Dear Readers,
Thanks a bunch for being so supportive while I’ve been ill. One thing after another, dogpiling onto the ten white cells in my immune system. Those white cells are exhausted! Just out of the hospital, I’m trying to come back fighting. Please know I haven’t abandoned you, writing, or this blog.
I hope you and yours are well. I’d love it if you left a comment letting me know what’s up with you should you feel so moved.
Take care,
JC
This week’s #FridayFlash is an encore of my story “Heaven’s Veil” and is a guest post on the #amwriting site.
You can find it (and I hope you will) on this page. Thanks!
Take care,
JC
Photo by Pete
July 4th was a week gone, but Travis still had fireworks. His mother was all, “You’re not setting those off here.” We laughed when Travis acted out his mom. He was a riot. Problem was no way could we go to any of our houses with the fireworks, either. Someone would call Sheriff O’Bannon. We didn’t need him up in our business.
Brian picked the Milford place. It was for sale, had been since last summer. This year they weren’t even taking care of the lawn. The place had that empty-a-long-time look now. “How do we get in?” quavered Polly.
Brian dug into his pocket and pulled out a couple thin metal sticks. “I have a key,” he grinned. Travis bumped knuckles with him and Clay laughed. Polly gave me a look, but I shrugged it off.
The Milford place was way out on the edge of town. Travis set off his bottle rockets and stuff. The boys jumped around. Polly and I clapped. In Elksville, this was an exciting day. Breaking into the house made it more exciting. Brian fiddled with the lock on the back door and a long minute later, turned the handle. We piled in, kicking up dust and coughing.
The place was deserted, but the old furniture was still there. I tried to ignore the scuttling in the walls. Chills shook me and my tummy flipped. I went to Polly, who stood in the middle of the living room with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Her eyes were big and blue, the whites showing around them. “When can we leave, Laurie?” I shook my head. We always did things as a group. She whispered, “I don’t like it here.”
“It’s gross,” I nodded. Polly gave me an odd look, kind of impatient, and she walked back to the door. The boys were off exploring upstairs. I was pretty sure I heard one of them treating a bed like a trampoline. This was going to take a while.
Bookcases lined the walls of the living room, making it a small library. My favorite place in town was the library, but this one had books I never saw before. I ran my hand over the spines of a bunch of leather bound books labeled Harvard Classics and sighed. One day I would own a library like this. I twirled, taking in the view of all the books, hundreds of them, and sighed again. A moaning sound undercut my sigh, joining in.
Cold wound around my belly before washing through me. I felt my long hair rustle as it passed by. Scared, I tried to shake the feeling off. I wanted to bolt from the room when a book fell off a shelf. It landed so hard, I jumped like a gunshot went off. Automatically, I bent to pick it up. As I did, the shelf emptied itself, books bouncing off the back of my head and shoulders, knocking me down to the floor.
“Are you okay?” Polly’s anxious voice came from the back of the house, nearly a shriek.
“I’m good, Polly. Ready to go?” My voice was strong, even confident. I had not opened my mouth to speak, though. My voice came from the bookcase. I looked up and stared, a silent scream in my throat.
“Yes, oh yes, Laurie, let’s go!” Polly cried. While I got up, I heard her calling for the boys. She yelled their names to be heard above the racket they made. As though I rushed through a long tunnel, I stepped toward the sinister bookcase, my friends’ voices dimming in the distance. I stood before it, resting a hand on the now-empty shelf, casually kicking the books away. Inwardly, I marveled at my calm, at my knowing what to do.
“Release me.” The whisper lingered on the air of the empty room, soaking into me until my insides trembled. “Release me.”
I reached out my hand. I pressed the palm against the wall. There was an answering pressure. As I took my hand away, I could see the imprint of a hand against the other side of the wall. I gulped and tried to turn away, to run away. My feet were rooted. Whipping back to stare at the impossible handprint, I saw it fade.
Unearthly cold filled me, slow and true, from my belly out. I was shut aside, somehow pushed away in my own mind. My vision hazed and another’s vision cleared. I watched as the other tested moving hands, then feet. Her glory flowed through me, spiking my fear.
“Polly,” I heardfelt myself say. “Send Clay to fetch Sheriff O’Bannon. Quickly now.” My voice was harsh, hurried and deep. Through a distorted lens, I saw Polly wring her hands and back away, then flee up the stairs. Clay came down, stared at me and was off like he had a butt full of birdshot.
“Laurie,” I feltheard this other speak to me. “I can’t sustain this. You must tell Sheriff O’Bannon I am Anita Milford. I did not run off with that carpenter. My husband killed me. My body is in that wall.” I felt the other weep and weaken. “Tell the sheriff… if he doesn’t believe say he was called Rooster and I never forgot his kiss under the bleachers.”
We collapsed.
Next I knew, Dr. Rooney was waving some hateful stink under my nose and I tried to scramble away. Sheriff O’Bannon’s face loomed close. “Okay now, Laurie?”
“She’s in the wall,” I forced out in a whisper. “Anita Milford. She’s in the wall.” His eyebrows frowned. “She said you’re Rooster and you kissed her under some bleachers. Mr. Milford killed her and put her in the wall.” The sheriff swallowed hard.
They all jumped when a big sigh came out and swirled around the room. I just lay there, tension seeping away at her relief.
Photo by Woodley Wonderworks
Dylan walked into the space that smelled and felt of home.
It began as a typical Manhattan loft, an open space with industrial windows. When Renee was done, there were rooms, some with a few stairs leading up, all with walls reaching toward the high ceiling. Their bedroom had little lights and prismic glass ornaments hanging, giving it a magical feel. Everything with Renee was magical. She was in the kitchen, humming. He smelled her amazing apple pie.
When she designed his office, she gave him a corner space. “The corner office you deserve,” she’d murmured and kissed him. The office was barely visualized, walls staked out with string. He insisted they christen it in a loving manner. A blanket, laughter, and champagne filled his office. When the room was finished, Renee handed him a key.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s a key,” she smiled.
“Yes, I can see that, silly. A key to what?”
“It locks your office. It should be a private space. You don’t just walk into my studio, right?” Her eyebrows danced into curves with her question.
“No, I suppose not,” Dylan agreed. “But you don’t lock your studio.”
“Let’s just say I’m giving you the option.” Her face was almost solemn. He gathered her into his arms and held her, murmuring into her long, fragrant hair.
~
Bills fanned out on Dylan’s desk. His dark hair stuck up at odd angles from being pulled upon. His gaze went from the red accounts book with the right numbers to the green one used for the public. Ironic, really. The book was red and so were most of the numbers in it. The company was hemorrhaging money. Dylan’s job these days was keeping investors from getting curious. He kept them looking elsewhere, such as the green book with its impressive numbers.
He looked up sharply at the knock. “Just … uhm… be right there, Renee!” The bills got stuffed into the red book. Dylan shoved both books into a drawer and locked it. When he opened the door, his breath caught. She stood there in a sheer nightie, her black hair streaming over her shoulder. She held a tray with his favorite hot apple pie, vanilla ice cream trickling down the sides. “Just this once,” he grinned, “the pie will wait.”
~
The company officers grudgingly decided they had no choice. Dylan drew the short straw. He and their security chief went to the Russian tea room on the river. Dylan tried not to think what the Russian mob did, the river so close. Chin high, he made his way past various men with harsh accents. It took a half hour before a burly fellow escorted Dylan to the corner booth. By all accounts, Rudolf “the Fish” Karpinsky was a charming host. Those same accounts included his impatience and volatility. Dylan smiled quietly and managed to make suitable arrangements. For a hefty fee, Rudolf would be a silent but generous partner.
Not long after, Dylan noticed things moved on his desk. He couldn’t be sure, but didn’t he leave that pen in the cup with the others? And the post-its. They seemed in the wrong place. “Renee, honey,” he called out. She came to him, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “Did you need something from my desk earlier?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Even if I had, the door was probably locked.” Good point. “I got home not long before you, Dylan. Been getting supper ready ever since.” He kissed her forehead.
“My mind playing games on me, love.”
But it wasn’t, he knew it just as sure as he knew who’d been in his office. Rudolf’s men. In a panic, he checked the lock of the drawer with the accounting books. No marks. Would there be marks? His heart beating in his ears, he checked the other drawers. There it was. A life insurance policy for two million dollars on Renee with him as the beneficiary. It even looked like his signature. It was dated a year ago. He filed it with the important papers. It seemed the thing to do while he sorted it all out.
~
He was up all night trying to figure out the right approach with Rudolf. Offense and irritation would not do the job. Curiosity perhaps. Yes, curiosity followed up by reasonable discussion. They would cancel the policy. Feeling better, Dylan headed for the corner Starbucks. Dammit, his wallet. It was on his desk along with the office key. Exhaustion gone, he raced back to the loft. Renee stepped out of his office as he neared it. Pretend there’s nothing wrong, he told himself. He reached out to brush his knuckles over her cheek. It was barely noticeable, but she flinched at his touch. He pulled back his hand and stared into her eyes. She knew.
“I’m sorry,” she stumbled. “I needed my birth certificate to renew my driver’s license.” The same folder as the insurance policy. Dylan felt sick.
“Not a problem. Did you find it?” Renee nodded, her expressive face frowning as she turned away.
“I better get to the DMV. You know how the lines are.” She couldn’t escape quickly enough. That was the last Dylan saw her. All her things disappeared when he was downtown the next week. He couldn’t blame her for not leaving an address or number.
~
Winter gripped Manhattan. It grasped hold of Dylan’s soul. The contracts dried up as the economy died. Rudolf loomed, a constant reminder. They were unable to pay, of course. Rudolf whispered in Dylan’s ear. “The papers, my friend. Say the word and all will be solved. She is gone forever anyway.”
The remaining partners met after Walter’s suicide. Overcome by grief and guilt, they left without solace. It was time. Dylan punched in the number. The end justifies the means, he reminded himself. “Da?” He winced.
“Yeah, it’s a go.”
Photo by Dinner Series
After putting the last unisuit into the case, Tessa sealed it in, taming the overflow. She took a sad look around the unit. Her gaze stopped on a holo from a few years ago. They looked so happy. Tessa closed her eyes and blew out a breath. It was a long time since happy. She trudged through the hatch and spun the lock. It was over.
Tony still left gifts outside the hatch to Petra’s unit two months later. No surprise he figured out where she went when she left him. Ear drops, tongue fizzles, even a real flower one day. So lovey – if she didn’t know him so well. Creepers since she did.
Alry and Petra’s relief when she left surprised Tessa. She hadn’t hid the bruises as well as she thought. Her friends were encouraging, helping her through the fearsome fits and backflashers. Tony’s little presents didn’t help. They weren’t meant to help.
The gifts stopped, replaced by notes. Sweet words, cajoling tones. She could hear Tony’s voice, all soft and kind like in the beginning, when she read them. Petra tossed the first one into the cycler. Tessa saw the wisdom and cycled them each upon arrival. She went cold and still when the first angry note arrived, though. Petra didn’t throw that one in the cycler. She kept it for the law takers. Kept it and all the ones following. Alry insisted on giving her a lasertaze to carry in her handsack. “Better to have it and be safe,” he told her. Tessa put the taze in her sack, hand shaking.
Ever since, she was freakered, imagining she saw Tony in the sea of workers commuting each day. Ridiculous. His work assignment was too precious to him. He’d never risk it coming all the way to this side of the dome during worktime. She shook it off again today, forcing herself not to reach into her sack and clutch the lasertaze.
Working late was super sour, but she took a wage slice moving across dome. The overwage helped. Tessa scurried to join a group of people waiting to cross a pedi zone. She caught a single glimpse of Tony off to the side, his eyes glittering in the genny light. The crowd surged forward and Tessa was carried along, her belly shivering. No freakering this time. The taze was cool against her palm.
She took a crosswise pedi zone on the other side, ending up across the motor zone on another blocking. A mob of people was in front of the flimsiplex. A sensiflimsi must have just ended. She mixed into the crowd. A small group broke free, walking a blocking before taking the next pedi zone. She walked beside a woman. Tessa figured seeming like an anonymous couple in the dim lighting might hide her.
Her walking partner shot her a look when Tessa kept up to the next blocking. Survival instinct told her to shift her path. She joined people taking the left pedi at the next turnout. She felt more than actually tweaked a look at the danger behind her. More freakering? She gave in and tapped her temple, muttering Petra’s name to buzz up her vidscreen. “I think Tony’s following me,” she squeaked to her friend’s image.
Alry yelled from the background, “Where are you?” She darted a look at the glowbox on the building and read it quietly. “Law takers are on the way,” he called out. “They have your PhysIdent. They’ll find you.”
“Bono, Alry. Breaking comm, need clear thought.” Without waiting, Tessa tapped her temple twice and reached into her sack to grip the lasertaze.
Hurrying through the next pedi, leaving complaints in her wake, she heard her name called out. Breath caught in her throat, she threw a glance over her shoulder. Tony pushed his way through the group. His thunderous face made her go cold, her feet heavy and slow. A roaring filled her ears as she tried to drag in air. Numb fingers gripped the taze.
He grabbed her shoulder roughly and yanked her back against him. At the same moment, something cold and sharp bit her throat. An actual old-timey knife? “Come with me, Tessa,” he hissed, pulling her back even harder.
“Yes, Tony. I’ll go with you. Please don’t hurt me,” she whimpered.
Vicious laughter sent warm breath against her ear. “You’ll get what you deserve. No more, no less,” he warned. As she trembled, the knife cut more deeply. She felt hot blood dribble from the cut. Anger boiled in her belly as she thought what he put her through, before and after she left. What he was putting her through now. A flick of her wrist in the sack.
ZZZZZTTT!
A smoking hole in the sack told the story as much as the shock paralyzed on Tony’s face. He dropped like a plasteel chunk. Tessa held her hand to her bloody throat, relief flooding her as she took in the sight of him, still and gurgling. The shiny blade clattered, falling with him. The law takers surrounded him as one gently tugged her away.
Dazed, shaking within her warm mylar cocoon, she held up her chin so the medic could seal the slash. She heard Petra’s distant voice. Tessa opened her eyes and startled. Petra was right next to her. “Tessa, you’re safe. It’s bono, you tazed him.” Her friend’s hand was warm as it cupped her cheek.
Tessa replayed the scene over and over as the medic finished. Her thoughts alternated between Tony falling and that hateful look on his face beforehand. “Where is he?” Her whisper was hoarse.
Alry leaned in to where she sat in the medimotor. “All smooth, Tessa. The taze wore off and the takers got him talking to a lawbot now. He’ll be underground longtime. You stopped him.”
“All bono, yeah?” Petra’s smile sparked a faint one from Tessa.
“Bono, yeah.” She did it. She stopped him. Super smooth.
Photo by liz west
She walked into the diner looking like she lost her way to a country club. “My husband’s dead,” she said to no one in particular.
I glanced out the window. A Mercedes was parked haphazardly off near the pay phone. Frowning, I turned back to the woman. People kept their distance mostly, quietly listening in. Alma got her a cup of coffee at the lunch counter and told her it would be okay. Right, her husband’s dead, but it’s going to be okay. That’s Alma for you.
It looked like my breakfast was finished. I hardly had a bite, but duty called. Grabbing my hat, I slid out of the booth. Her tennis outfit was blinding white and diamonds dazzled from her hands, wrist and ears. Her long brown hair was tied back. I made her to be about 35, 5’6” and 135 pounds. No obvious identifying marks. Only thing missing was the tennis racket. And the husband.
“Where’s your husband now, ma’am?” I asked, pulling my tablet and pen out of my jacket pocket.
She was silent a moment, blinking at the coffee in front of her. When she turned to face me, her blue eyes were dry. “In hell, Officer,” she said, as calmly as if I asked her the time.
“Deputy, ma’am. Hell aside, where is your husband?”
“In the car,” she told me, her jaw tightening.
“Keep her here, Alma. Right here,” I ordered. Heading outside, I grabbed my radio. “Need an ambulance at Maybelle’s Diner, Doris. Get ‘em into gear and put the M.E. on notice.” I shoved the radio into its holster and ran the rest of the way.
The silver Mercedes was unlocked. I saw the old man leaning against the window of the passenger seat. Pulling open the door, I caught him. Fingers on his throat, listening at his nose. Nothing. I put my ear to his chest.
Pulling him out onto the gravel, I laid him flat. Training took over and I started CPR, counting out loud, blowing in a breath, over and over. I heard the whine of the siren coming from town. Buddy took over soon as he and Tom pulled in with the rig. Only took three minutes for him to call out, “Got him!”
I hurried back to the “widow.” She didn’t spare me a look, turned on the stool and staring out the window. She was pale as a sheet hung out on a summer’s day, her hands gripped tightly together in her lap. “Ma’am, I need to ask you some questions.”
“Do you have to do that now, Sherry?” Alma asked me.
“Yeah, I do. Ma’am, what’s your husband’s name?” I stepped in front of the window to get her attention. She looked up. Her eyes were hard as the diamonds she wore.
“David Henderson,” she bit off the name, her mouth twisting. “Beat the Devil again, did he?”
“This happen a lot, Mrs. Henderson?”
She looked me dead in the eye. “Three times now. And they say third time’s the charm.”
This week’s flash fiction for #FridayFlash is on the #amwriting site. You can read it here.
I’d love to get your feedback. Thanks!
Take care,
JC
