By Begin Again
It was an Alfred Hitchcock kind of night; dark, foggy, and eerily quiet. The crescent moon’s dim light filtered through the bare tree branches, casting eerie shadows. Somewhere nearby, the nocturnal owl screeched, spread its broad wings, and glided above the tombstones in search of its evening meal.
It had rained most of the day, and the streets were wet and slippery from the fallen leaves. The creaking sound of Mrs. Picken’s rocking chair against the wooden porch floor sent a chill down my spine. The flicker of an oil lantern penetrated the darkness, but not enough to expose the old lady.
My steps quickened as I passed her gate. Mrs. Picken’s rocker had fallen silent. The desolate street was eerily quiet.
“Good evening, Julie.”
My eyes widened in terror. My mouth flew open, but the scream never happened. Mrs. Pickens stood near the gate. “Mrs. Pickens ... you scared me.”
She laughed, a deep raspy sound. “A bit afraid of the dark, are you?”
“Of course not; I just wasn’t expecting you to be standing there.”
“Not me, then a witch, perhaps?” The townspeople referred to the old lady as the resident sorceress. She wore a long black dress with her gray hair hidden beneath a black cotton cap. Her face and hands were withered and deeply wrinkled. A large black cauldron hung from her fire pit and often putrid smells drifted from the yard.
“A witch?” My legs trembled and I feared I would collapse. “How … how silly.”
“Be careful passing the cemetery, my dear. Wouldn’t want one of the residents to run into you.” A long, high-pitched cackle escaped her throat as I raced down the sidewalk.
**********
Red and blue lights flashed up and down the street. An ambulance was parked at the cemetery entrance. Neighbors with flashlights walked the empty street, checking behind bushes and parked cars. Mrs. Pickens’ home was dark.
“It happened so fast. I was in a hurry to get home. He … someone ran through the cemetery gates and knocked me down.”
I held an ice pack on my head as the police officer questioned me. "It happened so fast. I'm just not sure. I saw something … white.” I shivered. “I heard an eerie howl. Mrs. Pickens … no, it couldn’t have been her.”
Molly Hendricks, a friend of Julie’s, stood nearby listening. Her ears perked up when she heard Mrs. Pickens’ name mentioned. Her fingers couldn’t move fast enough as she called Tara’s house.
“Tara, did you hear what happened to Julie? She told the police the old witch had something to do with it. Do you think she was trying to kill her?”
“I’d think she’d have cast some kind of spell instead.”
“Maybe you’re right. She is kind of old to be chasing anyone.”
“Well, Paulie told Rob that Jackson was standing on his front porch, sneaking a puff of Mary-Jane when he saw a figure dressed in white, sail past Julie, knocking her off her feet. Julie was unconscious and bleeding from a gash in her head.”
“Wow, he saw more than I did. Tara, let me call you back. Pam’s calling on the other line.”
“Hello.”
“Molly, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? It was Julie, not me.”
“Julie? Oh no, Mrs. Harper told my mom that one of the neighbors saw someone carrying a body dressed in white.”
"A body! Do you mean someone dug up a body and stole it? That's creepy!"
"That's what Mrs. Harper told mom," Molly said with conviction. “Maybe that’s what Mrs. Pickens cooks in that cauldron.”
“Oh stop, Pam. That’s just gross.”
"My mom's calling me; I gotta go. I sure hope Julie’s not dead.”
“She’s talking to the police, silly. The body must be someone else.”
**********
Pam hung up the phone. She shivered and wondered why someone would dig up a body. Her brother, Tommy, crept up behind her and yelled, "Gotcha!"
A blood-curdling scream exploded from her mouth. He laughed hysterically at her reaction.
"That's not funny, Tommy." Her slap missed him as he jumped away.
"Yeah, it is! What's happening?"
"Someone robbed a grave!"
"Are you serious?"
"A body in a long white wedding dress. He ran into Julie. She fell and smashed her head. She might be dead."
"Whoa...that is serious!" Tommy's cell phone rang. He answered it. "Hey, man, did you hear what's going on at the cemetery?" Walking away from his sister, he continued. "You aren't going to believe this! Some guy went psycho at the cemetery tonight. Dug up his bride's grave."
The voice on the phone was doubtful. "Man, she was in her wedding dress?”
“Guess he couldn't live without her. Julie Williams saw him. He tried to kill her. Nobody knows if she's alive or not. An ambulance took her away. I don’t know if it went to the hospital or the morgue. Wild, huh? Okay, John, I'll see you tomorrow."
Across town, John quickly dialed another friend. "Hey, you aren't going to believe this. Do you know Tommy Layton? Yeah, that's the guy. Well, he just called me and told me the police are swarming all over his block. Some dude was robbing graves tonight. Julie Williams saw them, and he killed her. Tommy's over there helping the police right now. Yeah, man, Tommy's cool. He'll tell everyone we were there too. Just think how many girls will be hanging all over us. We can tell them we helped solve the case. We'll be heroes!"
Three blocks from the cemetery, a police car pulled up to the curb and parked. The officers got out of the squad car and opened the back door. Bruiser, a black Labrador, jumped out of the car and raced toward Mrs. Pickens, almost knocking her to the ground.
"Bruiser, settle down. You're a naughty boy, always knocking people down." Opening her front door, she shooed him into the house and then turned to the police officer. "Thanks, Officer.”
“He was chasing a stray cat. Ran right through Mrs. O'Malley's sheets she'd left on the line. All I could hear was that cat howling."
Officer Pete pulled a muddy sheet from the backseat of the car. "He had this caught in his collar when we found him. It looked like he was wearing a white cape."
"Oh my, Mrs. O'Malley's going to have a fit. I’ve got a special cleaning product brewing in the cauldron. I’ll take care of it in the morning.”
"Well, better keep a closer eye on him. We can't be chasing him all around town every night. You know how rumors get started around here. Who knows what someone might say!”
"That's for sure. People like to talk! Especially about the resident witch.” Mrs. Pickens laughed. “Makes me special, doesn’t it?”
| Author Notes | This is a revised story I wrote in 2009... |
By Begin Again
“There’s a patrol car in the vicinity, sir. We’ll check it out.” Stacy disconnected the call and buzzed the 911 supervisor. “Jake, I got another call about standing water on the train tracks. That's four in the last fifteen minutes.”
“Have we heard from the patrol car?” He checked his watch. It was
“Not yet, sir.”
“Get me the numbers for Union Pacific and National Railroad. They need a crew to check out those tracks.”
At
At
“Oh look kids, a train is coming." Zeta pointed down the tracks. "It's almost on top of us!"
“No fair, Bobby’s in front.”
“Sara, you can see just as well back there. Let’s count the cars, okay?”
A construction van and several other vehicles stopped behind Zeta’s car. The train, loaded with tankers of ethanol gas, lumbered through the crossing.
“Mommy, what’s that noise?” Bobby held his hands over his ears.
“I don’t know, but it’s loud.” Zeta sensed something was wrong.
The train cars began rocking back and forth on the tracks. The large tankers bounced, knocking against each other, propelling railroad ties into the air. They derailed; metal against metal, explosion after explosion. The flames licked viciously at everything they touched.
“Bobby, grab your sister and run!” Thick black smoke was everywhere. The baby was choking and Zeta needed to get him. Grabbing the door handle, she yelped in pain. She had burned her hand. Clenching her teeth, she grabbed the handle again and opened the door. “It’s okay. Mommy’s got you.” Coughing, she held him against her and ran.
Terrified, people exited their vehicles. The heat blistered their bodies, peeling their flesh away. Agonizing screams filled the air.
The two construction workers left their van. They held rags against their faces, trying not to breathe the air.
“We can’t leave the tools! I know I can get the van out!”
About to answer, he felt a tugging on his arm. He stared at the ash-covered faces of two small children. Terror filled their eyes.
“Help us, please. My mom and my baby brother fell.” He pointed at the lifeless body lying in the street.
The stranger raced toward Zeta. The heat seared his skin, burning the hair from his arms. With each explosion, the flames grew. Pieces of metal and railroad ties rained down around him.
Kneeling beside Zeta, he resisted the urge to vomit. Tears stung his eyes. The air reeked of burning flesh. She wasn’t breathing. Her scorched body protected the child from the flames.
A piece of railroad tie smashed against the ground missing them by inches. He lifted Zeta’s body and pulled the crying child from beneath her. Staggering to his feet, he ran toward safety.
Ambulances and squad cars filled the intersection. Rescue personnel assisted the injured. One suffered a broken ankle and two firefighters carried her. An ambulance took Bobby and Sara to the hospital. An EMT rushed toward the stranger and lifted the child from his arms, suggesting he needed medical assistance too.
Another explosion blasted through the night. Flames engulfed Zeta’s car and the construction van. He watched for a moment and then climbed into the ambulance.
Shaking his head in disbelief, the EMT spoke, “Damn shame. The railroad was notified twenty minutes before the accident. Why didn’t they radio and stop the train? None of this would have happened.” The stranger remembered Zeta and hung his head.
| Author Notes |
This was based on a true event. One life was lost and many more were injured. The strangers were the true heroes.
Word Count 642 |
By Begin Again
"Stan, I am telling you something strange is going on in that house." I knew I was wasting my breath trying to make him understand, but I couldn't help myself. Her face haunted me even in my dreams. Those dark brown puppy eyes peering from behind that red curtain were pleading for my help. I was sure of it!
"Jake, you've been watching too many of those hero flicks." Stan was doubled up with laughter. "Trust me; the girl's not interested in your scrawny body. Besides, nothing exciting ever happens in this town."
Stan was right about that. Wheaton, population 900, consisted of Mr. Taylor's grocery store, the Ace hardware, and Tony's gas station. Even our one-man police force was stationed in nearby Jacksonville. The last excitement this town had seen was when Mr. Taylor had a gallbladder attack. The ambulance raced through town in a matter of thirty seconds, sirens blaring, and raced back out of town before most townsfolk even knew it was there. Mrs. Peterson, the town's news flash, was knocking on our door with all the gossip by the time the ambulance reached the town limits. She'd been buying her groceries and was eager to share the details while the ice cream was melting all over our table. Gossip reigns! My dog, Charlie, was overjoyed with Mrs. Peterson's visit and proceeded to lick the kitchen floor clean.
"Shut up and listen for a minute, will ya?" I was beginning to regret having told Stan, my best friend, and co-worker, anything about the mysterious brown eyes. But if I couldn't tell my best friend, who could I tell? "Why wouldn't she answer the door? When she sees me with their groceries, why would she hide behind the curtain so I can only see her eyes?" I'd been delivering groceries to the house on Martin Street for five weeks. Every Friday, Mr. Taylor would find an envelope slipped under the door when he arrived for work. Inside was a hundred dollars and a grocery list. It was my job to deliver the groceries and leave them on the porch. Simple, except for the girl. She would always be standing behind those "movie theater" curtains, hidden except for those sad eyes. I know it sounds like I'm missing a few screws, but I can't explain the feeling I get, as if she's talking to me with those eyes. Mr. Taylor said some folks just like their privacy, but it just didn't feel right to me.
Before Stan and I could continue our friendly fire, Mr. Taylor's baritone voice sounded across the storage room. "Jake, get a move on. I'm not paying you two to stand back here and yak. These groceries need to be delivered."
"Yes, sir. I was getting ready to leave." Stan was still snickering, so I shot him the bird and grabbed the van keys. That was another perk with this job; I got to drive Mr. Taylor's van around town. None of us had our own cars because, as my father so aptly put it, "There's nothing to drive to around here that you can't walk to, so why have a car."
Approaching 321 Martin Street, I was anxious, like on a first date. I didn't know why I felt this way, but I did. I parked the van and jumped out to open the van doors. My eyes shifted immediately toward the window where she was always waiting. I took a double-take. She wasn't there. The sun was in my eyes, so I grabbed the groceries and walked closer to the house. I still couldn't see her.
Sitting the groceries on the porch, my eyes darted toward the door and back to the window again. My heart was racing. Wild thoughts were running through my mind. A sense of fear sent a chill up my spine. Where was she? Why wasn't she at the window? Had something happened to her? Or was my teenage brain shifting into overdrive?
Without giving it much constructive thought, I stepped off the porch and walked directly toward the window. The red curtains were closed, and I couldn't see inside. My heart was pounding against my chest. I could taste fear in my mouth. I knew I should get in the van and leave, but something kept drawing me to the window.
Suddenly, the curtain opened. Through the narrow opening, those mysterious brown eyes were staring directly into mine. It was the first time I had been so close to them, and I could see they were brimming with tears. Her lips moved. She was saying something. What was it? Before she could say another thing, she was gone! The pain and sorrow I had seen in her eyes still caused my heart to ache. I didn't even know this girl, but I connected with her fear. She had been pleading with me!
A dog barked, and I jumped. My instinct told me to get out of there. I ran to the van, started it, and took off down the street. Checking my rearview mirror, I slowed the van down. Nobody was following me.
My body was shaking. All I could see were those dark brown eyes. What had she been trying to say? As if a bolt of lightning had struck me, goosebumps covered my arms, and my terrified brain registered...HELP ME! Oh my God, she was begging me to help her. What could I do? If my best friend thought I was crazy, how would I get anyone else to believe me? She'd asked for my help. I had to do something, but what?
"Jake, listen, man, this is crazy." I had rushed back to the store with Mr. Taylor's van, certain that something was wrong at that house. My fears had tumbled out of my mouth, but Stan refused to believe anything I said.
"You didn't see her; I did. Trust me, man; the girl needs help. We got to do something!" My voice was rising to hysteria level, and Mr. Taylor must have heard me.
"Jake, what's all the yelling about? We could hear you all the way upfront." Standing beside Mr. Taylor was Officer Keaton.
"We gotta help her. We're wasting time." I'd worked myself into such a frenzy that my words were coming out choppy and most likely incoherent. Everyone was staring at me as if I had lost my mind.
"Slow down, son. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on." Officer Keaton stepped closer and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Nobody can help you unless you calm down and tell us your story." He waited while I tried to control my emotions. When I started to breathe a little slower, he continued, "Okay, Jake, what's got you so riled up?"
He listened intently as I described in detail the last five weeks how the brown eyes had watched me when I made each delivery. When I reached the point about seeing her face today and how I was positive she'd asked for help, Officer Keaton took out his notebook and asked me to describe her. I was beginning to panic again as he slowly jotted down every word. I was certain she was in trouble, and we were wasting time.
"Okay, Jake, now I need you to remain calm for a few more minutes. I'm going out to my car and radio dispatch. See if they are having anything going on. I'll give them your description."
I didn't even recognize my own voice when I grabbed his arm and screamed, "We're wasting time. Can't you drive over there and bust down the door? She's in trouble! She needs our help."
Mr. Taylor pulled me aside, and Officer Keaton left. "Jake, you are not helping matters. Let him do his job." I stepped away from Mr. Taylor. My anger was obviously apparent to everyone. "Jake, I've known you for a long time. I trust your instinct, and so does Officer Keaton, but there are laws we have to follow. We can't just break someone's door down on a hunch."
Before I could spit out my opinion about laws, Officer Keaton joined us again. "Pauly, you got a fax machine in this place?"
''Sure do." Mr. Taylor directed him toward the office. Stan and I followed close behind. "Want me to call the station and give them the number?" Officer Keaton nodded, and Paul Taylor immediately dialed the phone.
The hands on the clock ticked off the seconds. The sound exploded like fireworks in my head. Tick...Tick...Tick...Each second seemed like an eternity. I had no idea what we were waiting for, and I was about to go crazy... again. I was even frightening myself. Never had I shown so much passion about anything. Truth be known, I usually never offered more than a "Yes, ma'am" or a "No, sir" to any adult. That's why I knew this was different. I couldn't explain it, but I was sure this was the right thing to do.
Moments later, a fax started to print. We stood with our eyes glued on the paper as it slid from the machine. My heart started pounding wildly. I recognized those eyes staring back at me. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt in my mind.
"That's her. That's her. I know it." My adrenalin was going crazy, and I couldn't stand still. "Who is she? Why do you have a picture of her?"
Instead of answering my questions, Officer Keaton quickly walked out of the office and headed for his car. Stan and I were almost trampling on his heels. Words started to explode from my mouth again, but he raised his hand to silence me before talking into his radio. Unwillingly, I listened as he talked.
"I have an affirmative on the missing person. Requesting backup before approaching."
"We have three squads within fifteen minutes of you. They are alerted and should be arriving shortly."
"Roger that. Will wait at Taylor's grocery before proceeding."
Forty-five minutes later, Stan and I were standing behind crime scene tape watching the biggest story in Wheaton unfold. Three squad cars and an unmarked car lined the curb outside of 321 Martin St., and uniformed officers stood on the lawn. Two men in handcuffs walked out of the house with officers by their side.
My heart was racing. I couldn't believe what was happening right before our eyes. Stan kept pounding my back, telling me what a hero I was. My mind could only think about those dark brown eyes and how they had pleaded for my help. I was glad I'd believed in my instincts.
While waiting for the other squad cars to arrive, Officer Keaton had told us the girl was Mandy Harper, a runaway. The last time anyone saw her, she was walking the streets of Jacksonville. Two men had tried to grab Mandy and another girl, but the other girl escaped. Terrified, she had gone to the police. No one had any more information on Mandy's whereabouts until today.
Officer Keaton came out of the house with a teenage girl by his side. Someone had draped a blanket over her shoulders in an attempt to cover her tattered nightgown. Her fragile body and sagging shoulders spoke volumes of the terror she had been living. Before she slid into the back of the squad car, she stopped and looked in my direction. Our eyes connected, and I thought my heart was going to explode. She moved her lips and mouthed the words, "Thank you," and a fleeting smile crossed her face, and then she disappeared from my sight.
I never got the chance to talk to her, but Officer Keaton said she had returned home and was extremely thankful for my intervention. Wheaton held a town picnic, and I received a Civil Merit Badge for my heroic actions. My parents couldn't stop talking about how proud they were of me. Mr. Taylor even gave me a raise.
Though I appreciated everyone's congratulations, nothing meant as much to me as that fleeting smile and her "thank you." Sometimes late at night, I lie awake, thinking about her. I close my eyes and see those dark brown eyes smiling at me. Feeling at peace, I drift away to dream.
By Begin Again
"Pssst...Pssst..." I looked up from the desk directly into a pair of dark brown eyes. I recognized their owner immediately.
"Chandra, how are you today?" Glancing down the hallway, I thought it was odd she was out of her room without someone by her side.
"You're not like the others." She reached out and touched my hand with her fingers. "I can tell you care about us." She quickly pulled away and her eyes darted in both directions, afraid of who might have seen her gesture.
I had been working at
Twenty years ago, during a raid on a drug house, the police discovered Chandra chained to an iron bed in a windowless room. The story was she went wild when the officers tried to touch her, scratching and clawing at them. It took years of drugs and therapy before Chandra would even talk to anyone at the hospital. When she did start talking, the staff labeled her a first class "nut case". Everyone considered her stories the ranting of a neurotic, unbalanced woman.
"Chandra, where's Amy? Isn't she supposed to be with you?"
"The guy she's got the hots for showed up a while ago. She told the new one to stay with me while she took a break." Chandra nibbled at her lip and primped her hair. "I don't need any little girl standing around watching me dress so I told her she could leave. Didn't think she'd listen to some crazy lady, but she up and left." A low chuckle escaped her lips. "I took the opportunity to take a stroll."
"You know that's against the rules." I scolded Chandra, but it was obvious my heart wasn't in it. Whenever she walked with Amy, she couldn't say much more than hello before Amy would nudge her to continue walking. In my opinion, Amy was in this profession simply for the paycheck and not because she cared about the patient or their suffering. "I was about to take a break. Why don't I walk with you back to your room?" I smiled and extended my hand toward her. To my surprise, she clasped her fingers around mine and nodded her head. We walked hand in hand down the hallway.
She looked over her shoulder, assuring herself no one was listening. "I was a princess."
"A princess?"
"Shhh...don't let anyone hear us talking. They'll put me back on those horrible pills and I won't be able to think again." Her hand was tense in mine and I could see fear in her eyes.
I lowered my voice. What harm could there possibly be in letting her talk about her fantasies. "You were a princess. How wonderful."
"I lived in the mansion across the lake. I wore fancy clothes. My daddy always called me his princess." Sadness crept into Chandra's voice, "I had a family once. We were so happy together." Her eyes glistened with tears and she swatted them away, determined to reclaim a bit of dignity.
Reaching Chandra's room, she released my hand and walked to the window. She looked so sad, standing there staring out at the lake. Walking over to her side, I followed her gaze, before speaking, "I've always loved the water. It's so beautiful, isn't it, Chandra?"
A sigh escaped her lips. "My name isn't Chandra. It's Raven." She stood staring directly at me, belligerently waiting for my accusation, prepared to argue. Something in her eyes stopped me from questioning her.
"Raven, that's a beautiful name." I waited, somehow sensing she wanted to tell me more.
She walked to her dresser and pulled open the top drawer. Her hands rummaged through the cotton underwear until she found what she had been searching for, a locket. As she turned back toward me, her fingers caressed the treasure she had found. She pressed her lips tightly together, hesitating before walking back to stand by me.
"When I was a princess, my daddy gave this locket to me. He told me it was a symbol of his lasting love." She held the chain with her fingers, letting the locket dangle in the air. A smile crossed her face and her chiseled cheekbones softened before my eyes. Years of misery slipped away from her face and I could envision the beauty that was once there.
"Chandra!" Amy had returned from her recent rendezvous and her anger was quite apparent. Startled by her abruptness, Chandra let the locket drop from her hand. The weary mask slipped back over her face. "Did you think you were clever sending the new girl away? Maybe we need to restrict you to your bed again." I couldn't believe the transformation taking place right in front of me. Chandra's entire body was shaking, refusing to raise her eyes and look at Amy.
"It's my fault, Amy. I told Chandra I would sit with her on my break. I didn't mean to cause any problems." I continued to stare directly at her, hoping she'd accept my response as true.
"Humph...she's always bothering people with her stories and I figured she thought she pulled a fast one." Amy wasn't sure she believed my story, but she didn't have the courage to call me a liar either. Spotting the locket, Amy stepped in our direction. "What's that there, Chandra? Did you steal that from someone while I was gone?" She snatched the locket from the floor. Chandra's lip was quivering as she watched Amy with the locket.
"It's my locket. I was just showing it to Chandra." I reached out and removed it from Amy's hand. Chandra's eyes met mine only for a second, but it was enough for me to know she was relieved. "Well, I have to get back to work. It's been nice talking with you, Chandra." As I headed out the door, I could hear Amy's gruff voice telling Chandra it was time for a nap. My heart ached for her, disillusioned or not, she had lost her family, her life, and all hope.
The front desk was busy for the remainder of the day and I soon forgot about Chandra and the locket. At
While my morning cup of coffee brewed, I shuffled to my front door and retrieved the newspaper. After pouring myself a steaming cup of black coffee, I settled into my favorite overstuffed chair with the newspaper. The headline read, "Winston Mansion to Reopen". As I continued to read the article, I learned that after Theodore Winston and his wife had been bludgeoned to death, no one ever lived there again. Two thirds of the vast estate had been donated to
Reaching the bottom of the column, I turned the page to continue reading about the mansion. I found myself staring directly at a picture of a woman in her late thirties or forties, chiseled cheekbones and dark brown eyes. It was evident this woman had lived a comfortable life style. A fur coat draped her shoulders. Around her neck was a silver necklace, a locket with the letter W engraved on it. I froze!
I grabbed my purse and pulled Chandra's silver locket out. Could this really be possible? Chandra's necklace matched Haven Winston's locket. Was it a coincidence or was Chandra actually Raven Winston? I needed to speak to Haven Winston.
The next few hours were a blur as I waited for any opportunity to enter the mansion. The property was a buzz with maintenance crews and decorators. Finally, walking close to a group of decorators, I slipped into the mansion. I was overwhelmed by its beauty.
Haven Winston's picture hung above the fireplace. I couldn't stop staring at it. I had rehearsed what I would say, but now my mind was filled with doubt. What if I was wrong? Would I be opening old wounds? What if Chandra had found the locket?
"Can I help you?" Her voice startled me and the locket fell from my hand. She stared at it before bending to pick it up. "Where did you get this?" Her words were barely audible.
"I believe your sister gave it to me."
A gasp escaped her lips as she crumbled to the floor. I had found my answer...Chandra was Raven Winston and maybe she could be a princess again.
| Author Notes | Word Count 1442 |
By Begin Again
Driving along Interstate 10, in my vintage 1963 Corvette convertible, listening to a string of songs by "The Beach Boys", I can't imagine a more beautiful day. The warm wind whistles past my ears, sweeping the relentless heat of the sun away with it. Escaping the confines of the concrete city, my senses drink in the vast surroundings, enjoying the solitary, wide-open spaces. Mountains of sand dunes dotted with dried brush and prickly cactus can be seen for miles and miles. Occasionally, weather beaten boards, remnants of a long-ago shanty, can be seen nestled beneath a tree. Along the roadside, the shell of an abandon car, partially covered by the blowing sand, reminds one of the dangers this scenic route can hold.
Enthralled with this moment of solitude and beauty, I'm caught totally off-guard by a loud, persistent banging and an acrid smell. Irritated by the intrusion, I search for its origin, only to discover, it's my car. An angry knocking persists from beneath the hood as I pull to the side of the road. Sizzling puffs of water rise into the air to be vaporized by the scorching sun.
My euphoria is immediately replaced by devastation! The mountains of sand dunes, the brilliant sun and the feeling of freedom have vanished in a flash, replaced by vast emptiness, burning skin and despair. The wind whips the parched granules of sand relentlessly around my face. My throat screams for refreshing cool water as I stare at the empty water bottle on the seat.
With no signs of life within miles, I fear for my demise. Remembering how often I had chastised my friends for their obvious dependency on a cell phone, I suddenly regretted my every word. Stranded, alone, beneath the blistering sun, my imagination paints vivid pictures of my body being discovered, baked by the sun, and my vintage convertible buried beneath the blowing sand.
I'd heard that your life flashes before your eyes, moments before your death. My mind wandered through my happy childhood, my successful career and settled on my family and friends. Suddenly a blaring alarm went off in my head....Friends! Thank God for wonderful friends. Jackie, my beautiful next-door neighbor, to be exact! Reaching deep into my pant's pocket, my fingers wrapped around the small square box nestled against my thigh. Hallelujah! My Salvation!
Jackie had been weeding her flowerbeds this morning as I was preparing to start my scenic drive. Making small talk, I mentioned my plans to drive down Highway 10 and enjoy the wonderful day. After sharing her thoughts about the desert and my vintage car, she reached into her apron pocket, pulled out a tiny pink cell phone, and handed it to me, saying, "Just in Case!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
My mother was a firm believer in saving a few dollars for a rainy day, doing unto others, as we would want them to do unto us, and never leaving the house without clean underwear. Closing my eyes, I can see her standing in the kitchen door, wisps of pale blonde hair plastered to her face, waving a spatula in my direction as she repeated those very words to me. Of course, being young and worldly, I listened with respect, nodded and then, placing a kiss on her cheek, I escaped the confines of my home, immediately forgetting everything she'd said. Did anyone really care about all that unimportant stuff?
It's been five years since my mother passed away, but I remember her with loving thoughts every day. Today, being a holiday, my mind is filled with memories of family picnics, mom's scrumptious barbecue, bombarding my sisters with water balloons, and tons and tons of raucous laughter. Fond memories of a blissful childhood!
My friends and I had decided to spend the day at a near-by park, a bit of luscious green oasis on the edge of the city limits. We'd grill hamburgers and brats, play a game of softball, refresh our pallets with a beer or two, and enjoy the camaraderie of friends. It wasn't the same as being with family, but it certainly was the next best thing. I'd had a long, difficult week at work and I was looking forward to some relaxation.
As I approached the park entrance, a young girl, possibly 8 or 9, was frantically waving and jumping up and down. Remembering mom's motto of doing unto others, and fearing something tragic might be wrong, I pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car. Immediately, the girl raced to the driver's door, babbling that her brother had fallen into the ravine and couldn't get up. Her tear stained face and urgent pleas for help, not to mention mom, forced me into immediate action.
Quickly asking when and where, we rushed off in the direction of the ravine. Tall, stately oak and elm trees entangled with wild brush covered the hillside. The young girl, calmer now, pointed towards the bottom of the ravine, urging me to hurry. I couldn't possibly see through the tall weeds and brush, but not knowing how serious the situation might be, I charged into the thicket, intent on coming to the brother's rescue.
Suddenly, without any warning, someone or something rammed into my back, sending me tumbling head over heels through the brush until I body slammed one of the giant trees. Having hit my head numerous times as I tumbled down the hillside, my brain was slightly scrambled as I tried to understand the recent chain of events. One moment, I was the "Good Samaritan" charging to the rescue and the next, I found myself entwined with prickly brush and an obvious broken leg.
Looking about for the young girl, my eyes began to focus on two, yes, two young girls, laughing and pointing at my disastrous predicament. Spying my wallet that had flown from my pocket during my descent, the one girl swiftly scooped it up, checking the contents and screaming for joy. With a wave in my direction, they clamored up the hill without even another look behind.
After calling 911 and making several calls to friends, I was finally carried up the hill on a stretcher by six strong rescue workers. After a quick inspection by the EMT, they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance and closed the doors. Possibly suffering from a mild concussion, I thought I could hear my mom scolding me about clean underwear and me asking why. As the ambulance pulled away, headed towards the hospital, I saw her smile and say, "Just in case, son, just in case."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Having been cooped up inside for weeks, I finally decided I needed to get outside and breathe in some fresh air. Last night, the weatherman had forecast a warm, sunny day with a gentle breeze and by the looks of it; he was right on the money. Having been released from the hospital several weeks ago, I was finally able to walk on my leg again. The cuts and bruises had long since disappeared and the only visible evidence of my accident was a slight limp, because I favored the one leg.
My friends, at least that's what they say they are, had tormented me with hours of fabricated stories about two burly toughmen who had drug me into the woods, beaten me within an inch of my life before robbing me and leaving me to die. They'd found extreme pleasure in elaborating more and more until the details were simply beyond belief. Even I had found myself laughing at how easily I'd been duped by two young girls, certainly young, but definitely not innocent.
Waving at my next-door neighbor, I began to walk along the sidewalk, admiring the well-trimmed lawns and the brilliant splashes of color that adorned the gardens. A few children were playing basketball in one driveway and another was spraying his dog with the hose. A perfect setting for a beautiful day in suburbia!
Enjoying being outside in the sunshine, I neglected to notice how far my stroll had taken me. The frazzled nerves in my "mending" leg started sending occasional pangs of pain to my brain, reminding me that it was still recovering. Searching for someplace to rest, I spotted a bench near the bus stop and headed in that direction. Once comfortably seated, I realized that I'd probably pushed the limits, walking so far. I decided to rest awhile before attempting the trip back home.
Fifteen or twenty minutes later, a city bus pulled up to the curb, opening its doors. I waved at the driver, telling him that I didn't need a ride. At the rear bus doors, I could see a lady struggling to descend the bus stairs, carrying two bags of groceries. She stood about 5' tall with bluish gray hair, and probably didn't weigh 100 pounds, even soaking wet. Her hands were gnarled with arthritis and her walk was as unsteady as mine. As she reached the sidewalk, her eyes met mine and she smiled.
Without another moment of hesitation, I stood up and walked toward her. Smiling, I said hello and offered to help her carry the bags of groceries. At first, she declined, but when I insisted, telling her I was going her way, she thanked me profusely. We walked for several blocks, chatting about the weather and the beautiful gardens. She had lived in the neighborhood all her life and she knew just about everyone here.
When we reached her gate, she told me she could handle the groceries from here and thanked me again for being so kind. As I turned to leave, she asked. "Young man, I didn't catch your name."
I smiled at her and said, "It's Justin, ma'am. Justin Case."
| Author Notes | My intent was to write three short stories with a play on words...Just in Case. I hope the reader enjoys it! |
By Begin Again
Leaning against the wooden fence, Tania wiped the sweat from her brow. The sun's yellow orb scorched the ground and seared the bottoms of her leathered feet. It promised to be another long, hot summer day in the fields.
Tania's family had worked on the Creighton's farm for generations. Her great granddad had been part of the slavery era. When Grandpa Creighton inherited the farm, he granted them their freedom, offering paying jobs if they wished to stay. Most did! After all, it was their home. Several of them had been born and raised on the farm; other than schooling, they didn't know any place else. Everyone was expected to put in a good day's work, but the Creightons never overworked their help, treating them like extended family. A well-manicured cemetery on the hill was dotted with family tombstones for those who passed on to greener pastures.
With first light, Tania had gathered several bushel baskets and hurried to the garden, hoping to pick the beans before the blistering sun was too high in the sky. A jug of water and a small lunch she'd prepared sat under the shade of the stately oak tree. The main house was quiet; she knew the young Creighton children wouldn't rise for several hours. Shep, the family collie, was her only companion. She enjoyed the solitude of morning, picking beans and thinking about Lamont, the love of her life.
Looking for a summer job several years ago, Lamont had inquired at the farm and been hired. He was the same age as the Creighton twins, Jack and Jeremy. The three had become inseparable buddies. Therefore, it was understandable, when the twins enlisted in the Army eight months ago, Lamont did the same. Tania didn't want him to go, fearing for his life and their future. They'd stood in front of the justice of the peace, declaring their love, just days before he reported for duty. Four months later, his squadron shipped overseas to Afghanistan. Now, Tania lived for his sweet, touching letters, reading each one over and over before going to sleep at night.
By ten o'clock, the young Peter had joined her in the garden, begrudgingly picking the beans from the vines. He hated working in the garden. Summer was supposed to be fun, filled with lazy days of swimming and playing, not smearing dirt across your face as you wiped the sweat away.
"It's so hot, my throat is cracking, Tania. Can't we stop for a while?" Peter, a sprouting thirteen year old, leaned against the fence, imploring her for a reprieve from this disgusting job. Six bushel baskets of beans were sitting under the tree, what more could anyone expect from him. Conveniently, he dismissed the fact that Tania filled four bushel baskets before he'd even arrived to help.
She could hear the youthful sounds of children playing in the nearby stream, knowing Peter was well aware that his friends weren't slaving in any garden, picking beans. They were finding relief from the scorching sun in the cool water, laughing and having fun.
Smiling, she ruffled his hair, "You've done a fine job this morning, Peter. I appreciate your help. So, you run along and wash that dirt off you in the stream. I can finish up here."
"Wow, you mean it." Suddenly energized, he was jumping all around, eager to escape.
"Sure, go and have fun with your friends."
Not waiting to be told twice, Peter raced toward the stream, suddenly stopping and calling back to Tania, "Are you sure, Tania. Mom will whip my butt if she thinks I shirked on my chores." Jamming his hands in his jean's pockets, he shuffled his feet across the parched dirt, walking back toward her.
"I could use a break myself. Go have some fun. I'll speak up for you, if your mom says anything."
"Promise?" Torn between swimming with his friends and his mother's wrath, he wavered, looking for her approval.
"Promise." The words rolled off her tongue and Peter was once again racing across the field, eager to join his friends in the cool waters of the stream.
Spreading a small blanket on the ground, Tania relaxed against the tree, sipping cool water from the jug. She nibbled at the tuna sandwich, but soon replaced it in her basket. Her stomach wasn't feeling right, an occasional pain gnawed at her. Choosing to ignore it, she carefully unfolded the latest letter from Lamont and read it.
My sweet love,
Though I know it's hot back home, you would not believe this scorching desert we march through each day. Our eyes burn from the gritty sand as the wind whips it through the air. I'm sure we must eat pounds of the grainy stuff every day. Since our water is rationed during our marches, I've learned to appreciate every cooling drop as it trickles down my throat. When I fear I can't take another step, I let my mind wander to your sweet kisses and find strength knowing you patiently wait for me to return home.
I miss you with all my heart. At night, lying on my cot, I close my eyes and dream about our last night together and the passionate lovemaking we shared. Know that your love is what carries me through each terrifying moment over here.
It's lights out, so I must quickly end this letter. I send all my love to you and eagerly await the time when I can hold you in my arms again.
Hugs and kisses,
Lamont
Folding the letter, she slipped it back into her apron pocket and sighed. His letters always made her feel warm inside. She prayed for his safe return home when they could be a family again.
"Tania ... Tania." A young girl's voice was calling her and she turned in search of it.
"Betsy, I'm over here, under the oak tree." She watched as Betsy, a precocious ten year old, skipped across the grass in her direction. Her long, brown ponytail swished in the air, reminding Tania of horses swatting their tails at the flies.
"I need your help, please. Mom wants the canning jars from the barn and I can't reach the top shelf."
Pulling herself from the ground, Tania smiled at the young girl. She marveled at how beautiful she was becoming. It seemed only yesterday, she'd swaddled her in her arms, singing lullabies and kissing tiny fingers. Betsy was growing into a fine young lady. In a few more years, her dad would be fighting the young studs away.
"Help me carry these baskets to the back porch and then I'll get the jars down for you, okay?"
After several trips, the baskets of beans were safely placed on the back porch and the two girls walked arm in arm toward the barn. Betsy was the little sister she'd never had. They'd spent many hours together; Tania listening intently to Betsy read her beautiful poems about nature. Her talent was far beyond her years.
Handing the last box of jars down to Betsy, a yelp escaped Tania's lips, startling both of them. "Are you okay?" Concern washed across the little girl's face.
"Oh yeah, I just stretched a little too far, I guess. My stomach's been acting up all day."
"Maybe you should take it easy for awhile, I know you've been picking beans since early morning. Mom says you work too hard."
"Maybe you are right. I'll help you carry the boxes of jars into the house and then I think I'll take a walk through the meadow."
"Good idea. Even though it's been so hot, the flowers are still blooming. While you're gone, I'll write you a poem about the flowers."
"I'd like that, Betsy. Your poems are always so beautiful." They smiled at each other before scooping up the boxes, carrying them into the house.
"How can you two find anything to laugh about in this heat?" Two boiling pots of water were filling the kitchen with steam. Mrs. Creighton wiped the sweat away with her apron and smiled at her daughter and Tania. "Of course, it has to be one of the hottest days of summer when I decide to start canning."
"Would you like me to help you? I've finished picking for the day."
"No, no, you've certainly done enough for today. I told you you've been working too hard, especially in this heat." Mrs. Creighton affectionately wagged her finger at Tania.
"Well, if you're sure you don't need my help, I think I'll spend a few moments with Granny."
"She hurt herself getting the jars down, mommy."
Mrs. Creighton kissed her daughter's head before turning back to Tania. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"It's nothing. I just stretched a little too far, is all. I'll enjoy a short walk through the meadow; it's shady there. Take some flowers to Granny and spend a little time."
Gathering wildflowers as she walked leisurely through the meadow, Tania reminisced about her early years when Granny had been by her side. Her mom had died giving birth to her and Granny was the only mother she'd ever known. She'd spent hours sitting on the porch at her knee, listening to stories and learning about life, love, respect, honesty and giving a full days work where it was due. When Granny talked about her death, Tania had cried and covered her ears, refusing to accept the inevitable.
Gently, as only the old woman could do, she'd reassured the young girl that even after she passed, Tania would never be alone. She just needed to close her eyes, open her mind, and feel the love they shared deep within her heart.
Climbing the small hill to the cemetery took its toll on her today. Laying the flowers on Granny's grave, Tania sat on the grass, breathing heavily. She hadn't realized the short trek would consume so much of her energy. Her irritated stomach reacted unpleasantly, causing her to yelp in surprise. The dull gnawing was beginning to cause discomfort. Sweat trickled down her back. The sun was setting lower in the sky and soon a cooler breeze would wash across the land before night settled in. A small sigh escaped her lips. She always found comfort visiting the grave. Whenever anything was troubling her, she'd find herself sitting in this exact same spot, talking about her problems, knowing that Granny was listening, just as she had listened so many years ago.
"Oh, Granny, how I wish you were here to hold my hand and talk to me about all the things I never learned. Remember when we'd rock back and forth on the porch swing, without a care in the world? Now I'm a grown woman, twenty-two last month. It doesn't seem possible. I'm married but facing things alone while Lamont is off fighting a war. I get a little scared sometimes, but then I remember that you are always watching over me. I know your love will give me strength and I can face whatever comes."
The sun was lowering quickly now, shades of purple and orange spread across the horizon. "It's gonna be dark soon so I better get back. No need to cause Mrs. Creighton any concern. I miss you, Granny more and more each day. Please, stay close to my heart, showing me the way."
Slowly, Tania followed the well-worn path back to her one room home. The Creightons had built homes for all their workers. Some were larger to accommodate families. This summer she'd been given her own place to share with Lamont and their babies when he came home.
After taking a warm shower, Tania felt better. Her muscles were sore but not anymore than usual. Fixing a light meal, she carried her plate and lemonade to the porch. The sun had sunk below the horizon and the gentle breeze offered little respite from today's heat. She ran her hands across the scarred arms of Granny's rocking chair, smiling, knowing that she was there.
All day long, there'd been a gnawing pain in her stomach, not enough to be bothersome, but enough to be annoying. They were getting stronger now and lasting longer requiring her to take a long deep breath.
Rising from the rocker, she shuffled over to the porch railing. Mr. Creighton had installed a bell especially for Tania. The bell could be heard inside the big house if she needed them. Closing her eyes, she ran her hands across her bulging stomach and smiled before ringing the bell several times. She slowly walked back into the house to lie down. It wouldn't be long now. The Creightons and the doctor would be here soon.
Less than an hour later, with the entire Creighton family gathered around, Tania smiled, a smile only a mother and daughter could share, "Her name's Summer. Isn't she beautiful?" The newborn baby girl lay cradled in her mother's arms.
By Begin Again
Smoke hung in the air. Frank Sinatra crooned from the juke box. Couples shuffled around the dance floor.
Jack tossed the whiskey down his throat. He savored the warm sensation, then moved toward the exit.
He stepped outside, glancing up and down the street. It was a typical night in the red light district; half-naked women feverishly selling their bodies for the right amount of dollars.
Declining two provocative offers, Jack strolled down the block, stopping near some trees. Cloaked in the shadows, he watched and waited.
He lit a cigarette, readying himself. A blonde approached. Her red dress clung to every curve. Her heels tapped in perfect rhythm as she glided toward him.
“Gotta light, tough guy?” She smiled..
“I might.” His eyes lingered on her bosom. “You’re looking pretty hot tonight.”
She moved closer. Her perfume was intoxicating. ”I’m just looking for a light.”
She placed the cigarette between her lips.
Jack opened his jacket. His fingers touched the steel blade hidden inside before retrieving the Zippo. The flickering flame illuminated her face. He lit her cigarette. His fingertips brushed across her breasts.
Her voice was sultry, “Sorry, this girl’s not free.” She stepped back.
A chuckle rattled in Jack’s throat. “Oh, Darlin’, I can pay.”
The smoke drifted across her lips. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I have a prior engagement.” She turned, took a step or two, and turned back to him. “Thanks for the light.”
He watched as she disappeared into the park. He liked her game. It suited him just fine.
Checking the area, he slipped into the darkness and stealthily closed the distance between them. His movements were routine and polished. His motive was simple - to remove another slut from the streets.
He spotted her leaning against the fountain, waiting for him. He knew her kind. Seduction was her game. She was begging for it. He slid his blade from its sheath. His adrenalin pumped as he moved in for the kill. It was going to be too easy.
Approaching footsteps caught him off guard. He hesitated. He could see a man approaching.
“What the -”
His eyes registered fear. Pain raged through his body. Lifeless, he crumbled to the ground. Blood gurgled and ran down his chin.
The man stood over him, smirking. “You picked the wrong girl tonight, my friend.” He pulled the bloody knife out and dropped it into a plastic bag.
Jack’s former prey stepped over hs body and squatted down. “That’s right, tough guy. I’m afraid your vigilante days are over.”
She stood and turned to her co-conspirator. “It’s done. No regrets?”
“None. Until we find our sister and get her off these streets, it’s our duty to protect all of them.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist. “We promised Dad we’d do whatever it took.”
Without looking back, they disappeared into the dark.
By Begin Again
It was bone-chilling cold. Bitter wind whipped the freshly fallen snow, covering Jay's footprints as he hustled toward the car idling at the curb.
"Dang...we must be crazy. Someone could get killed on a night like this." Agitation covered his face. Swatting the snow off his jacket, Jay slumped into the front seat and slammed the door. "It's nasty!"
Heavy metal tunes vibrated the steamy windows. Raucous laughter spilled out of the other occupants of the car, his best friends, Terence aka Master T and Duncan aka the Crusher..
From the confines of the back seat. Duncan's burly body leaned forward and his massive hand squeezed Jay's shoulder. "We got your back bro...You, Me and Master T... we're a team, man."
"That's right, fool! Ain't nobody gettin' killed while Master T's at the wheel." Terence flashed a wide grin at Jay, shifted the car into gear and fish-tailed away from the curb, barely missing the parked cars. Another burst of laughter reverberated around the car.
"It's a blizzard out here, man. Your cheap ass should be putting some new wipers on this bucket of bolts. How you even seein' the road?"
"Don't be goin' old school on me, J-Boy. Some snow flakes aren't going to dampen our party tonight."
"That's right, bro. You're looking mighty fine. The chicks be crawlin' all over you tonight. You be fightin' em off." Duncan couldn't resist the temptation to tease his friend a little more.
"That stuff you're wearin' didn't come from no dollar store either. I bet your mama sure didn't get a whiff of you as you left the house." The 260 pound football player's body doubled over, amused with his clever remarks. "She ain't got no idea what her boy be doing tonight."
Jay's mama's last words shot through his mind.
"Don't be doing anything stupid tonight, Jay. I want you home in one piece, you hear me? Stay safe." She said the same thing to him every night before he left the house.
He'd continued walking toward the door, without stopping, calling over his shoulder. "It's a Super Bowl Party, Mama, for Christ sakes. Instantly regretting what he'd said, he softened his tone and yelled, "I love you", before closing the door. He hadn't heard her response but he knew she'd said 'I love you, too'. It was their routine. The right of passage each time he went out with his friends.
"Now Dunc, don't be teasing J-Boy. You know my sister already got her brand on our boy here. There won't be no foolin' around if any of us wants to see the morning."
* * * * * * * *
Ice-laden trees creaked and moaned; their branches cast eerie shadows across the snow. Car after car was squeezed against the curb as their occupants scurried to their destinations. Porch lights glimmered up and down the street, beckoning guests carrying bags of snacks and cases of beer to their doors. Identical scenarios played out neighborhood after neighborhood. It was Super Bowl Night and everyone was ready to party.
With beer in hand, Jay found a recliner, nicely situated out of the main flow of traffic. Terence and Duncan sprawled out on a nearby sofa, devouring their second plate of snacks and chugging cold beers. A discussion between two inebriated party revelers over a referee's call slowly began to escalate.
Duncan pressed his hands against the sofa, needing the leverage to push himself to a standing position. Nodding his head toward the door, he beckoned his friends, "Come on. Let's grab some air."
Terence followed suit immediately, but Jay shook his head. "You go ahead. I'm doing fine right here."
A glass crashed to the floor, spilling its contents on the carpet. One of the men arguing bumped the table after a "friendly" push from his friend. Foul language and red faces quickly replaced the party mood.
"Hey, guys. We're all friends here, right? Let's cool your jets and calm down." A tiny brunette positioned herself between the two men and offered each a fresh bottle of beer.
Moving toward the door, Terrence and Duncan urged Jay to follow, "Come on, J-Boy. We're a threesome, a team. We gotta stick together." The two boys didn't wait for an answer, grabbing their coats they headed outside.
A sigh of resignation escaped Jay's lips. He swallowed the last of his beer and lifted himself out of the recliner. He didn't care to hang around if a fight was going to break out between two drunk dudes.
Zipping up his jacket, he pulled the collar up around his ears and stepped out on to the porch.
Terence and Duncan were in the midst of a snowball fight. The distinct odor of weed drifted over from the small group in the driveway. Looking up the street, he could see a couple waving at someone standing on the porch across the street. All was right in their world.
His phone vibrated against his thigh. Glancing at the screen, he just shook his head and answered, "Yah!"
"Jay, you still at the party?"
"Yeah, Mama. Terence and Duncan are here with me. Everything's fine."
"You know I can't help but worry. There's just been too many young people getting killed lately. I don't think I could go on living if anything like that happened to you."
"I know, I know, Mama. Don't worry. Everything's fine. Just havin' a few beers and then I'll be home."
"The news says there's lots of acci-"
"Pop! Pop!" A loud crackle broke the silence of the night.
He heard his mother's scream and his gut tightened. For a fleeting second, he understood her fears.
"Jay...Jay...what's happening?" Her shrill words blasted against his ear drum.
"It's just some dudes setting off firecrackers. It's nothing. Relax. You're getting all worked up over nothing."
A burst of laughter erupted from the group in the driveway as another round of firecrackers was lit.
"I gotta go."
"Please be careful, for my sake, okay?"
He could hear the desperation in her voice and he was sorry she was so worried. If only she'd relax a little. He could take care of himself and besides Terence and Duncan always had his back.
"It's all good. Nothing's going to happen to me. Now, I gotta go. Love ya." A small smile crossed his lips as he waited for her response.
"Love you, too, J-Boy. You're the best son a mother ever had."
"I know and you're the best mother a son could ever have. Good night, Mama."
A chill ran up his spine as he disconnected the call. Pulling his jacket tighter, he decided it was just too cold out here for him. He walked into the yard toward his snowball dueling friends. Duncan flashed a smile as he aimed at Jay's head, knowing that Terrence would follow suit.
Jay dodged the first one as it whizzed by his head. Seconds later, he felt a blast to the back of his head and everything went black.
* * * * * * * *
Leaning against the porch railing, Jay struggled to piece together the last few minutes. He'd been dodging snowballs when he heard the pop, pop, pop again. It hadn't sounded quite the same as the firecrackers. He wasn't sure what it was. His mind was flooded with questions.
'Oh man, had the fight escalated inside the house?'
'Who was that running up the street, darting between cars? Was that black SUV chasing him?'
'What was going on? Why's everyone screaming? Whatever's happening, its sure not good.'
Jay spotted Terrence and Duncan standing by the tree, shaking their heads. "Oh my God, they're crying. Master T and Duncan can't be crying.This is crazy, man. Somebody, tell me what's happening!"
He moved off the porch and walked towards Terrence and Duncan, calling their names, but they didn't hear him.
A woman was kneeling on the ground. A girl handed her a blanket and she spread it out. A man yelled he'd called 911 and the ambulance was on it's way.
'Ambulance? Who needed an ambulance? Who was hurt? Had Terrence or Duncan thrown a snowball and injured someone?'
He edged closer to the woman, trying to see over her shoulder. Her gentle words drifted up to him, "Hold on...It's going to be okay. Just hold on. The ambulance is on it's way."
He couldn't stand the suspense, the not knowing. He stepped around the woman so he could see who was hurt. He tried to recall exactly who had been outside in the yard. 'Maybe it was one of the guys with the firecrackers. Did one explode and hurt someone?'
Finally, able to see the person lying on the ground, Jay's eyes flew open in disbelief.
'It can't be?'
He tried to scream at his friends, but nothing came out of his throat. Not one sound could be heard.
Red and blue lights were flashing everywhere. Sirens pierced the frigid air. Police wrapped yellow tape around the trees and ordered onlookers to step back. The man held the woman close to him as she fought to control the inevitable tears, "I couldn't do anything. I tried, but I couldn't."
A Sheriff was asking questions. "Did anyone see the shooter? Anyone know what happened here?"
Several officers with dogs picked up the trail of the running man.
More and more police cars arrived on the scene.
The EMT pulled a crisp white sheet over the body. She shook her head, speaking out loud to anyone who was listening, "What's this world coming to? Another young life ended for no apparent reason."
Jay watched as his friends clung to each other, hysterical sobs racking their bodies.
Suddenly, he wasn't cold anymore. His mother's words echoed in his mind, "Stay safe."
'I'm as safe as I'm ever going to be Mama. I love you, but I gotta go.'
One wistful look at his friends and he was gone.
By Begin Again
Shelly Cranston and Kate Anderson worked together in Halverson & Smith's Accounting Department, but they were more than co-workers, they were best friends. They car pooled together, ate lunch at the Corner Cafe together, shopped together, and lately, spent hours planning the details of Shelly's upcoming wedding to Rob Smith, who coincidentally, worked for the same company.
Today, Shelly was having lunch alone, a rare event. Neither Kate or Rob could join her. Looking a bit frazzled, Kate begged off , saying she had a rush job to finish and Rob was involved in a production meeting. A creature of habit, she'd walked to the cafe by herself, slid into their usual booth, and ordered a Crab Salad, her favorite.
"Sorry, Shelly, it's not on the menu anymore." Margie, her friend and waitress offered an apologetic smile.
"You have to be kidding me. I love it." Skeptical, she questioned the waitress. "Why would they take a best seller off the menu?"
Glancing around, Margie leaned toward Shelly, "Someone got sick. Almost died."
"What?" Shelly's voice raised a few octaves. "How awful."
"Shhh! Hank'll fire me if he finds out I'm gossiping with the customers, even if we are friends."
"Oooh, my bad."
"Looks like he's watching me 'cause he knows you order the Crab." Margie pulled her order book out of her pocket, "Aren't Kate and Rob joining you?"
"Not today. They both are tied up at work." Giving the menu a quick scan, she added, "Just bring me a tuna on whole wheat and a Coke, I guess."
"Sure thing. Be right back."
Shelly pressed the back of her head against the booth. A huge sigh escaped her lips.
What a day! Eating alone is bad enough, but not being able to enjoy my lunch stinks. What else can go wrong?
"Tuna on wheat, ma'am?" The waitress placed the plate on the table.
Recognizing the voice, Shelly sat up straight. "Pam?" Her eyes darted around the room. "Where's Margie?"
Pam shrugged. "Hank had her in his office. Next thing I know she was going home."
"Home?"
Another waitress tapped Pam's shoulder. "Better keep moving. Hank's on the warpath. I think Margie just got fired."
Shelly's mouth dropped open, but before she could say anything, the two girls moved away from the booth.
Margie fired? Oh, I hope it wasn't because of me.
Having lost her appetite, she closed her eyes, rubbing her temples.
So much for what else could go wrong? Poor Margie.
Shelly could hear the people in the next booth talking. Their low chatter was getting louder which irritated her. Pushing her sandwich away, she decided to leave. She wasn't hungry, maybe she'd feel better if she took a walk.
"I can't believe it. When are they going to tell everyone?"
"You know Halverson & Smith. It's a need to know situation for now."
At the mention of her firm, Shelly froze. She leaned back against the booth again, her curiosity peaked.
"Need to know? There's twenty people working in the accounting department. What brilliant person upstairs doesn't think they need to know?"
Accounting Department?
Bells and whistles blared inside Shelly's head. She waited, nervously waiting for their conversation to continue.
"Well, I heard they might offer a few of them positions in Seattle."
"Seattle? That's a good one. How many people do you know who'd just pick up and move cross country?"
Oh my, God ... their talking about my job, Kate's job. Seattle ... even if they offered me a job, what about Rob? I can't move to Seattle. We're getting married in six months.
Pam stopped at her booth. "You haven't touched your sandwich, can I get you anything else?"
Still stunned by what she'd overheard, it took Shelly a moment to realize Pam was speaking to her.
"Anything else?" The waitress waited for an answer.
"No, no, I'm fine. Thank you." At the moment, she was anything but fine.
Slipping a folded newspaper from under her arm, Pam whispered, "You might want to take a look at the classifieds."
"Classifieds?" Pure panic replaced her last shred of common sense.
"Just trying to help." The waitress shrugged and moved away.
Grabbing her cell phone, Shelly punched in Kate's number. If there was any truth to what she'd just heard, Kate needed to know, too. The phone at the other end rang once, twice, three times.
"Shelly, what are you doing?" Kate sounded irritated. "I told you I had a rush job to finish."
"I know, I know, but this is important." She lowered her voice. "I just heard some girls talking about the Accounting Department moving to Seattle. Isn't that crazy?"
The other end of the line was silent.
"Kate, did you hear me? We're probably going to lose our jobs." She couldn't understand her best friend's reaction. This was big, real big.
"Listen, Shelly, I'm really busy. Can we talk about this later?"
Shelly could hear a muffled voice talking in the back ground.
"Sure, sure, I just thought-"
"Give me the phone, Kate?"
Shelly recognized the voice. Her heart slammed against her chest. A migraine was taking up residence in her head.
"Shhh ..." The phone was muffled for a second before Kate spoke again, "I gotta go."
"Was that Rob? What's going on?" Her voice cracked.
"Nothing ... I'm just really busy."
"Yeah, she's really busy," Rob's laughter assaulted Shelly's ears.
"Excuse me, are you two ready to order?" The sound of a waitress pushed Shelly over the edge.
"My God, you two are having lunch together."
"Shelly ... I can explain."
"Don't bother ... it's evident you preferred to eat alone." Her stomach heaved. She clapped her hand across her mouth, tossed the phone in her purse, and moved to the edge of the seat.
Oh, no, I'm not going to throw up in front of all these people. I'm not!
Bracing her shaking knees against the seat, she stood, focusing on the floor. She needed fresh air. She took two steps,
"April Fools!" sounded in unison.
Kate, Rob, and two other girls from the office were convulsing in the booth behind her. Margie, Pam and Hank stood in the kitchen door laughing.
Shelly stared at the ridiculous scene before bursting into laughter. "You'll get yours, just wait!"
By Begin Again
Six months ago, Traci and Amy, co-workers at Trayton Tax Service and best friends, eagerly signed up for a three day seminar in New York. Expecting short meetings and great after hours parties, their anticipation had skyrocketed. With all expenses paid, the girls considered it a well earned vacation.
Much to their chagrin, they soon learned, upon arrival, the schedule called for back to back speakers throughout the day and discussion periods at night. Having endured two days of boredom, the girls were teetering on the edge of exhaustion.
"Psst ... Amy."
Her friend's head hung lopsided against her chest. At the sound of Traci's voice, she sat straight up in the chair, eyes wide open.
"What? ... What?" Aware she'd been dozing, Amy giggled, "Can't you see I'm deeply involved in this guy's speech?"
"Yeah, right. He's putting me to sleep." Traci yawned to emphasize her thoughts.
"Yeah, let's go to the powder room. Maybe sneak a look around."
Sitting in the last row, the girls quietly slipped from the room, hoping no one took note of their exit.
Once in the hallway, they both breathed a sigh of relief.
"Some place, isn't it? Can't believe the company let us hang out here for free. They must have known the seminar would be totally boring."
Amy twirled around, tilting her head toward the ceiling. "It's so romantic. Too bad we're not here for a party or something. At least they could have had a small cocktail party for everyone."
"I heard there's a big wedding taking place in the other wing. Suppose to be a big hush-hush thing. Someone real important." Traci's smug expression made her friend laugh.
"Who told you that? You read it in one of your gossip magazines? How many times do I have to tell you that none of that stuff is ever true."
"Is too! A lot you know about it ... last month's copy even had pictures of Jennifer with Brad. So there ... no way they could fake those."
"Traci ... girl friend, you are too much. Believing everything those people print."
"Well, Roberto said -"
"Roberto?"
"Yeah, the room service guy."
"Room service? Did I miss something, because I know we shared a pizza in the ma and pa pizzeria last night. Did you have something after I fell asleep? Because if you did, I'll never speak to you again."
"Don't get your panties all in a wad, silly. You were asleep and I was bored so I just took a little walk."
"Walk! Are you nuts? This is New York." Amy screeched at her friend. "You trying to get yourself killed?"
"Will you calm down? I wasn't outside. I took the elevator to the top floor."
"Traci, you didn't!" A bit of envy crept into Amy's voice, realizing she might have missed something.
"I did! Waited until someone used their key to get off at the top floor and just walked off like I had every right to be there." The broad grin on her face said she was proud of her accomplishment. She waited before continuing, knowing Amy was dying to know what happened. She relished the moment.
"Well, what did you see? And what'd Roberto say to you?"
"Awww ... nothing really." Traci strolled a few feet away, stopping to admire a large Greek statue.
Amy chased after her, grabbing Traci's arm and spinning her around. "I'm going to knock your block off if you don't quit with your games. Tell all, girlfriend, or is this just one of your jokes? That's it, huh? You didn't go anywhere last night except to bed."
"Did too! Put on my red cocktail dress and just sashayed my little tush off the elevator like I owned the place. Caught Roberto's eye right away. He was quick to say hello and ask if I needed any assistance."
Pausing for a moment, Amy's clenched fist quickly encouraged her to continue the story. "I told him it was my first time in New York and so far it had been nothing but boring. Of course, being a good hotel employee, he immediately told me that a beautiful girl like myself should be having the time of my life, not attending some stuffy seminar. He even offered to show me around."
"He didn't! Traci, what about Todd? How quickly he's forgotten." Amy chuckled at the thought of Traci's well-at-least-he's-a-date friend back home. She knew her friend liked him, but it would never ever go any further than a quick goodnight kiss. Traci dreamt of romantic walks under the stars, not Friday Night Fish Fry with the parents at the local diner. Todd believed in keeping things plain and simple.
"Stop it! You know Todd and I are just friends. Besides, a girl can talk to other guys, can't she?" Offended, she moved a few steps away, her lower lip extended in an over-the-top pout.
Amy slipped her arm around her friend's waist, knowing Traci was a bit thin-skinned. "Come on, let's explore this place. Forget that ole seminar." Tugging on Traci's arm, she guided her down one of the opulent corridors. "Now tell me about Roberto. Did he try to kiss you?"
A red blush crept up Traci's neck and spread across her ivory cheeks. "Of course not! Well, not at first. He did lean a little too close once. I could feel his breath on my face and whatever he was wearing was heavenly, but his professionalism reared its head and that's as far as it went."
As they neared the end of the long hallway, loud, upbeat music drifted toward them. Both girls instantly quickened their steps, moving in the direction of the Latin rhythmic sounds. Rounding the corner, they looked out into a huge courtyard. Speechless, they gawked at the enormous sprays of flowers, the linen draped chairs and tables covered with platters of food and sparkling crystal. Women in designer dresses and dripping with diamonds clung to the arms of elegantly dressed men, sipping white wine and smiling demurely as others waved and continued milling about the room.
Men, too numerous to count, stood guard at the entrance, obviously protecting the occupants inside.
"See, I told you there was a wedding. By the looks of those black-suited zombies, it must be someone important."
The girls moved closer for a better look, hiding behind a huge planter.
Look over there. That looks like -"
"Oh my God, Traci, it can't be, but it sure looks like him."
Another man and woman walked by, blocking their vision. The girls were instantly distracted. Simultaneously, their mouths dropped open and their eyes were glued to the couples activity. Unaware or merely unconcerned of anyone watching, the gentleman let his hand roam freely across the woman's small, tight derriere. She giggled and playfully slapped him. Rounding the corner, they disappeared from sight.
"Oo-la-la, wonder where those two are headed. Maybe a quickie in the laundry room."
Amy slammed her elbow into Traci's side.
"Ouch, what'd you do that for? Don't you think that's what they had on their minds?"
"Classy people don't use laundry rooms." Amy rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, amazed at her friend's lack of knowledge.
"Get real, Amy. When the urge moves you, it doesn't matter how much money you got, you just do it. All the movies have them doing it everywhere and liking it, too."
"That's movies, not real life. There you go believing everything you see or read again."
"You're the one who doesn't know anything about real life. Bet you haven't even let Ray kiss you yet and he's been chasing after you for months."
"Oh shut-up!" Traci's remark had hit a little below the belt. Amy's voice raised a few octaves when she spoke, "Just because you think you know-"
Before she could finish her sentence, she found herself being tugged violently across the floor and into a powder room.
"What's wrong with you?" Yanking her arm out of Traci's clutches, Amy scowled at her friend.
"Didn't you see that amazon bearing down on us? I think we were about to be rudely evicted from the premises."
"Great! He'll probably be waiting outside with his task force."
"Now who's being dramatic. He was probably just going to suggest we move along."
"I gotta pee as long as we're here." Amy slipped into one of the stalls and shut the door. "Hey, this is the weekend Chelsea was getting married. Do you think that was really Bill?"
"Sure looked like him. Can you imagine telling our friends back home we were at Chelsea's wedding?"
"We weren't at her wedding, Traci."
"Well, we were probably as close as some of those journalists get and they think they're at the weddings."
"Whatever -"
"I gotta go!" Traci's voice escalated an octave or two. Having suddenly realized she'd lost her grandmother's bracelet, she rushed out of the bathroom, leaving Amy alone. In her haste and panic, she barely noticed the other woman entering.
Hearing the stall door next to her close, Amy assumed her friend was there.
"You don't need to get that excited about it. We all feel the urge to pee."
"Excu-," the woman's voice started to reply.
"Wow, you sounded almost as excited as that guy groping that woman's designer ass."
"Umm-" The woman tried to interrupt Amy without luck.
"Man, if that was Bill we saw, I bet he's getting an eye full with all those half-naked women. Bet Hilary's keeping a close eye on the guy."
"Are you-" Once again, the soft voice attempted to break Amy's continue chain of babble.
"You know, I really like the guy and I bet he turned over a new leaf after getting caught with his pants down." A burst of laughter erupted in Amy's stall. "That's a funny, huh?"
"Not real-" A bit of annoyance tinged the woman's voice, but Amy was totally unaware, having moved into her own zone for the moment.
"Those pictures of the three together ... they look happy. Announcing their daughter's wedding, they were smiling from ear to ear. Can people fake that kind of happiness?"
"No-"
"I think Bill and Hillary really love each other regardless of the bad times and want the best for their daughter. They're just like everyone else when it comes to their children, I think."
"You're right about that-" The rest of her sentence was drowned by the flushing of the commodes.
As the two women exited the stalls, Traci returned to the bathroom. Dangling her bracelet, she spoke excitedly, "I found it."
"You found-" Realizing her best friend couldn't have been in the stall next to her, Amy spun around to face the woman. A brilliant red flushed her face as she stood face to face with The United States Secretary of State and Mother of the Bride. Her mouth sagged open as she attempted to speak, but words refused to come.
Hilary graciously extended her hand toward Amy. "Hello."
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I didn't-"
"Amy, Amy, do you know who that is?" Traci was giddy with excitement.
Amy shot a glare at her friend while she clamored to regain her composure. She'd just been caught gossiping about theformer first lady and her family by none other than the woman herself.
Hilary smiled and draped her arm around the young woman's shoulders. "I learned a long time ago that diplomacy was a necessary key to achieve success."
"I was blabbering about-"
"Forget it. At least it wasn't my husband groping someone's ass." A chuckle escaped her lips.
"Amy, what's going on? You didn't insult-"
"Of course she didn't, honey. We were just having a nice chat. Let's forget it and go enjoy my daughter's wedding."
Reaching the door, she stopped as both girls stood dumbfounded, staring at her. "Well, don't you want to attend the wedding?"
Traci's eyes met Amy's in disbelief, but Amy recovered faster. "Oh, we wouldn't miss it for the world." They quickly followed Hillary out of the bathroom.
"No one's ever going to believe this, Amy."
"It's a chance of a lifetime, girlfriend. Maybe one of those journalists you are always talking about will get our picture and we'll be plastered across the headlines. I can see it now, 'Gate Crashers at Clinton wedding."
Laughing hysterically, the girls walked into the courtyard with Hilary at their side. As Bill approached, each girl swallowed hard and accepted his firm handshake.
It was going to be a seminar to remember, after all.
| Author Notes | Thank you Sweet Linda for the use of your wonderful picture..The girls looks so young and spirited. Their happy smiles were perfect. |
By Begin Again
Rain pelted against the window. Thunder rumbled and a bolt of lightning lit up five- year-old Jamie's bedroom. Snuggling deeper beneath the covers, her tiny arms clutched Jasper, her favorite teddy bear.
"Don't be 'fraid, Jasper. 'Member last time it rained and Grams was here. She said the thunder was just the angels bowlin' up in the sky." Jamie hugged the bear tighter. "I wish Grams was here, don't you?"
A loud clap of thunder shook the house. Terrified, Jamie jumped out of bed and dashed down the hallway. Jasper's head bounced against the floor until they stopped and tapped on another door.
"Mommy, can I come in?" Dancing from one leg to another, the frightened child waited for permission to enter. "Please can I come in?"
When no one answered, she plodded back to her room. "Sorry, Jasper, Mommy must be asleep."
A crash of lightning cracked directly outside the window. A warm, wetness tricked down her leg. "Ooooh! Jasper. Mommy's gonna be mad. I peed myself." Pulling a drawer open, she pulled out a pajama bottom and changed her clothes.
The wind howled and moaned. Tree branches scrapped against the house. Grabbing Jasper, she scurried down the hallway once again.
"Mommy ... Mommy, Jasper is scared." Sniffling, she struggled to stop her tears. "Can we come in, pleeeeease?" Not waiting for an answer, she pushed open the door. Her mother was lying on the floor.
"Mommy, why are you sleeping on the floor?"
Her mother didn't answer. Her tiny fingers brushed the hair away from her mother's face. Her nose wrinkled at the red sticky substance on her hand. Her voice quivered, "Ja ... a ... s ... per, I think Mommy's dead."
Rocking back and forth, she hugged the little bear tighter and tighter.
"We gotta remember what Mommy told us to do when someone's hurt. We gotta get help."
Picking up the telephone, she carefully punched 9-1-1 and waited for someone to answer.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Mommy's got an owie."
"Where is your mommy?"
"On the floor. Can you come pick her up?"
"Is anyone else there?"
"No, my daddy's at war."
"Can I talk to your mommy?
"No, she can't talk. Please help my Mommy."
Having dispatched a unit to the address, the dispatcher continued to calmly engage Jamie in conversation.
"Someone is coming to help right now. What's your name?"
"Jamie."
"Well, Jamie, you are being very brave. Do you hear the sirens?"
"Yes."
"Can you open the door for them?"
"I'm not suppose to open the door to strangers. Mommy will get mad."
"No, these are my friends, Jamie. They are going to help your mommy. It's okay."
"Umm ... are you sure? I got 'fraid of the storm and peed my pants. Mommy's already going to be mad 'bout that."
"I'm real sure, Jamie. It'll be okay."
"Are they gonna have guns?"
"No, they don't need guns." She smiled. "You are the hero today."
Jamie hugged Jasper, "Hear that. We're heroes."
| Author Notes |
Word Count - 500
Thank you ddglenn for the wonderful picture. |
By Begin Again
My haven, the place where my mind and pen flourish, is a cluttered 9x12 guest bedroom. Stacks of rejection letters fill the waste bin. Scores of unfinished scribblings clutter the floor. The framed piece de resistance, my first acceptance, hangs proudly above my desk, confirming I can write. Determination, excitement, wild dreams of becoming a successful author, and of course, my over-blown ego bounce exuberantly off the walls. Ink flows through my veins.
For two weeks, I have worked non-stop, eating at my desk, falling asleep in the chair, determined to finish the rewrites in record time. My breaks consist of a shower, a change of clothes most days, and an occasional ten minutes of stretching exercises. Completing the task at hand consumes me.
The continuous rhythm of muffled music from another room is a reassuring backdrop, reminding me the love of my life is nearby. Through the years, she has picked up the pieces after each rejection letter, carefully gluing them together again with her love, allowing me to start again. She is my safe harbor from every storm.
Time stops for no one, especially a writer with a deadline. Yesterday miraculously flowed into today without my conscious knowledge, and now it is night. Digital numbers glow from the tiny clock on the shelf - 9:00.
'With her trembling back pressed against the wall, Carrie
slowly inches her way down the dark hallway toward the
muffled whimpering. The taste of blood, her own, blends
with the pungent fear inside her mouth as she bites her lip.
In the pitch black, her fingers wrap around the cold door knob.
A chill races through her body. Gruesome thoughts plunder
through her mind, pleading for her own sanity to return, urging
her to escape. Seconds tick by as she stands immobile
outside the room. She listens but the whimpering has stopped.
She slowly turns the knob, gingerly cracking the door. A dim
light filters through the opening. A foul smell hangs in the air.
The room is empty except for a disheveled bed. Stepping into
the space, the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. Too late,
she hears the door close and latch.'
Goosebumps speckle my arms at the unexpected knock at the door. The sudden chill is quickly replaced by frigid anger.
"Can't you see I'm busy?" The tension from the story flows over into my voice as I stare disdainfully into the eyes of my wife.
"Sorry, but I haven't spoken with you since yesterday."
"I'm working." I turn back to my desk, expecting her to fade away, to do what ever she does while I bleed over my writing.
Shock reverberates through my brain when she speaks again, this time much closer to me.
"Let's do something." She runs her fingers up and down my arm.
My cheeks puff with exasperation. Sighing, I expel the air. Our eyes meet, but I purposely miss the glistening in her pleading eyes. I only see the unwelcome interruption. "I can't. You know I have a deadline to meet." A niggling of shame worms its way in and I quickly turn away, reminding myself what is important.
"You live for your work. What about me?" Her words sting.
Caught off guard, my snappish retort cuts deep into her heart. "What about you? This book is the answer to our dreams."
"Our dreams? I think you forgot about our dreams." Spinning on her heels, she storms out of the room, closing the door behind her. Moments later, the back door slams.
Quiet settles into my haven. I sit reading and re-reading the lines I'd written prior to her interruption. I write, wad the paper in a ball, toss it aside, and try to write again. The fluid train of thought is gone.
I turn the radio on, hoping the sound of music will ease my mind, let the creative juices flow. Nothing ... absolutely nothing, except for those nagging thoughts of guilt.
Frustrated, I turn off the light and walk through the empty house. At the back door, I can see her silhouette sitting on the steps. A tsunami of emotions course through me.
Walking outside, I lower my lanky frame down beside her. Neither of us says a word. We sit side by side beneath the moonlight, staring at the stars.
She sniffles and wipes her nose. Knowing I caused her pain, I slip my arm around her, pulling her closer to me.
"I thought you were going out." Not exactly what I meant to say, but my man ego still gets in the way.
"Changed my mind." She sniffles once more. "I thought you had a deadline to meet?"
"Yeah, but the juices dried up." I admit more to myself than her.
Simultaneously, we both speak, "I'm sorry."
I kiss her nose, and then tentatively brush her lips with mine. She welcomes me with her own. My soul drinks in her love and once again I feel complete.
"Do you want to go somewhere?" I respectfully ask.
"No, I'm happy right here. Do you want to write?"
"No, I'm happy right here, too." I kiss her again, remembering that she is the source of my inspiration. "I can be a writer tomorrow."
| Author Notes | I believe we all can probably relate to moments like these. |
By Begin Again
As the sunlight played across my tired eyes, I stretched lazily, and then, like so many mornings, I reached across the bed to steal a snuggle or two with my husband. My hand touched his empty pillow, and the cold, harsh truth flooded my mind once more. Salty tears streamed down my cheeks.
Six months ago, James, the love of my life and soon-to-be father of two, was killed by a drunk driver as he hurried home to us. He'd been my foundation, my port-in-the-storm. Common sense told me I would survive, but my heart shattered each time I thought of him. I struggled with day-to-day living. For every step I took forward, another pulled me deeper into the abyss.
The ringing of the alarm clock jolted my thoughts. I pulled the down comforter over my head, burying my face in his pillow. His scent still lingered there, but it wasn't enough. I needed his reassuring arms, his encouraging kiss, and his unending love, things I would never have again.
I listened for any sounds of Katie, my five-year-old daughter. The house was silent except for the ticking of the clock. Snuggling deeper under the covers, I fully intended to search for sleep, but a quick jab to my swollen stomach, and then another, and the thought vanished. I rolled over, hoping to find a position my unborn child would find relaxing. Not a chance!
Rat-a-tat-tat! During the night, a drummer must have taken up residence in my womb. The jabbing and poking persisted, much in the same way James teased me when we needed to get up and get busy. A small smile tugged at my lips.
"Okay, okay. You must be daddy's boy." I sat up and stretched, working the kinks out of my weary body. "I know it's moving day."
With the baby's due date fast approaching and after months of procrastination, Katie and I were moving back to Illinois. My parents were ecstatic. We'd found a small house near a park, and coincidentally, only two blocks from the exuberant grandparents. My five-year-old was thrilled, but I was less than excited. Mom's help would be greatly appreciated, but I remembered Dad's well-meant but sometimes over-powering ways. Besides, I hadn't just sold a house; I was letting go of a tangible piece of James.
With little motivation, I worked my tired body into appropriate moving day clothes, slipped on my shoes, and waddled down the hallway.
As I passed through the living room, my steps faltered. Leaning against James's favorite chair, I closed my eyes, shutting out the stacks of cardboard boxes. My mind drifted, remembering the good times ... our first Christmas, the day we brought Katie home, stolen moments just for the two of us after our daughter was tucked in bed, anniversaries, and, oh yeah, the night I told you I didn't really have the flu. We celebrated with grape juice and crackers. We hoped I was carrying a son.
Another jab to my stomach encouraged me to stop daydreaming. I understood the subtle message loud and clear. The moving truck would be here in two hours. There were things to be done.
The sound of a creaking door told me Katie was awake. Her high-pitched squeal confirmed it.
"Mommy, Mommy, today's the day. Bet Grandma and Grandpa are standing on their porch waiting." Her tiny arms wrapped around my legs and squeezed. "I'm so excited."
"I know, honey." I tussled her wild mane of curls. "Mommy's just tired."
I shuffled toward the kitchen. Cereal would be the breakfast of the day.
Katie scrambled onto a chair. Her eagerness to accept change and move on amazed me. While I was slowly placing one foot in front of another, barely getting through each day, she was bubbling over with excitement.
"Mommy, I can't wait to see my new bedroom. Grandpa said he painted it pretty pink, and Grandma made new curtains for the window."
I poured the bowl of cereal, sat it on the table, and remembered a spoon. I trudged what seemed like a mile back to the counter. Memories flooded my mind again. I stood there, lost in thought.
"Mommy, are you going to get me a spoon? My cereal's already singing." She leaned her ear closer to the bowl. It snapped-crackled-and-popped!
"Sorry, sweetheart." I returned to the table, spoon in hand. A huge sigh escaped my lips as I shuffled back to the counter.
Katie slipped off the chair and placed her tiny hand inside mine. "Come on, Mommy, sit down. I'll help you." She gently tugged my arm.
Didn't have to ask me twice. I waddled to the other chair, easing my wide load into it. I stretched my legs and aching feet out in front of me. The day had just begun, and I was already exhausted and in pain.
"Grandpa said I was a big girl and I should help you." She stood with her hand on her hip, brows pinched. "Grandpa says-"
"I know, I know. I've heard Grandpa a time or two." I offered her a weak smile. "It's just there's so much to do, and my feet hurt so bad. It hurts to walk this morning."
Squatting, her tiny little fingers tugged at my left foot.
"Honey, don't take mommy's shoes off. I'll never get them back on."
"But Mommy-"
"Please, Katie, I have so much work to finish before the truck arrives."
Holding on to both sides of the chair, I pushed my body up. The other significant party kicked me again, disgruntled that I was rudely shifting him around, I suppose.
"Wait, Mommy-"
I ran my hand across my little girl's golden hair and tipped her tiny cherub face upward, "Please, honey, Mommy really needs to get busy."
Her big blue eyes peered into mine, and she innocently answered, "Yes, Mommy, but I think you'd feel better if you put your shoes on the right feet. Grandpa showed me how to do it. Maybe he can show you, too."
My eyes fell to the floor. I started to chuckle. Suddenly, we were both laughing. For the first time in months, I felt happy. I hugged my precocious daughter before speaking again. "Yes, Grandpa can show us how. "
"Grandpa says moving is an adventure, and I'm the Little Princess. He says you're his Princess too."
"He did?"
"He says this is the beginning of all of our tomorrows." She stopped talking for a moment, appearing to be deep in thought. "And he says fairytales can come true."
"Really?" My father, the ogre, believed in fairytales and adventures.
Maybe moving back home wasn't going to be so bad after all.
By Begin Again
Big city crime visited our small town. Gruesome details filled the newspaper—three murders in three weeks. Fear was rampant. No one felt safe.
As I said goodnight, my aunt begged, "Please let Tommy accompany you."
"I'll be fine." Her furrowed brow told me she disagreed.
The moon filtered through the trees. Dark buildings loomed along the walkway. My breathing was deafening compared to the silent street.
Crunching leaves echoed in my ears. My senses went on full alert.
Someone's behind me.
My heart thumped. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. Pulling a knife from my pocket, I continued walking.
Sweat dotted my forehead. The heavy sound of running told me he was close.
A hand grabbed my arm. I whirled around. I froze.
"Tommy?" My voice quivered.
"Mom sent me to make sure you were safe."
"I'm fine. Here comes the bus." I slipped the blade inside my jacket. "You should be careful yourself."
Boarding the bus, I scanned its occupants. An elderly woman clung to her groceries. A twenty-something man was busy on his iPod. A teenage girl chattered on her cell phone.
I smiled, making a connection. Interest flickered in his eyes. He smiled.
I'd chosen my next victim.
| Author Notes |
|
By Begin Again
"Good morning, Sunshine."
Sunrays filtered through the gaps between the towering buildings, adding warmth to the backstreet alley I currently called home. Stretching and twisting my pretzeled body, I slowly worked out the kinks from sleeping curled inside a cardboard box.
After two tours in Iraq and the death of my best friend, I'd struggled hard after returning home. I'd tossed a few of my belongings in a duffle bag, left a note apologizing to my family, and left all remnants of my life behind. At first, I just prayed I'd die, but lately, even though I wasn't living the life I'd planned, I was happy to be alive. On the streets, I'd discovered friends and the desire to live again.
"Thank you, God, for another beautiful day."
Taking a deep breath, I filled my lungs with air. Coughing, I remembered too late where I was. Garbage cans lined the trash strewn alley, a mecca diner for cats, and sometimes, the homeless.
The delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baking pastries wafted past my nose. The familiar creaking sound of the back door of Shanghai's Bakery was music to my ears. Grabbing my duffle bag, I briskly walked toward the small figure in the opening. After completing his usual ritual of bowing and chattering what I assumed to be good morning in Chinese, Chen's smiling face greeted me.
A few weeks ago, I'd rescued his scrawny cat from the jaws of a stray mutt. Unable to understand the man's lingo, I'd just smiled, nodded, and waved goodbye. Every morning since then, he'd stood at the doorway with a styrofoam cup filled with hot coffee and a small brown bag of pastries. What more could I ask - breakfast was served. Chen would smile and nod, I'd return the favor, and then we'd both continue our day.
Today, Juan's pickup truck would be at Eighth and Holland. Truck loads of produce would be delivered to the Mexican Market and they needed workers to unload it. The pay was ten dollars and our choice of discarded fruits and vegetables. Food for a few days. I hurried to meet him.
As I waited to cross the street, a city bus pulled to the corner. The driver waved, "How's it going, Billy?"
"The good Lord's watching over me," I called back to him.
"Can't ask for any more than that." He closed the bus door and continued on his route.
Jogging across the street, I could see a woman exiting a building about three doors down. A dark figure stepped from the shadows and grabbed her. As her terrified scream reached my ears, I was already running to her defense, never thinking about the consequences.
The knife wielding attacker released his victim and plunged his blade deep into my stomach. A searing pain coursed through my body. For a split second, our eyes met, and then I crumbled to the concrete as blackness encompassed me.
Moments later, I was leaning against the wall of the building, standing side by side with my best friend, Jack. Tears glistened in my eyes. I choked back my emotions. "Hey bud, it's not that I'm not glad to see you, but I must be losing my mind. Uh-"
"No, it's me, Billy." His familiar face beamed at me.
"You can't be! This isn't happening."
"You're in trouble. That's why I'm here."
“Uh huh … this is crazy. You died in my arms. I can still hear your last words-”
“Yeah, I remember. I said I was going home.”
A cold chill surrounded me. Not knowing what to think, I twisted my head left and right, trying to remember where I was and what had happened. My eyes dropped to the lifeless body lying on the sidewalk. His identity registered and I gulped.
“That ... that sure looks like me. I’m bleeding.” I stood in disbelief, unable to move. “Why isn’t anyone helping?”
People passed without stopping, gawking at me. Two women edged by, clinging to the building to avoid my body.
“Yuck, a stupid old drunk.” One shook her head in disgust.
“Is that blood, Sandy? Maybe we should help him.”
“Naw, it’s probably some cheap wine he stole. Come on, let’s get out of here.” They quickened their steps and continued down the walk.
One man came out of a nearby building and took a cell phone photo. Another leaned over and vigorously shook me. Neither one called the police or tried to save me.
Dumbfounded, Jack and I watched a series of people walk by, look and turn away. Not one tried to help.
Finally, ninety minutes later, sirens blared and a squad car pulled to the curb. The officer felt for my pulse.
“Call this one in, Hank. We’re too late for this guy.” He scanned the block, wondering if anyone had seen anything. Sighing, he muttered under his breath, “Sorry, old man. I don’t know what this world’s coming to.”
I stood watching in disbelief. Gray clouds covered the sun and a gentle mist began to fall.
“My mom use to say the angels were crying.” I wondered why that thought had popped into my mind. She’d died over a year ago.
“She was right, pal.” Jack wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go home. She’s waiting for us.”
| Author Notes |
Thank you Loyd for the use of your poignant photo...It says it all.
My mind generated this story after watching a dispicable news report of a man left to die on the street while people walked by without helping. I hope they have a good explanation when God asks why. |
By Begin Again
Outside, the sun spread it's warm, comforting rays across the garden, embracing the bobbing heads of the red tulips. The purple crocus and yellow daffodils enjoyed the sweet trill of a nearby robin. Inside, a thin layer of frost spread across my heart, bringing a chill to my soul.
Okay, so maybe I was being a bit melodramatic. Viewed as a flaw, my husband, Mike, seldom missed a chance to remind me how easily I dramatized a situation. Considering writing was my prime objective in the world of work, I failed to see his point. This morning was no exception.
While I'd hurried downstairs to prepare breakfast, his favorite - eggs, sausage, hash browns and freshly brewed coffee, he'd pulled the blanket over his head and snagged a few extra zees. Needless to say, as the aroma drifted upstairs and into the bedroom, Mike awoke, glared at the alarm clock, and was instantly propelled to a standing, no - running position. Realizing he'd overslept, he charged toward the shower, stubbing his toe on the way. The series of curse words that followed were loud enough to reach my ears.
Ten minutes later, clean shaven and dressed, he stormed the kitchen. My smiling face greeted him as I awaited my morning kiss. Instead, he took two gulps of coffee, grabbed a piece of wheat toast in one hand and his jacket in the other, and announced, "I'm late," as he rushed out the door. My jaw dropped to the floor, and on it's way back up, a string of expletives exploded from my mouth, none of them part of the farewell I'd planned.
I tossed his breakfast into the garbage with a flourish that would have put a maestro to shame. My arms flailed the air as I tossed pots and pans into the sink, banging each one for emphasis. That's where the melodramatic comes into the picture. I wasn't really impressing anyone since I was the only one there. Now I had a kitchen to clean.
Fuming, I bundled up my excess energy and used it to clear away the debris. While I scrubbed the pans, I allowed my mind to drift, composing a murder story in my thoughts with Mike as the victim, of course. Lost in my treacherous thoughts, I didn't hear the footsteps behind me.
My frantic scream gurgled in my throat as a man's hand clamped across my mouth. The author of too many thrillers, the worst possible scenarios flashed through my mind - beatings, rape, torture, even death by slow, meticulous, yet diabolical ways. Instead of the adrenaline surge my heroines always obtained, sweat trickled down my back, my body began to tremble, darkness enveloped me, and I fainted.
When consciousness returned, I was lying on a bed, blindfolded. A faint breeze brushed across my skin. I sensed my nipples tightening at the sensation. I was naked, exposed. Dreamily, I thought of Mike's tongue playfully teasing me. Two seconds later, reality set in. I remembered this morning and realized this wasn't a game. I'd been kidnapped. Three seconds later, I realized my hands were tied to the bedpost.
A muffled voice spoke, "Don't struggle. Lie still. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise." The tone of his voice was mellow, sincere, not threatening at all. I forced myself to lie still as he'd asked.
I wondered how long I'd been unconscious. Was I still in our home or had he taken me some place else? My brain shifted into writer's mode and I catalogue the possibilities, imagining different scenarios.
My abductor was moving around the room. I listened, trying to imagine my surroundings. Soft music was playing. Was my mind playing tricks or was that my favorite song? I inhaled and the smell of vanilla filled my senses. I hadn't heard him spray anything. Was he lighting candles, the vanilla votives that filled my own bedroom? A popping noise near the bed made me jump.
I felt pressure on the bed and realized he was sitting next to me. I felt his breath against my skin and then his lips against mine. I tasted the sweet taste of Asti as his tongue skillfully parted my lips and pushed inside. His scent was familiar. Wasn't that the same cologne I'd bought Mike for Christmas?
He withdrew his tongue from my mouth. Involuntarily, my tongue flickered across my lips. I could still taste the champagne. He kissed and nibbled his way down my body, stopping to tease my breasts with his tongue before continuing his journey. A bolt of unexpected pleasure shot through my body.
Stopping only inches above my soft mound of womanhood, he chuckled, a low, soft rumble.
"Hmmm ... if I remember right, this is where you got writer's block and didn't know which way to go with your story?" My latest writing attempt exploded in my mind and the difference of opinion I'd had with my husband.
My blood soared to a boiling point. "Mike?"
He removed the scarf from my eyes. Laughter and amusement greeted me. I shot daggers at him.
"Now simmer down. I promised not to hurt you, didn't I?"
"Untie me, you stupid ignoramus. I'm going to kill you when I get my hands on you."
"Then, I guess, I'll just have to keep you tied to the bed while I pleasure myself. After all, Miss Drama Queen, it is our anniversary."
"I don't care if it's- You didn't forget? I thought this morning. You didn't even kiss me goodbye."
"You think too much." He leaned over and kissed me again, hot, sweet, and filled with passion. My body betrayed me and I returned the kiss.
"What about work?"
"I called in sick."
"I'm still going to kill you." I threatened him, but not with as much venom as the last time.
"I know ... but later." His tongue swirled around my nipples. He was so right.
"Hmmmm." My back arched as I greeted his touch. "Yeah, later.
"Happy Anniversary, Honey."
"Shut up and kiss me ... you can talk some other time."
| Author Notes | You are challenged to write a great story about a kidnapping with a twist at the end. That's it. No artwork was provided for this challenge. You may submit one of your choice. |
By Begin Again
Family night - again! I pretended not to hear my Mom calling me.
"Michael, the movie's about to start." Mom's "let's-pretend-to-be-a-happy-family" voice called my name for the third time. "You don't want to miss the beginning."
Lying on my bed, I grabbed a pillow, burying my head. It was my little sister's turn to choose the movie. Visions of a hundred Dalmatians filled my head until all I saw was spots. With the sudden realization that I was suffocating, I jerked to a sitting position, gulping for air. A series of coughing and choking followed close behind.
"Everything okay in there?" A quick tap on the door, and Dad's six-foot-two frame loomed in my doorway, my private domain. His steel-blue eyes surveyed the unkempt room. I watched his nostrils flare slightly as he sniffed the air.
"I'm not stupid, Dad." Rolling my eyes toward the ceiling, I shook my head in disgust.
Why do parents always think a teenager, alone in their room, spells trouble?
"Oh wait, I bet I've got a spare joint under the mattress. Care to relive your youth?"
"When I was your age --" Anger flashed across his face. I waited for the usual tirade, wondering which lecture he'd choose to educate me on the dangers of growing up. Instead, he stopped mid-sentence, shook his head, and shifted back into his "tonight-we-don't-upset-your-Mom" mode, "Your Mom's been calling you. Let's go!"
"Sure, be right there."
"Listen, Michael. I know you hate Friday nights, but it makes your mother happy." Mom's scare with breast cancer last year spurred her into making sure we spent quality time together; thus, family night.
"Yeah ... just let me change my shirt." Dad continued to stare at me for another few seconds. I offered one of my "What? I said I was coming" looks and he left.
From my bathroom window, I heard sounds of squealing tires. Jason, my best friend and next door neighbor, was headed for the lake. Some college kids were home on spring break and a few in-the-know seniors had been invited to their keg party; me included. Of course, it was the hottest thing going, hot babes, cool brew, and a moonlit night by the lake. A dream come true, but I was destined to spend the evening with Cruella De Vil and my family.
Boring!
The smell of fresh popped popcorn greeted me as I descended the stairs. Katie's five-year-old, high-pitched squeal vibrated against the walls, grating my nerves. Dad must have started a cartoon for her while they waited for me. I could see the three of them snuggled together on the sofa, laughing. Alone, in the corner, the overstuffed chair waited for me.
Nausea swept through my body. I bumped against the small table and a new jingle assaulted my ears. A set of keys fell to the floor; my car keys, the ones Dad had taken away from me last week because I missed curfew. In an instant, my decision was made. Grabbing the keys, I slipped out the door and headed to my car.
*** * ** * * * *** * * * * *
Standing in the middle of the room, I peered around the unlit space. Something wasn't right, matter of fact, something was very wrong. Mom always left a small lamp lit so I could see when I came home, but tonight it was pitch black. It was late, but I still expected to see Dad pacing the floor, ready to deliver another of his famous speeches. The air was unusually cool and crisp. I rubbed my hand on my arm, expecting goose bumps from the chill. Nothing!
At that moment, I swore off drinking. I'd tipped quite a few at the keg party, enough to accept some college kid's challenge to race around the lake.
Come on, did he really think his weenie Challenger was going to beat my Mustang? I knew what was under my hood, a high performance 351 Cleveland.
I still remember Mom's look of horror the day Dad and I pulled into the driveway with the twisted metal shell on the trailer behind us. It had been my sixteenth birthday. At first I'd worked side by side, hour on hour, with Dad, rebuilding it. Later, after discovering the project was going to take months and months, I stopped by occasionally to help, always rushing off with the guys after an hour or two while Dad labored away.
Enough of memory lane ... Something doesn't feel right.
Dead Man's Curve flashed in front of me. A flash of orange was suddenly spinning wildly toward the lake. A burst of "take that, sucker" laughter filled my Mustang as I rounded the last hairpin curve. Everything went black.
Maybe it was those Jell-O shots? I can't remember anything else.
Wait! You're really losing it, Michael. Look, Mom's left a light on in the other room. Come on, might as well face the music. Surprised Dad didn't hear me come in. Maybe he fell asleep and I can slip upstairs.
As I approached the doorway, the scent of fresh flowers drifted my way. I didn't remember any bouquet before I left tonight.
Wonder what the occasion was? Oh man, I sure hope I didn't miss their anniversary or something. Mom will really go off the deep end. I'll be grounded and doing extra chores for weeks.
Tiptoeing through the door, I stopped, stunned. This wasn't my house.
Spinning around, I came face to face with Mom's look-alike, just older. "Grandma?"
""My sweet boy, I never expected to see you so soon." She made a clucking noise with her tongue and extended her arms toward me.
I took a step backwards. "It's nice to see you too, but ..."
A warm, comforting smile, the ones reserved for her ever-in-trouble grandson, filled her face. "But I'm dead."
"Right!" I gulped.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but ..."
"No-no-no-no-no-no, Grandma. I've had way too much to drink tonight and I must be hallucinating. You aren't real." I moved further away while furtively looking for something real. "Dear God, I'll never drink again. I'll never skip another one of Mom's family nights. Just let me go to sleep and forget all this. Pleeeease!"
"Michael, it's too late." Grandma wrapped her arm around my shoulder, but I pulled away, moving deeper into the room. "Let me help you understand."
In my eagerness to escape, I stumbled against an easel holding a collage of pictures, mostly of me. Mesmerized, I studied each one.
"Wow, I remember that bike. It was my very first one. Mom kept yelling at me to stay out of the street, but of course, I didn't listen. Finally, Dad took the bike away and hung it from one of the rafters in the garage. Boy, was I mad at him. I hammered a nail into his car tire that night. Dad never did figure out where he'd picked up that nail, but he sure used a lot of cuss words when he found the flat tire.
"Oh, there's a picture of me teasing Katie and Satan. That ole black cat adored her, but he sure didn't like me. Hissed every time I came near him. She rescued it from the drainage ditch, clinging to a broken tree branch. Only minutes earlier, Jason and I had tossed the cat off the bridge, our sides splitting as we watched it claw furiously at the raging water." Staring at the picture, I shook my head, "It was a stupid thing to do."
"Look at this one, Gram. Dad let me hold the big bass he caught while we took a picture together. Now that I think about it, I sure was a jerk that weekend. Dad rented a cottage on Lake Creton and the whole family went fishing. I was furious. Jason and I had planned for weeks to see the new horror movie. I'd mowed Old Lady Maxwell's yard and hauled Mr. Johnsons tree branches to the dump to earn enough money. When Mom sprang the fishing trip on me, I went ballistic. Dad tried to play the father-son role, letting me use his new fishing rod. I threw out the line and accidentally-on-purpose let go of the rod. It sailed out into the lake. Dad must have spent an hour searching the lake bottom for that rod while I sat sulking on a nearby log. Dad thought I was sad because I'd lost his new rod, but I was really still pissed off because I wasn't at the movies. He kept telling me it was okay, he could buy another one. No wonder they're always mad at me ... guess I can be a real jerk now that I think about it."
For the next few minutes, I stood oooing and ahhing over vacation pictures; our vacation at Disneyworld, our camping trip in the mountains, and the numerous ones at the shore. I'd forgotten so many great times, taken them for granted, I suppose.
The last picture was Sandy and me. Our families had met at the campgrounds and hit it off right away. At fifteen, I was definitely interested in Sandy and her tight fitting jeans. Mom was really cool that vacation. She let Sandy and me sit alone by our own campfire, roasting marshmallows until late at night. We'd shared our first kiss under the stars, without one single reprimand from any of the adults."
I hadn't realized how long I'd been standing in front of the easel of pictures, reminiscing. The sun filtered through the windows, spreading across the floor. I could hear voices in the other room. I recognized Mom and Dad talking. I stood there waiting, knowing I deserved every harsh word either one of them said.
Hey, Dad's wearing a suit. Something big must be going on, because the last time he wore that suit Grandma died ...
The whites of my eyes must have looked like saucers as I spun around and around looking for Grandma. First, I saw Mom, wearing a new black suit. She was sitting on a chair, crying. Grandma was standing by her side. Dad squatted down, holding Mom's hand with his other arm wrapped around Katie.
What have I done?
I moved closer to my family. "Dad, Mom, what's wrong?"
"They can't hear you, Michael." Grandma stood by my side. "I'm sorry, son."
"Am ... am ... am I de--e--ad?" Grandma only nodded her head while she continued to watch her daughter.
The next second I was screaming at the top of my lungs, but no one seemed to notice. Because of my foolish, reckless ways, my family was devastated.
Dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, Mom sobbed, "Where did we go wrong, John? What should we have done different?"
"Stop, Kathryn. It's no ones fault. He was just a kid, feeling his oats. Unfortunately, it got out of hand." Dad swiped the back of his hand across his eyes and looked away.
"Grandma, do something." I hadn't ever imagined my parents would ever suffer this way and I knew I was responsible for it. "Can't we change it? Make it all a horrible nightmare?"
"I'm afraid not, sweetheart. What is done is done. Over time, their hearts will slowly heal, but they'll never forget."
My little sister had never appeared so vulnerable to me. I wanted to hug her and kiss her, tell her that everything would be all right, but that would have been a lie. I watched as she slowly edged her way closer to the coffin. Bouquets of flowers flanked both sides.
When she knelt before my cold, lifeless shell, my eyes were glued to the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Dear God, what have I done? Please take her pain away. She's too young and innocent to be living through this."
Katie's small voice began to pray, "Dear Jesus, please take care of my brother. Don't send him to that bad place. I heard Mr. Johnson talking to Dad about how kids now days are wild and don't understand. He said they all belonged to the devil." She stopped and blew her nose on a tiny lace handkerchief. Her cherub fingers stretched out and touched Michael's sleeve. "Mikey, I know you hate that name but you'll always be my Mikey. I miss you so much already. Satan does too."
Dad knelt beside Katie. He was openly crying, unable to stem his tears.
Why can't there be do-overs? I'd promise to do everything right.
"Daddy, Mikey wasn't bad. I know he loved us."
"Yes, honey, I do too. He just wanted to grow up too fast."
"We had good times together. I've still got the picture he painted at the lake; the one with us sitting on the dock."
"Hmmm... I don't remember Michael painting a picture, sweetheart. Are you sure it was Michael's picture?"
"Oh yes, he got an A+ from his art teacher. When he threw it in the trash can, I got it out and saved it."
I thought my heart would burst with pride. Grandma was beaming at Katie and so was I.
"Come on, Katie, we better go sit with Mommy. She needs us now." Dad stood and waited for her.
Her little voice spoke once again, "Mikey, you're an angel now and I know you'll be watching us. Maybe every now and then God will let you say hello. I love you." She stood and took Dad's hand and they both moved toward Mom.
I stood staring at all of them, unable to move. Grandma touched my arm. "It's time to go now."
"Why can't I tell them how much I love them?" I'd never wanted anything more than one last chance to say I love you.
"They know, honey." Taking one last look, we slipped away.
Gray storm clouds covered the sky. It had been four weeks since the funeral. Katie stood at the gravesite with Mom and Dad. Tears streamed down their faces.
With the help of my new friends in Heaven, we parted the clouds, letting the sun smile down on the trio. Katie put a bouquet of daisies in the vase. A tiny blue butterfly flitted around the flowers.
Once again, I was filled with joy as Katie squealed, "Look, Mommy, it's Mikey. He knows we are here." I fluttered my wings one more time.
Dad hugged Mom close as they raised their heads to the sky. My love filled their hearts as I whispered, "Goodbye."
| Author Notes | Initially, I started writing this story for the contest "My Life as a Ghost", but as usual it gained a life of it's own and became longer than the allowed word count...I couldn't bring myself to delete anything so I hope you enjoy it as it is. Smiles, Carol |
By Begin Again
Tap! Tap! Tap!
My stilettos played "Dead Man Walking" against the sidewalk. My office building loomed ahead. The doorman raised his eyebrow as I neared him.
"Good morning, Mel."
"What's good about it, Sam?" I snapped.
He nodded, "Dog eat your Transit Pass?"
I hastened through the door. "Funny, I used that last week."
Miss 'Dolly Parton' Wanttabe sashayed into the elevator. The lobby reeked of cheap cologne. Tongue wagging, Mr. Bloodhound followed behind her. Drool hung from his lip. I completed the trio.
"Looking a bit rough," Bloodhound barked. Dolly giggled.
"Overslept," I clipped, trying not to breathe. Eau de stink permeated the cubicle.
The moving deathtrap stopped at my floor. I exited. Fresh air zoomed into my lungs. The twosome snickered.
Idiots!
The mailroom boy charged out the office door, followed by laughter, slamming his cart against me. Blood trickled down my leg. Packages spewed across the floor."
"Sorry, Mel." His cherub face puckered.
My head was already on the chopping block, so I helped retrieve his parcels.
I liked the innocent kid. "What's up?"
He muttered, "I asked for Mr. Masturbation."
I rolled my eyes. "You mean Mr. Mazurbatlen?"
"Whatever!" The peach fuzz on his chin bristled. "Guy should change his name." He propelled his cart down the hall.
Taking a deep breath, I entered the lion's den. Heads snapped in my direction. A few snickered. Others cast pitiful looks. One or two pretended not to see me. I marched toward Jack's office and sure death.
Miss Goodie Two Shoes stood by the water cooler. She owned the "on-time award. "Tsk, Tsk" rattled around her organized brain.
As I passed Char, she turned, offering a smile. I nodded and continued.
"Psst ... Mel!" She raced toward me.
"In five minutes, we can talk, Char. You're fired doesn't take long to say." I moved away.
She grabbed my arm. "You skirt is stuck in your waistband."
Realization set in. I'd traveled through ten blocks of morning commuters with my thong buttocks exposed. Several wolf-whistles assaulted me.
"Thanks." I yanked my skirt down, squared my shoulders, and charged forward.
Ten feet from Jack's office, his assistant, Miss Busy Bee, buzzed me. "You're late!"
Duh! She can tell time.
Jack's private office door was closed, but his booming voice penetrated it. "You're fired!"
Was he practicing or did another poor fool have the opening act. I didn't have to wait long for my answer. Peter rushed from the office.
My turn.
Swallowing the bile in my throat, I stepped closer to the guillotine. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Char waving and running in my direction.
A reprieve?
"Here's the papers we finished last night." She shoved the Taylor Project into my arms. A newbie handed me Jack's favorite coffee. "Make it good, Mel."
Sweat trickled down my back. I offered a pitiful "Thanks!"
"Friends till the end." They held two thumbs up.
I can do this!
I strutted into Jack's office, smiling and cheery. "Got your coffee, Jack, and the Taylor Project."
Leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk, he didn't look like a hatchet man.
Maybe I've got a chance.
Words bubbled from my mouth. "Worked so late, I needed some octane. I stopped for coffee. I thought of you, too. Construction bottlenecked our favorite shop, but I couldn't let you down. I maneuvered morning traffic another three blocks, double-parked, and ran in. I came out in time to see my car being towed. I hailed a cab. The cabbie spoke little English. Took me to the wrong side of town. Mr. Taylor's son, the one we met at the last meeting, spied me. Offered me a lift. Knowing it was an opportunity to chat, I accepted. Unfortunately, by the time I got to the office, your coffee was cold. I tossed it and brought you one from downstairs." I was gasping for air.
Jack swung his legs off the desk, accepting the coffee. "I thought my morning was bad." He sipped the coffee. "Had to fire Peter Stalon for being late again."
I swallowed hard. Waiting for the ax.
"Thanks, Mel." He eyed me standing there. "Was there something else?"
"No ... no, nothing else." I backed away.
"I liked that dress on you yesterday, too." He smiled.
Mortified, I realized I'd grabbed the same clothes. "Late night," I muttered.
"Take the day off. You deserve it." He picked up the telephone. I was dismissed.
| Author Notes |
Please write a humourous flash fiction story based on the prompt: You're late for work because you overslept, but your boss hates over-sleepers. He does love entertaining stories, so create the most outlandish excuse as to why you were late.
~ Story must be between 500-750 words. ~ Story must make the readers roflmao. ;-) Word count - 743 |
By Begin Again
The quaint Bed and Breakfast buzzed with police activity. The guests gathered in the parlor, awaiting Detective Reader.
He entered and surveyed the room, recognizing Lola Malone and several authors from the society page.
The tall, curvaceous brunette's miniskirt skimmed the top of her silky thighs. Her teary eyes met the detective's before she lowered her lashes, dabbing them with a Kleenex.
"Mrs. Malone, my condolences on the death of your husband."
"Please call me Lola. The Senator and I were no longer husband and wife."
"Ah yes, I remember reading in the society page about your well-publicized differences. I believe the latest photo showed you scratching the Senator's eyes out."
"Unfortunately, he never learned the word discreet. He flaunted his bimbos in my face as frequently as possible." Lola's lower lip pouted before she extended her delicate hands to him. "Do these look like hands that could murder someone?"
He ignored her question. "Why are you here this weekend?"
"I'm attending the writer's convention for my friend, Delilah. I do that quite often."
"And your husband?" Detective Reader watched her.
"I have no idea. Coincidence, maybe?" Her blue eyes met his gray ones.
The detective smiled and moved to the next chair where another gorgeous brunette nibbled on her lower lip.
"Adina Pelle, am I correct?"
Wide-eyed, she nodded.
"Are you attending the convention as well?"
"Yes, I arrived last night. I had dinner and cocktails in the bar."
"Alone?"
"Well ... I don't generally meet men in bars. John, ummm ... Mr. Thesis, introduced himself as a fellow writer. We had a few martinis together, discussing the convention itinerary. I started feeling ill and decided to go to my room."
"Do you recall the time?"
"Around ten o'clock, I believe."
"Did anyone else go to your room?"
"John offered to assist me since I wasn't steady on my feet."
"Did he stay for a night cap?"
"No, I must have passed out once we were in the elevator. I can't recall anything until this morning."
"Okay." The detective turned to the blonde seated on the couch. "Good morning, Ms. BeginAgain, I've just finished reading your latest book."
"Good morning." She glanced at Lola and John. "I'm here for the convention as well, and I'm writing a book on Senator Malone's life and his many trysts."
Gasps erupted in the room.
"My officer tells me you have some interesting information to share."
"Yes, I overheard loud voices in the room next to mine around 8:30 last night. A woman's voice screamed, 'You'll be sorry', and a man's voice answered, 'We'll see which one of us is sorry.'"
"Mrs. Malone, that would be your room. Can you tell us anything about the conversation Ms. BeginAgain claims to have heard?"
"Okay, so he came to my room. The bastard threatened to cut off all my money, but I didn't kill him."
"John, after you helped Ms. Pelle to her room, what did you do?"
"I went to my room."
"And do you know Mrs. Malone?"
"Of course, who can miss that gorgeous face plastered all over the society page?"
His eyes devoured Lola before she looked away.
A uniformed officer entered the room and gave a sheet of paper to Detective Reader.
After reading it, he cleared his throat. "Let's summarize the situation. The Senator was killed between ten and midnight. This blue and red earring was found in his room."
Adina gasped. "That's mine! I wore it last night."
The detective nodded.
"Lola, you ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon. Were you expecting company?"
"I happen to enjoy champagne with my bubble bath."
"John, can you explain this blue animal print bikini found in your room?"
"Can't say that I can."
The detective jotted something down, then continued. "I'm told the Senator had a brain tumor. He hemorrhaged when his head was struck with the heel of this size 6 stiletto found in the maid's cart."
"Oh Dio, I found them in the trash," the maid cried.
"Are these your shoes, Ms. Pelle?"
She shook her head, "I'm afraid my size eight won't fit in those."
Ms. Beginagain pulled a book from her bag and handed it to the detective. He read the title, "Ten Days to Get to Know You" and the co-authors' names.
"John and Lola, you are under arrest for Senator Malone's murder."
As they handcuffed the pair, the real killer left the room with the makings of a new best seller.
| Author Notes | Words:747 |
By Begin Again
Cherry blossoms were exploding in fragrant bloom. The warm spring sun glistened across the lake. It was a beautiful day, but Addison's heart was laden with sadness. Her body trembled as she watched Will jog toward her, knowing what she had to do.
Taking several deep breaths before kissing Addison's cheek, Will plopped down beside her on the park bench.
"Guess I'm still out of shape." A low chuckle rumbled across his lips as he poked her with his elbow. "Bet I can still beat you though."
Addison's warm smile lit up her face. "In your wildest dreams, maybe."
She'd met Will on the jogging track a few months before his parents were killed in an airplane crash. She'd been by his side constantly, helping him deal with the tragic loss. Sometimes, she imagined them being together forever, though Will had never indicated that he wanted anything more. They were best friends, but not lovers.
Today, she was going to send him away.
"Penny for your thoughts," Will prodded.
Addison hadn't realized she'd been daydreaming. She smiled at him, but her eyes had lost their sparkle.
You can do this. It's the right thing to do. Just say it!
"I've decided to take that job in Chicago." There it was done. She'd started the ball rolling and she couldn't turn back now.
"What? When did you change your mind?" She could see confusion written all over his face.
"It's a good opportunity. I don't want to look back and have regrets."
"But -"
"Shhhh ... let me finish, Will."
"Fine, but I thought -"
"The letter changed everything." Addison pulled the crumpled sheet of paper from her purse and carefully smoothed out the wrinkles. "Read it, Will."
"No, I don't care what it says. They're wrong. My parents were killed in an airplane accident a year ago."
"Your adopted parents." Addison understood his need to hang on to the past, but she, also, knew the letter would haunt him.
"No, they would have told me if I was adopted. That letter is a mistake." Will walked away from the park bench, distancing himself from Addison and the letter. His breathing was ragged.
"They loved you, Will. You were their only child. Nothing will ever change that."
"Then why bring up the letter? I threw it away, didn't I?" He glared at the piece of paper in her hand.
"I know you. Whether you want to admit it or not, the unknown possibility is eating at you."
"What if it is? The woman who gave birth to me gave me away. She didn't want me. Why should I care about my past, if she didn't?"
"You don't know if she didn't care. There could be a good reason why she gave you up for adoption."
"It doesn't matter. No one cares about the past."
"Someone did or they wouldn't have sent the letter. You have fourteen days to contact the law firm. I think you should do it."
"Why?"
"The letter says you inherited some property. I think you should at least see it. If you don't want it after that, sell it or give it away, but you'll have closed the door on the past."
"I don't know these people. Why would they even leave me property? It's probably a hoax."
"You won't know until you see the lawyers, Will." She took his hand in hers, tugging gently. "Come on, let's walk and enjoy the day. Who knows what tomorrow will bring."
Two weeks later, the law offices of Radisson & James awarded William Dennis Tremont the deed to five acres of land in rural Whipton County, previously owned by William A. Dennison. Apologetic, Tom Radisson explained client privilege prevented him from providing any further information, but Will was free to do whatever he wanted with the property.
After a five-hour drive through winding countryside, Will stood in the middle of Whipton, population 319. The main street was three blocks long.
This is crazy! I've stepped back in time to Mayberry U.S.A. What am I doing here?
Old-fashioned storefronts lined the street. Sadie's Boarding House, complete with white picket fence and flower boxes, proudly sat at the end of the block. A boy and his dog raced down the street, calling hello to two elderly men sitting outside the Barbershop. A few cars were parked on the street.
During the drive, he'd clearly made the decision to sell the property, but --
It's just a piece of land that belonged to some person that I never knew. It's nothing to me. I'll get directions, see it, and be on my way back home, where I belong.
Deciding he needed a coke to quench his thirst, he headed toward Tanner's Country Store.
As he entered, a tiny bell tinkled above his head. A man, wearing bibbed overalls and chewing on a toothpick, was straightening a row of canned goods. He looked up and smiled as Will closed the door.
"Howdy, young man." His voice was friendly.
"Hi!" Will answered as he surveyed the store.
"Can I help you with something?"
"Just need a Coke." Will pulled one out of the cooler. "Could use some directions, too, I guess."
"Where you looking to go?" The man's cool gray eyes studied the stranger.
"Are you familiar with the Dennison property?"
"Yeah, everybody knows the Dennison place." The man stroked his chin before continuing, "What'd be your interest in that old place?"
"Well, I'm the new owner."
"Hmmm, old man Dennison's been dead for nigh on five years. You just now getting around to inspecting the place?"
"Yeah, I guess William Dennison left instructions with a law firm to notify me on my twenty-first birthday."
"Twenty-one, you say." The man appeared to mull something over before speaking again. "Well, my daughter, Kate, she'll be able to give you directions." He pointed toward the pony-tailed girl cheerfully chattering with a woman at the counter.
"Thanks." Will headed for the counter.
"Don't worry about the Coke. It's on the house." He nodded at Will and returned to the shelves.
As Will approached the checkout counter, Kate turned and flashed a smile in his direction. Unexplainable warmth enveloped his body, as he stood, mesmerized.
"Did you need something?" When he didn't respond, she asked again, "Can I help you?"
"Oh ... Oh, I'm sorry. Must have caught me daydreaming." He handed her the bottle of Coke.
"Happens a lot around here. Daddy always says it's something in the water." She laughed and rang up his purchase. "That'll be a dollar."
Will fished in his pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled dollar bill. He tried to smooth it out before handing her the bill. Her fingers brushed against his, sending an electric current rushing through his body. He was stunned. Never had a girl affected him this way.
"Thank you." She handed Will his receipt. When he didn't move, she added, "Was there something else?"
"Uuhhh -" He could feel the heat creeping up his neck as he struggled to talk.
Get it together, man. She's just a girl.
Kate's father saved him from further embarrassment. "Katie, this young man needs directions to the ole Dennison place."
"Really? Hasn't been anyone living there for years. Well, except for a ghost."
"Ghost?" Will laughed. "Is this some standing joke for the greenhorns that pass through town?"
"No way, son, ask anybody in town. They'll tell you the old place is haunted. Seen the lights myself. Some say it's Old Man Dennison himself."
Are these people nuts? Imagine thinking my grandfather's a ghost.
"What's your interest in the place? Are you some long lost relative or something?"
"Something like that. I'm the new owner ... temporarily."
"Temporarily? Why's that?" Kate gave him a quizzical look.
"It's a long story." Will shrugged his shoulders, adding, "I'm just here to take a quick look at the property and then head back home."
"Well, it is out a ways. If you'd like, I'll be done working in an hour and I'd be happy to take you there. Wouldn't want you getting lost on these backroads, you know."
Will felt a strange queasy feeling when she smiled at him. Chalking it up to hunger, he rubbed his stomach as he answered, "Sure, that would be great. I can grab a quick lunch while I wait."
"Mama's Chow House is in the next block. She's got the best food ever. There's a park right next to her place."
"Sounds perfect. I'll meet you there in about an hour."
A customer approached the counter with a basket of groceries and Kate immediately turned to help her, smiling and chatting.
Will called, "See ya then." Kate looked his way, waved, and continued checking out the woman. With nothing left to do or say, he headed for the exit.
Outside the store, Kate's dad and another elderly man were playing a game of checkers. They both looked up from the game as the screen door opened.
"Pappy, this here is the young man I was telling you about. Sorry, didn't catch your name."
Will extended his hand to Pappy. "William Tremont, sir."
Pappy's grip was firm and friendly. His long, bushy white beard covered most of his face, except for his twinkling blue eyes. At first glance, Will thought he reminded him of Santa Claus.
"Own the Dennison property, do you? Lot a history in that old place. Back when I was young and my missus was still alive, Bill and Sally'd have barbeques there almost every weekend. A few of us would get our fiddles going and we'd have a good ole hoe-down going in no time. Yeah, those sure were the days. But when Sally died, might as well say Bill died right along with her. He was never the same. Was a real shame how the family just fell apart, especially after --" Pappy tinkered with one of the checker pieces, "Listen to me, rattling on about stuff you probably have no interest in."
"No, I'm a history buff. I'm always interested in hearing about how people lived. You were saying -"
Curious, Will wanted the old man to finish his sentence, but Kate's dad cut in, "Yeah, Kate and I were telling him the old place was haunted."
"Sam, don't be scaring the boy off before he even sees the place. That's going to scare him enough."
"Oh, I'm not staying." The statement sounded harsh even to Will's own ears.
Pappy rocked back on his chair, looking at Will with a keen eye. "Ya bought the place without seeing it and you're not planning on staying. That's a bit strange, son."
Will scuffed his shoe against the sidewalk. He hadn't planned to share the details, but something told him that Pappy could spot a lie a mile away. "Well, actually, I ... I, umm, inherited it."
His words hung in the air. Pappy and Sam studied him for a moment before Pappy spoke again, "You're kin to Bill Dennison?"
"No ... well, maybe." Tiny sweat beads dotted his forehead and he wiped them away with his hand. "Until a few weeks ago, I'd never heard of the Dennison family. On my twenty-first birthday, a law office sent me a letter and said I'd inherited the property."
"Hmmm ... twenty-one, you say. Hope you don't mind me asking, but who's your mom and dad, son?"
"Beth and Harry Tremont, sir." The names just naturally rolled off his lips. They'd been his parents for his whole life.
"Tremont, you say. Thought I knew all of Bill's relations. Don't recall a Tremont though."
"No, sir. They weren't related to the Dennison's." The two men looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to clarify the situation. "On my birthday, I also discovered I was adopted."
"Quite a bombshell for you then. Guess your parents had a bit of explaining to do. You not knowing you were adopted and all."
"Actually, they were killed in a plane crash a year ago. So I couldn't ask them about it."
"Sorry to hear that son." Pappy shook his head in understanding.
"Well, I guess I better grab a sandwich. Kate's offered to show me the place when she gets off work."
"Sure, sure, Mama's Chow House -"
"Yeah, that's where Kate told me to go, too. Nice talking to you."
Sam and Pappy watched Will walk away.
"You thinking what I'm thinking, Pappy?" Sam continued to watch the back of Will as he continued down the block.
"That boy's Bill's grandson, for sure. He's a spittin' image of him when we was young."
"Yeah, he sure took me by surprise when he walked into the store. Couldn't believe the resemblance." Sam moved one of his checker pieces on the board. "You gonna play or jaw all day?"
Pappy's belly shook as he laughed at his friend, "Whatcha in such a big hurry for, Sam?" He moved his checker, jumping two of Sam's checkers. "King me."
"Think we should've mentioned Mary?" Sam moved another checker.
"Naw, the boy's had a heap of livin' dropped on his shoulders already. Give him time to decide just how much he wants to know."
"Yeah, yer probably right. No need stickin' our noses where they aren't wanted."
********************
"Don't see too many strangers in this town." Hannah handed Will a brown paper bag with his hot turkey sandwich and chips. "You look familiar, got any kin around here?"
"Naw, just passing through." Will gave her the three dollars for his meal.
"Sure thing." Hannah continued studying him. "Enjoy your stay. We're right friendly people once you get to know us. Stop back again."
"Yeah, I was down at the country store. Nice people, but like I said, I'm just passing through." Nothing was going as planned. This was supposed to be a quick trip, in and out before anyone even knew or cared that he had been there. Instead, he'd met some nice people; people with information he wasn't sure he wanted.
A few minutes later, he sat at a picnic table in the park, eating the hot turkey sandwich and drinking a Coke. He couldn't stop thinking about the information he'd learned from Pappy and Sam. Before Bill Dennison was just a name on a piece of paper, but now it had a life attached to it. A life that was connected to his own.
Finishing his lunch, he tossed the paper bag in a waste can and leaned back to enjoy the warm sun on his face. Thoughts of Kate drifted through his head.
Too bad I'm not staying. I'd like to get to know her, I think.
He sat soaking in the sun while he waited for Kate. For some unexplainable reason, he suddenly felt as if someone was watching him. Opening his eyes, he looked around the park. Two children were swinging while their mother stood nearby watching them. He could see a jogger doing his stretching exercises on the running path. Nobody appeared to be looking his way.
Man, you're losing it! You better take a look at this place and get out of town, before you go crazy.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. The feeling was there again. Opening his eyes, he saw a woman looking at him. She wore a gray dress that had long past seen its better days. It skimmed the ground as she walked. A black shawl covered her head, hiding most of her face. Their eyes connected for a moment before she gathered up her dress and hurried away.
"Will ... Will." He heard Kate's voice calling him and turned to wave at her. When he looked back, the woman was gone. Shrugging, he watched Kate hurry toward him. Her blonde ponytail swayed back and forth, as she approached. Once again, he was overwhelmed by the queasy feeling he felt when he saw her.
"I stopped by Hannah's place. She said you got a sandwich." Kate was finishing a bag of chips. "Are you ready to go?"
"I'm ready."
They shared a wonderful ride, talking like old friends. Kate told him bits and pieces of the town's history as they passed every home. By the time the car pulled into what was once a gravel driveway, he felt as if he'd known the town all his life. Kate's warm, friendly personality made him feel at ease for the first time in weeks.
"The house is just behind those pine trees." Kate pointed at a clump of towering pines. Tall prairie grass covered most of the land.
Will took a deep breath, suddenly apprehensive. He knew seeing the house would make everything real. His life, as he'd once known it, would never be the same.
"Let's go." They walked through the prairie grass and the trees.
On the other side of the trees, a two-story house, void of paint, wearily awaited. Whether by vandalism, weather or time, the life had slowly seeped out of the house. Its windows were shattered, the once welcoming front door hung lopsided by one hinge, and pieces of shingles lay scattered around the ground. Instead of being horrified, Will found himself trying to imagine the barbeques, people dancing, and the happy times Pappy had mentioned earlier.
Unable to read Will's look, Kate questioned him. "Do you want to go in?"
"Is it safe?" The house looked as if it would collapse with a good wind.
"Kids have been running in and out of it for years. The old house had some good bones, I guess."
"Okay then, I've come this far. Might as well take a look inside."
Brushing a cobweb away from the door, they stepped into the house. The wood floor moaned under their feet, but held firm. Broken pieces of furniture were scattered around the first room. A huge fireplace covered most of one wall. A black cast-iron kettle still hung over the burnt ashes.
As they moved from room to room, brushing away cobwebs, they saw remnants of the lives of the people who'd called this home. Books lay on the library shelves, some torn and discarded by careless children. Well-worn pots and pans no longer lined the cupboards; instead, they lay amidst the dust and dirt on the floor. Pieces of broken china and tarnished silverware were scattered everywhere. An old four-poster bed stood in the corner of one bedroom. A rocking chair and a small table sat alone in another bedroom.
Will pulled on a door. "What's in here?" When it wouldn't open, he pulled harder. Curious as to why the door wouldn't open, he examined it. At the top of the doorframe, two bolts were slipped through a hinge, making small locks. He looked around for something to knock the rusted bolts loose.
"Will this work?" Kate handed him a small iron ladle.
After several hard pounds, the first bolt slipped out. Will quickly pounded the other one loose. Opening the door, he could see a stairway leading to what appeared to be the attic. Thick cobwebs hung across the opening. Using the ladle, he cleared the way until they were able to reach the room above. The sun filtered through one of the remaining windowpanes. An old trunk covered with layers of dust was by the window.
Brushing some of the dust away with his hands, they both coughed and choked. He lifted the lid of the trunk. Inside, Will found the life he'd never known.
Stacks and stacks of pictures filled the trunk. On top was an envelope with his name. His hand trembled as he picked it up, holding it.
"How could this old house have an envelope with your name on it, Will?" Kate was confused and very inquisitive.
He sighed and bit his lip before answering. "I'm told that William Dennison was my grandfather. Until my last birthday, I never knew I was adopted. He left this property to me when he died, but I wasn't supposed to receive it until I was twenty one."
"Oh my, what a shock this all must be to you." Kate reached out and touched his arm. "Are you okay?"
Will nodded, tapping the envelope against his fingers.
"Are you going to open it?" She bent over and picked up a 5x7 photo. "Oh my gosh, Will, I think this is a younger picture of your grandfather. He looks just like you." She handed the picture to him.
Except for the bib overalls, Will could have posed for the picture. He was amazed at the uncanny resemblance. "I've been telling myself this was all a mistake, but I guess this kind of proves that wrong, doesn't it?"
"Open the envelope, Will."
His hands shook as he lifted the flap of the envelope and slipped the single slip of paper out of it. He unfolded it and began to read,
My dear Grandson,
If you are reading this, you've discovered a family you didn't know and have come in search of answers. I wasn't sure whether you'd want to know about the past so before my death, I told Tom, the lawyer you saw, not to give you any information. I figured if you were interested, you'd come find the old homestead by yourself. If not, it was best to leave it alone.
This old house was once filled with love and happiness. Your grandmother was the greatest woman that ever walked this earth. A bout of pneumonia stole her life and it might as well have taken mine as well. I lost my will to live and I'm ashamed to say that I sorely neglected your mama. She was fifteen, a mere child herself. When I discovered she was with child, I went crazy. Her dear mother would have been terribly ashamed of my actions and so am I.
At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing, but regretfully, I was wrong. I forced her to give you up for adoption. Your mama cried for days and days, refusing to eat. One day, she was gone and I never ever heard from her again. Only then, after losing my own child, did I understand her loss. Over the years, my friend, Tom, was able to locate you and kept me informed of your successes. My punishment was never being able to talk to you or to tell you how sorry I was.
I never did find your mother. Guess she just couldn't forgive me for what I'd done. I wished I'd been able to tell her what a fine young man you'd become. Maybe it would have eased some of her pain.
Before I died, I tried to make amends with the Lord, knowing it was the only way I'd be seeing my sweet beloved Sally again. I hope this letter helps you know that you were loved, son, and that your mama loved you with all her heart.
Your grandfather,
William Dennison
Will was unaware of the tears streaming down his face. He handed the letter to Kate and stepped away. His body was trembling as he stared out the window, trying to digest what the letter had said. His mother had loved him and been forced to give him up. She'd given up her own family because of it. For the first time, he wondered about her,
After what seemed like hours, Kate finally touched his arm, "Will, it's starting to get dark. We really should go. Do you want to take the trunk with you?"
Still overcome with the day's events, he shook his head and simply started back down the stairway.
The trip back to town was entirely different from when they'd traveled the road earlier. Will was lost in his own thoughts, unable to share them with Kate. She drove back to town, letting him stare blindly out the window.
She parked her car in front of the grocery store, not sure what to say or do. Will broke the silence.
"Kate, I have to go back. I should have taken the trunk with me."
"It's getting dark. Wouldn't you rather get a room at Sadie's and go back tomorrow in the daylight?"
"No, I can't explain it, but I know I shouldn't have left that trunk there. I've got to go back now."
"Well, I can't let you go alone. You'll get lost on these backroads, especially at night. If you're sure, let's go."
He reached across the car and took her hand in his hand. "Thanks for understanding."
She squeezed his hand and smiled. "You've had a big shock today. I don't think I'd be thinking too straight either." With that, she started the car and headed back to the Dennison homestead.
For the second time that day, Kate pulled her car into the grassy driveway and parked. As they climbed out, Will peered through the trees. "Kate, is that a light down there?"
She grabbed his arm. "Told you the place was haunted. Let's come back tomorrow."
"It's probably just some kids, Kate. I don't believe in ghosts." He took a few steps toward the pine trees, but Kate didn't follow. "Are you coming or do you want to wait in the car?"
Kate stiffened her back and pushed out her chin. "If you aren't afraid, I guess I'm not either." Her trembling body told him otherwise as she took his arm.
They stopped outside the house, listening for any noise. The light flickered in the upstairs bedroom. Slowly, they entered the house and inched their way up the stairs. The old floorboards moaned.
Outside the bedroom door, Will and Kate listened. They could hear a soft voice singing what sounded like a lullaby. Will pushed the door open.
Washed by the lantern's glow, a woman sat in the rocking chair, cradling a baby. and softly singing. Will recognized the long gray dress and the black shawl wrapped around the baby. As he moved closer, he could see the baby was a doll. The woman seemed oblivious of the fact that they were in the room.
Without thinking, he knelt beside the rocker and gently touched the woman's arm. She turned her head to look at him, but didn't say a word.
"It's getting cold, Mom. We should really be going home." The words seemed so natural as they rolled off his lips.
"Do I know you?" Her tired eyes searched his face. "You look like someone I knew once, a long time ago."
"I'm your son." Will couldn't stop the tears. He wasn't prepared for the rush of feelings that swept over him. "I'm the child you had to give away."
Mary touched his cheek, her eyes straining to see his face. Brushing his tears aside, she spoke, "Billy ... my sweet baby boy." Tears trickled down her face. "It can't be."
"Will took her hand in his and pressed his lips against it. "Yes, I'm your son, Mom. My friends call me Will."
"Oh of course, how silly of me. I was just rocking and dreaming of days long ago." Her eyes searched his. "Am I dreaming now?"
"No, you're not dreaming. I'm your son, Billy, and this is Kate."
Mary lifted her face to look at Kate, who was crying. too, realizing how important this moment was to both of them. A tiny smile touched Mary's lips, "You're a pretty girl. I always hoped Billy would marry a pretty girl."
Will's eyes met Kate's and a warm blush spread across her cheeks. "You've a wonderful son, Mary."
Together, Kate and Will helped Mary out of the rocker. Kate carried the lantern while Will and his mother maneuvered the old stairway and headed to the car.
Once settling his mother in the backseat of the car, Will and Kate took one last look back at the old house. His mind was racing in ten different directions. In one day, he'd become a property owner, found his real mother, and discovered a girl that made his heart sing. Life was looking pretty good.
Smiling at Kate, he climbed into the car. The old place wasn't haunted after all.
Maybe it's time for a fresh beginning for all of us.
| Author Notes |
I apologize for the length of this story. Because it's a contest, I couldn't break it into two parts and the story had a life of it's own. I hope you feel the read was worthwhile.
Thank you for taking the time...... |
By Begin Again
The voluptuous brunette lounged on the corner of Mandy's desk, running a file across her nails.
"Be a sweetheart and finish Jack's last letter for me."
Mandy rolled her eyes. "Excuse me, but you don't look like you're overworked at the moment."
"That black mini skirt I've been wanting is on sale. It's perfect for my date with the new guy. I want to run down and buy it."
"Did he ask you?"
Susan shrugged. "He will."
Mandy frowned. "You always get the good ones."
"Don't get that puppy dog look with me." Susan winked. "I heard Bob in the mailroom is going to ask you out. He's more your style." Adjusting her skirt, she tossed a wave and headed for the elevator.
Mandy wished she could be as self-assured as her co-worker. Sighing, she headed to Susan's desk to finish the letter.
The computer screen read -- Message ready to send.
Without thinking, she pushed okay, and then cleared the screen. In a few minutes, she finished the letter and headed to Jack's office for a signature.
At the doorway, she stopped. He was busy reading something. She stepped back into the hallway.
"Mandy!" His voice stopped her.
"I ... I ... didn't mean to interrupt."
"Do you know anything about this email?" He tossed the paper across his desk.
Her body temperature spiked as she began to read --
My darling,
I can't keep my mind off you. My body aches to feel you pressed against me. I want your lips to caress my burning skin and your manhood to quench my fire. Unable to put my feelings into words, maybe I could show you.
Burning with desire,
Sensuous Lady
Mandy recognized Susan's pen name. Fear gripped her heart. How could she explain she'd sent the email by mistake? It wouldn't be fair if he fired Susan for something she did. She made a decision.
"I ... I sent it." She was unable to look him in the eyes.
"Really?"
Taking a deep breath, her voice was stronger. "Yes, I'm responsible for sending the e-mail. I'm sorry." Tears streamed down her face and she rushed from the office.
For the remainder of the afternoon, she buried herself in work. How could she explain to Susan what she'd done?
When Jack walked out of his office, Mandy's heart raced. Was he going to fire Susan? Would he embarrass her in front of the entire office? How could Susan forgive her?
He walked toward them. Mandy held her breath.
"Susan, I need these letters finished by tomorrow morning. Could you do that?"
"Of course." She smiled. Maybe the new guy would be working late too.
"I'd like to continue our conversation." His eyes met Mandy's. "Over dinner."
Susan stared in disbelief.
Mandy smiled, "We were discussing mistaken identities."
By Begin Again
The fragrant smell of cherry blossoms filled the air. Becky, an emergency room RN, stepped into the courtyard and inhaled the intoxicating smell. Flu season was at its peak, patients lined the corridors, and staff was at a bare minimum. Having just completed two twelve-hour shifts, her body screamed from exhaustion. Wearily, she walked toward her car.
Maneuvering through the parking lot, she clicked on the satellite radio. The soothing sounds of a Brahms Lullaby drifted from the speakers. Behind the wheel, her head nodded with the music.
The traffic light turned green and an impatient driver blasted his horn, jolting her awake. Startled, she pulled the car to the side of the road, opening the windows. She shivered in the cool morning air. Mechanically, she flipped through the radio stations until an unfamiliar head-banging song assaulted her senses. Satisfied the rock music would keep her awake, she continued the drive home.
Turning the corner, Becky thought the sight of home never looked so welcoming. She frowned at the for sale sign in her front yard. Her schedule made it impossible to maintain a three-bedroom house and she'd hoped to move to a condominium. After three months on the market, the prospects didn't look good.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she stumbled into the house. All she wanted was a hot shower and her king-size bed. Sleep had become a luxury lately, but now it was a necessity.
Her tired fingers fumbled with the buttons on the bloodstained scrub, unwanted memories of work. She littered the hallway carpet with her shirt, pants, socks and bra. Leaning against the bedroom doorframe, she slipped out of her panties.
Next stop was the bathroom and a warm, relaxing shower.
Hot steamy vapors hung in the air. Wrapping a large towel around her naked body, she shuffled toward her king-size bed, oblivious to the red blinking light of the answering machine on her nightstand.
Pulling back the covers, she stretched across the cool satin sheets, laying her head on the pillow. Closing her eyes, she instantly fell asleep.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Traci, a real estate broker, unlocked the front door and allowed the prospective client to step inside the house. A young executive was relocating to the city, and had expressed interest in the property. The trail of clothes greeted them.
"Oh, I apologize. Becky must not have gotten my message."
"Don't worry about it. I've seen much worse." Leaving her to gather the discarded clothes, he roamed down the hallway, stopping to check each room.
He appreciated the fine craftsmanship in the home and the owner’s impeccable taste. If the Master Bedroom met his requirements, he was satisfied his house-hunting days were finished.
He stepped into the spacious bedroom and instantly admired what he saw. He was reluctant to leave the sanctuary, but finally, he retraced his steps, joining Traci in the hallway.
Traci was overjoyed by his satisfied expression. This was her first hot lead in months, and she was eager for his opinion.
"What do you think? Is it something that might interest you?" She held her breath. Her intuition said she was close to a sale.
"I definitely like what I see." He flashed a mischievous grin at Traci. "I was wondering if everything comes with the house."
"The owner is anxious to sell so I'm sure she'll be willing to negotiate." She stepped past him. "Let me put these in the hamper and we’ll talk.”
As she entered the bedroom, her eyes focused on the bed and she gasped. "Oh no!"
Becky raised her bewildered head off the pillow until her eyes locked with a pair of amused brown eyes. Clutching the bedding, a red blush stained her face.
He chuckled. "If she comes with the house, consider it sold!"
| Author Notes |
Word count - 583
Theme - Innocently Indecent |
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