was going to be my last day on earth. I knew someone would be along soon to collect my body so I just sat down and watched the waves dance along the shore, the comfort they gave me throughout the years was the last thing felt as I breathed my last breath.

THE END

The Last Day on Earth

by Vincent F. A. Golphin

A storm rages outside, one of those afternoon drenches. The torrent lasts about twenty minutes, then dries within an hour. The “monsoon” is a part of every Spring day in Florida. Until now, I could take the weather for granted. Now, I stare at the wind, thunder, and lightning’s furious dance as if it’s my first notice. Beautiful, I told myself. A single word. Not profound for an award-winning author and journalist.

“You beauty,” I mumbled.

Even prizewinners run out the right word sometime, I said to myself.

My mind could offer no more. The storm slams my apartment’s floor-to-ceiling glass walls. A similar fury rages in my brain. Wonder whips through me like a roller coaster. I watched it all for the last time.

* * *

People who live in glass houses, I thought. Smiled. The living room is like a three-sided fish bowl perched on the edge of a cliff. My friends say someday the

rain is going to slide everything I own off that perch onto the city below. That is possible, but I love the view.

Right now, it’s like I am behind a giant waterfall. I can see out, but nobody sees me. My mind focused on the droplets that tap and slide down the panes. The glass wriggles as if about to shatter against the wind’s punch. Outstanding. “Angels bowling,” my long-dead daddy called the show. It’s like I am in a dark theater as the movie speakers rev up. A sound wave rolls from my right to left ear out of my head and in again.

Bruce Babson, I told myself, that one, tiny memory of what used to be is the most comfort you’re going to have tonight.

I did not lie.

The storm wanes. I suck hard on a Red Bull. Eight more are in the fridge.

My right hand mangles the thin aluminum can, gripped until the it’s surface gave way. I toss the mangled empty onto a pile of others in a 24-count cardboard box.

Don’t sleep, I urged myself. C’mon, find something to do. You can’t rest. You’ll sleep. You know what that means. You sleep, you die.

I grip a fresh can of the liquid energy like a wino on the corner. The only thing that scares me more than death is that I might run out. In the next few hours, that is going to happen. I am going to run out of Red Bull. A commercial says, “Red

Bull gives you wings.” I hope. Most likely, exhausted after four nights awake, I will fall asleep.

Scientists don’t know how long human can go without sleep. By now, I am supposed to be hallucinating. Maybe that is why the lightning, wind and thunder cast such a spell on me. I doubt it. You have to see the beauty. It is...was…. Well, you needed to see the “angels bowling.” Experts say the record for time without sleep is 264 hours. I hope I can go the distance. Nobody stays awake forever. On the other hand, you can’t say the same about death.

Red Bull “wings” are my only shot at heaven if there is such a place. I believe there is. Don’t get me wrong. I have lived more than a half-century with the hope that someday I can see Mom, Dad, my friends, and relatives on the other side. We’re going to have a huge barbecue. That is my favorite food. I figure in heaven you can eat whatever you want. I want them to roast a big old hog, and have the kind of vinegary, lemony, pepper-spiced sauce a neighbor of ours named Trent used to fix when I was a kid. Mmmm.

I can’t stay awake forever. In fact, if everything my partner and I uncovered over the last five years comes true, Earth’s last day is almost here.

Ok. I know. That sounds like one of those crackpots, Apocalypse now, theories. Okay. Yes. I it that I waited for the end to come in 2012. Go ahead, tell yourself, “He doesn’t know what he is talking about.” You have no idea the tens of people who have said those words during the past eighteen months. I came within a hair’s breadth of being tossed in a loonie bin, twice. All I can do is leave you with my truth. What we found out is weird, but I am convinced.

I and a friend, Ji yu Fan, a doctoral lab assistant who wants to make her bones as a researcher, fleshed out what awaits most of the world tomorrow. It took five

years. We plowed through journals, studies, ancient documents, myths, and legends to check out a prediction from a dying recluse.

I was at a small convent in a hole in the wall village south of the Mexican border. I needed water. My radiator, too. Two nuns who had to be more than 80 made prayers and carried out what they saw as God’s work on that patch of Earth in what looked like a double-wide trailer made of old boards, handmade brick, and stucco.

“Agua” I said and pointed at my mouth and the front of the car. That and “gracias” are the limits of my Spanish. The ladies never said anything in English. They gestured a welcome.

Mustiness and urine mingled with incense and stew smells. The sisters in white habits barely spoke to each other. They nodded and pointed, offered me a place to sit in dimly lit kitchen. A bulb hung from the ceiling in the two or three rooms I could make out. The darkness might have been a way to fend off the bright light and humidity outside.

The lifestyle was simple. Deprived came to mind. I was impressed. In the midst of what seemed to be almost nothing, they shared without strings with a stranger.

Maybe the church makes them do that, I thought, embarrassed. I don’t have that much generosity.

I turned down a plate of what looked like pinto beans and a flour tortilla. The food smelled great, but I was in a hurry and parched. One of the sisters slid a dessert plate with three cookies across the table. I sipped warm water. The glass

that was less than clean by my standards. I kept the observation to myself to not offend those holy women. I took a small bite out of a cookie. If God or someone from the Vatican spied, I wanted to note that those old ladies deserved credit. Buddha wrote that kindness should be as natural as living. They understood.

As I neared the last sip, something moved in the next room. What seemed to be a pile of blankets on a cot on the other side of a poorly lighted room behind the kitchen slowly shifted position.

“Sister,” I said to one of the nuns, then pointed. “Something’s under there. What is it?”

She gave me a blank stare. The holy woman understood the gesture if not the words. wanted to figure whether or how to answer.

The woman waved “get out” with her left arm. Her mood shifted. The atmosphere, too. Those sweet nuns stood in the doorway between the rooms. They gestured for me to get out of the trailer. They yelled a bunch of words at me, as if more volume can make me understand. They looked really angry; yelled something about, “viejo loco,” and “vagabundo,” and “borracho.”

I had no idea what they meant. A friend later told me those snippets meant, old nut, drunk and tramp. The disgusted do-gooders’ faces should have been my clue. The rest of what they said probably meant a lot worse.

The old guy wore shreds of a shirt and pants held together by holes worn by age and living rough. He smelled like his home was in a sewage pit.

The ragged pile sat up. The bed covers fell to the floor. The man underneath looked older than the sisters. Gray-white hair hung down to his chest. His beard might have even earned a record.

The nuns turned to look at him. His ascension surprised them. I seized the moment and breezed past them. That was when I found out what caused the musty, urine odor. The sight, smell, and sisters’ warnings were omens I should never have ignored.

I’ll spare you the nuts and bolts of the near hour-long conversation with the old guy. Born in London and raised in the United States, he was a scientist like his father, mother, and grandparents. He was down in Mexico for at least twenty years. Dates were not his strong point. The one-time researcher claimed that the Earth plans to “cull” humanity to save itself. I did not believe it, at first. The old man showed me a four-inch, three-ring binder filled with notes and newspaper and magazine clippings.

“That’s all that remains,” he said more than twenty times. “Gone, it’s all gone. You have to tell them…tell them all the truth. More than a half-dozen times during the story he told that old guy talked about “the culling.” According to him, every 100,000 thousand years, Earth finds ways to “cull” humankind to restore itself. You know, like with Noah and The Great Flood. The Bible said God did it to purge human evil. Legend holds the Creator drowned everyone except one family to start again.

Rag man said his studies showed that “the cleanse” happens in a number of ways. He traced it back two million years to La Garita Caldera, the most devastating volcanic eruption. When the planet senses a threat from the human presence, he said we should expect something like the eruption of Krakatoa in the 1880s.

The frail old fellow gripped my right hand. His touch was cold. He shivered as he said, “There will be silence.” His eyes teared. “Tell them the truth,” he whispered.

I left with the binder and an icy shiver from my butt to my brain. I wanted to forget the whole thing. I could not. I did not want to take him seriously. I thought maybe the sisters and an old drunk wanted to make a fool of me. You know, “Gringos believe anything.” I pushed myself to forget as I went through his stuff.

“His truth was the kind of tale most reporters would up,” I explained to Fan about a year later. “There was just something about the way he explained how the Earth was about to reclaim itself from the human threat. The planet is going to erase billions of lives. It’s going to start again.”

Fan doubted the source and the concept. I wasn’t completely taken in, despite my nightmares, but the more we checked things - like the real source of The Great Flood story - we became convinced. That now-dead hermit is a discoverer.

We found no final relief. Tomorrow, the Fourth of July, is Earth’s last day. A whole lot of people are going to go to sleep. That’s it. Game over. At least it won’t hurt, according to what I discovered.

I don’t know how much of the world will be hit. More than most of the people who live on the block, in this neighborhood on the east side of a city whose fame throughout the globe is built on parties, I am glad tomorrow is July 4, one of the year’s biggest celebrations. At least those who don’t wake up will die happy. Bars, restaurants, stadiums, and backyards will be crammed. I don’t know how wide an area will be hit. The only sure bet is they won’t have to worry about a

day after.

I’m a backslid Christian born and bred in the United States. I tend to be a little wobbly on whether God exists, but I know there has got to be something greater than me.

“Somebody’s hand is on the tiller,” I once told Fan. “I can’t believe this is it. After everything this planet went through, I don’t see how it all comes down to a big sleep. We close our eyes and say goodbye. Billions of souls gathered into nothingness. No. There has got to be more.”

Fan grew up as an atheist in China. “It will not happen to every person in the world,” she used to say. “Maybe we will be spared. Perhaps after the party, we will go on.”

“Not with my luck,” I joked. “If there Is something out there that plots to kill humans, I will likely turn up dead.”

In case you wonder, I tried to write about “the big sleep.” I thought I could warn the world. This was something people would want to know. I had proof. I went to find real scientists, experts, who at the least might put facts of which I am certain into perspective. As a fall back, I figured to turn to the media. Not one editor would touch the story.

Every time Fan and I went to a big-time researcher, even those who wrote books on the Apocalypse, they either laughed or shunned us. Well, there were some exceptions. Four – two men, two women - itted behind closed doors that the Babson-Fan Discovery, as they called it, was highly likely. In the daylight, every

one of them denied they ever set eyes on us. Nobody, not even conspiracy theorists and political crackpots wanted to connect their names with such a dismal verdict. The tabloids even turned us down. We banged on doors, sent letters, and even got arrested to get someone to look at the proof.

So, here I stand looking at the city lights in Florida. Fan left for Houston weeks ago. She plans to party like there is no tomorrow. I hope she awakens.

Towards evening, every time I sat still, I nearly nodded out. I made up a lot of trivial reasons to move. I even played hopscotch.

Fight it, I scolded myself. Strain for every moment.

I wanted to watch a few black-and-white movie classics. I was scared they might relax me to sleep.

Death might be on the doorstep, but he is going to take a beating when he comes in for me, I told myself.

By late afternoon, I pulled large gasps of air into my lungs. I read somewhere oxygen lifts your spirits. The article even said it gives you strength. I felt like haven’t slept in a week. I don’t want that … ugh... feel...feeling. My eyes closed for just a second.

“I’m alright!” I yelled. “I’m good.”

Sunlight began to fade. I hear parties down below – voices, music, laughter, loud bangs, and yells. People shoot off guns. I can see fireworks. I hear thunder. No, it is more fireworks. I see colorful bursts way across city. I want to them, but do not. My spirits are not high enough.

I think about death. All I can do is imagine the other side. I am shaking. My thoughts are filled with the evil I have done.

What’s going to happen to us all when we close our eyes, I ask myself. Am I going to see people I love? Am I going to be crammed in with tons of bodies? I saw myself under thousands of naked bodies. I was there. I could smell those people. I felt the weight. I could not breathe.

My head hit the floor and my eyes opened in the dark. I was awake. Weariness must have made me have a walking dream.

I pushed up off the floor, then called DiPesce’s, the ritziest seafood restaurant in town. I order their incredibly over-priced lobster feast. Mmmm. I slowly eat and relish the sensation of a full belly. It might be my last. I went to my favorite chair. I could still see the fireworks. It is way past midnight.

My last night was spent with phone calls to friends and family. Some thought I was drunk. They just shined me on. Others thought I was a kook, like the first girl I kissed. I called to apologize for not being better at it. She hung up. Other people let the call go to voicemail.

My arms and legs tremble. I am out of energy. Sleep is probably about to overtake me. I refuse to quit.

I went to Bubba’s Backyard, my favorite barbecue t. It is on the other side of town in the ghetto. That is brunch at dawn.

The sun split the darkness. I finish off the last can of Red Bull then marvel at the rising ball turn from orange to blinding yellow.

I jump up and pace in front of the walls. I feel like a car with a bad transmission. My engine is racing, but I got no motion. My world is stuck. My pace continues to slow. One foot in front of the other, I walk the three sides of the space. Weird thoughts drift through my mind.

I finally understand “dead man walkin.” I get it, I jubilantly declared to myself. I laugh so hard I almost fall to my knees.

I am too tired to open them. I still taste those ribs. I quietly vow never to forget the succulent pleasure.My eyes close.

THE END