Tag Archives: PG

May 25, 2010

Fairy Men

Title: Fairy Men

Genre: Fantasy

Rating: PG

Thoughts: This is the result of an idea I had on my way home.  There’s potential there for a larger story, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that right now.

——-

Jaid looked at the wax sealed, archaic envelope with her cramped, messy writing and then back up at the bird-like figure of Sr. Steward Geoff Edimon.  “You mean to tell me,” she said slowly, her head feeling like a helium balloon someone let go, “that we’re supposed to cross into the Fae World, go back in time, and meet up with our boyfriends – four – hundred – years in the past?”

Geoff calmly nodded, peering between Jaid and Ami, gauging their reactions.  “Yes.”  As was expected, Jaid lead the attack while Ami looked shocked at first but after a moment of spinning her tires, she’d be backing Jaid up.  It’s what gave them so much potential to work together as a team.

The two girls looked at each other, the pain and worry they’d experienced over the last few days had taken its toll.  Jaid’s pale, freckle flecked skin was normally a perfect alabaster; now she sported dark circles around her eyes, scratch marks on her arms from absently scratching and her long red hair stuck out in a curling halo of chaos.  Similarly, Ami’s usually glowing, tanned body looked pale and gaunt, her eyes swollen and read with her lower lip swollen from nervous biting.  Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and she wore one of Iain’s discarded t-shirts.

“How do we – how are we supposed to know this isn’t a trick too?  They took Cayden and Iain!  Geoff, they’re Dark Fae!  They’re pure-bloods!”  Ami gestured wildly with her hands, “Jaid and I – we’re just humans.”

“But you have potential,” Geoff’s calmness persisted.

“Then why didn’t someone start training us years ago?  Why just two years ago?”  Jaid looked at the envelope with a growing sense of unease.  The words on the paper sounded like her, but the Dark Fae were capable of too many things.

“I don’t know.  Cayden and Iain made that decision as your leannán.”

“Geoff,” Jaid hissed, her cheeks crimson, “we’ve never – uh – Geoff!”

The man drew in a deep sigh, and fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve.  “I don’t know all of the details, but I have served Cayden and Iain for many years and I hear them talk sometimes.  I might not believe these words if I didn’t know the Master’s, but I’ve heard them talk about four hundred years ago, when the two of you appeared like visions of angels, wearing their First Swords and telling them it was time for your Hundred Year Training.  Doesn’t it seem odd that they have not initiated you?  That you have not already begun?  That they’re doing little more than teaching you tricks?”

The two girls shared uncomfortable looks.

“Jaid,” Ami gripped the other girls arm, “I can’t live without Iain, and there isn’t anyone to rescue him.”

“We could fully cross into the Fae World and get the help of the ancients,” Jaid said without conviction.  “And then risk coming back here decades too late to do anything useful.”

The two girls locked eyes and groped for each other’s hands.

“But, Geoff, we have to cross into Fae to go back through time,” Ami’s face scrunched up as she tried to think through the details.

“I wrote instructions,” Jaid laughed and unfolded the envelope.  “God, I even wrote things I should bring.  Look, a straightner.”

“So what’s – what’s our first move?”

Jaid squeezed Ami’s hand.  “According to my list, get their First Swords.”

“I have those.”  Geoff went to a trunk that had sat against a wall, unopened for as long as they had lived here, and picked up two, long wooden boxes.  “The First Swords,” Geoff said reverently, placing a box in front of each girl.

In silent agreement the two girls didn’t touch them – yet.

“Okay, so we need to pack and then what?”  Ami was almost visibly pulling herself together.

“We leave.”  Jaid and Ami shared a scared look and got up.

~ ~ ~

The two girls, loaded with the gear they had instructed themselves to pack, stood in the shadow of an old castle in front of what looked like nothing more than a ruin, a tumble of stones.

“Any idea what we’re supposed to say?”  Ami asked grimly.

“Not a clue,” Jaid shook her head and squinted up at the setting sun.  That moment of neither day or night was the easiest time for a human to slip into the Fae world.

“We’re doing this for them,” Ami fidgeted with the sword at her hip, the weight alien to her.  Her powers were for healing and magic; swords and fighting were foreign to her.

Jaid felt the weight of the twin blades on her back with more of an ease, as if she’d always been missing that weight.  She’d scoffed when Cayden told her she would be a battle mage like he was, but now she had to believe him.  “For them,” she echoed.

The Hundred Year Training was what they’d anticipated beginning at the turn of the new year; they’d secretly decided Iain and Cayden wanted time to just be with them before they had to push them every waking moment.  Now they found out that Iain and Cayden had known them, known them as their wives for a hundred years before.  All so that now, in the future, they could single handedly attack the Dark Fae.  Jaid thought it had the stench of prophecy about it, but she wasn’t about to give it the time of day; she had a Fairy Man to rescue.

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May 20, 2010

The Stranger

Title: The Stranger

Genre: Western, Fantasy

Rating: PG

Thoughts: For some reason I know several people who have been discussing westerns recently.  I don’t really like to write this genre though I know with my experience I could do it well, but I thought I would try something a little different.  Hope you other western-writers don’t mind.

——-

It’s said that when the Santa Anna winds blow, all bets are off.

The wind blew down on the town, blowing up column of dust and shaking the trees.  Horses stomped their feet and closed their eyes into narrow slits.  Men pulled bandannas up on their faces, making it look like a town of bandits.  A few out of season tumble weeds rolled across the main thorough faire and then the wind died.  As if a god of wind were taking a breath, for a moment everything was almost still.  The blue sky stretched over head and a few men blinked up, looking for some strange sign.  A woman hurried from one building to the next; who knew how long until the winds kicked up again?

One horse pricked it’s ears up, and looked off into the distance.

A horse neighed and a dot appeared in the distance, growing quickly larger.

Two men stood near a water trough, and squinted at the figure.

“Is that Robert?”

“Nope. Can’t be.  He’s gone up to the city to try to find him a wife.”

“Oh.  Right.”

The two men waited, watching the lone rider getting closer.  He had buldging saddle bags and a rifle strapped under his leg.  Despite the heat he wore a long, leather duster and his hat was pulled down low over his face.

“Good afternoon, gentleman.”

The two ranch hands jumped.  They’d been watching the rider getting closer but hadn’t realized he was so near.

“Howdy.”  One said.  The other spit on the ground and then looked back up at the stranger.  “You pass’en through or gonna sit a spell?”

“I’d like to find a meal and a place to stay.”  He had a cultured voice and two bright, smiling eyes.  Despite his dusty appearance, he was clean shaven and neat under layers of travel grime.

“Saloon has some rooms,” the talkative ranch hand jerked his head back to a brightly painted building.

“Wonderful.”

“Wanna leave your horse here?”  The ranch hand jerked his head towards the livery barn where people from the outlying farms and ranches left their horses and wagons while in town.  It was also where the stagecoach stopped.

“Yes, please.”  The stranger dismounted and pulled off two large, bulging bags and slung them over his shoulder.  He pulled the reins over the horses head and looked the animal in the eye, “He’s a little spirited, but will mind his manners.”  Smiling at the ranch hand, he handed over his reins.  “Better get inside.  There’s a storm coming.”

The two ranch hands looked up at the sky, brows furrowed.  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

The stranger took his things and entered the Saloon.  A random assortment of locals were gathered around the bar, to which the cheerful stranger smiled and nodded his head.  “Hello.”

“Howdy stranger, what can I get for you?”  The bartender leaned over the old, worn wood and grinned at his new patron.

“Food first, I believe.”  He said thoughtfully and set his bags down on the floor next to an empty stool.
“Some beer second, and then a bath and a room if you have them.”  He left the leather duster on and sat down on the stool, folding his hands one over the other and fixing the grinning bartender with a more subdued smile.

“Right – vittles out in a jiffy!”  The bartender grabbed a glass and poured the parched stranger his whisky and then disappeared.

“You ain’t from ‘round here.”  A young man with a swagger in his step leaned against the bar on the farthest side.

“No sir, I am not,” the stranger replied, still looking cheerful.  Outside the wind began to rage twice as hard as before.

“Where ya headed?”  The young man asked.

“I haven’t quite decided,” the stranger shrugged and his smile deepened.

“Are you chas’en some’thin?”

The stranger didn’t reply immediately.  He tilted his head to the side and studied the ceiling as if thinking for a moment before his eyes drifted back to the hard stare of the younger man.  “You could say that.”

“Here’s your vittles,” the barkeep announced, reappearing through a swinging door.

“Thank you.”  The stranger picked up his bag, his plate and his cup and retreated to a small table near a window that was mostly blotted out with dust.  He sat there, alone and unmolested, staring out of the window, his face hidden by the brim of his hat.

The young man with the swagger watched him but didn’t say another word.

When the stranger was finished with his meal he brought his dishes back to the bar.  “I’d like to see about that room, please.”

“Sure thing!”  The barkeeper produced a round of keys and motioned for the Stranger to follow him through another door that his a hallway.  “Rooms back here,” he explained.  Passing by a window he paused, “Sky sure is getting dark.”

The stranger gazed out past the man, his eyes caressing the clouds that rolled in on the horizon as if he were looking at a lover.  “Yes, there’s a storm coming.”

“Well good thing you got here in time.”  The barkeep said and continued down the hall.

He put the stranger in a room on the very end and told him where the bathroom was.  No one saw the stranger for quite some time.  The storm blew in quick and hard, sending people running for cover and before long the saloon was packed to capacity.  Everyone was watching the storm rage outside; a few had started a game of cards, but most held drinks and peered out of the windows.

The stranger slipped in unnoticed and perched on an empty stool.

“There you are,” the bartender grinned.  “You were right about this here storm.  It’s raining buckets!”

The stranger merely quirked his lips and nodded.  He’d showered and though he still wore the duster and hat, they looked to have been brushed off, the grime of travel removed.  “Whiskey, please.”

“Att’a way!”  The bartender laughed and poured his patron his drink.

“Howdy pard’ner,” the young man sidled up to the bar.  “Fancy some cards?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have money to lose,” the stranger spread his hands apologetically and smiled.

“Well I’m sure you have other things you can wager.”  The young man eyed the strangers jacket, but couldn’t see anything else.  “You got a horse, don’t you?”

“Oh, but I need my horse.  I can’t part with him.”

The young man pursed his lips.  “You got a gun, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t need that, do you?  Not with the law men around.”

The stranger looked thoughtful, “No, I suppose I don’t need the gun, but it is awful nice to have around.”

“Well let’s play for guns, then.  My boys can put up theirs and you can put up yours.”

Outside the Santa Anna’s blew.  The stranger looked up at the roof and then sighed.  He leveled his smiling eyes at the young man and nodded.  “Alright, you have a deal.”

Six men crowded around a table, a deck of cards sitting in the middle.  They all held their hands close.  One man held his near his chest, glancing left and right suspiciously.  Another held his cards loosely and seemed not to care.  The stranger’s cards were face down on the table, his hands folded over them.  His gaze had drifted off to the window where lightning danced in the distance.  The young challenger glared at the smiling stranger.

“I fold.”

“Me too,” another sighed.

“Show’em.”   The young man barked.

“Two pair,” the suspicious man said.

The other yawned and laid his cards down.  “Straight.”

“Damn!”  The suspicious one wailed.

“What do you have, stranger?”

The stranger flipped over his cards, “Nothing.”  Indeed, he would have done better had he folded.

“Well I win,” the young man grinned and slapped his cards on the table.

“I hope you get better use out of my gun than I did,” the stranger chuckled.  His chair slid noisily out from under him as he stood, shaking out his duster.

The young man was about to say something when several drenched souls tumbled through the door.  There was a general commotion made and people began muttering about crops and bridges.  The stranger slipped up to the doors and gazed out at the storm as if seeing a long, lost friend.

“I’ll be taking that gun, mister,” the young man drawled.

“Yes, it’s in the barn with my tack,” the stranger said quietly, only paying half attention to the young man.

“I’ll take it now, before you run off with my rightful property.”  The young man folded his arms over his chest, glaring at the stranger.

“You don’t have much in the way of hospitality, do you?”  The stranger shrugged and before the young man could sputter a response, he continued.  “I’ll go get it now, if you must have it.”  He flipped the collar of his duster up and ducked out onto the porch where a lonely old dog lay alone, unbothered by the storm.  The stranger picked his way through the muddy street, water slicking his duster to his body and beating down the brim of his hat, but he made it to the livery no worse.

A few of the older patrons gave the young man disapproving glares but not anything else.

On the way back the stranger fought against the wind and the rain, his duster blown out behind him like wings.  Suddenly, lightning lit up the sky, throwing the strangers shadow out behind him like some gruesome creature of the night.  He lept onto the porch and stamped his feet, shaking off water and mud before pushing the doors open.  He had not lost his cheerful twinkle, but he looked put out.

“Here, I believe this was what you wanted.”  He pushed the wet mess of holster and rifle into the young mans arms and wiped more water from his face.

“Oh no!”  Someone shouted.  Outside the lightning struck close to town.  Once, twice, and coming closer.

The third strike hit the steeple of the church; the blast knocked it off of the building, leaving a gaping hole where once the obelisk stood.  It crashed to the street, rolling once, twice in the mud before stopping.  Lightning did not strike again.  It was hard to make out the lump of the steeple in the street but it let off steam.

“Was anyone out there?”  A small voice said.

“I’ll go and check.”  The stranger smiled, and strode back into the rain as if someone had invited him to go on a stroll rather than into a raging storm.

It was hard to make out his form from the saloon, but the stranger could see perfectly well in the near darkness.  He held his breath and neared the fallen steeple.  It was no longer an obelisk pointing at the heavens; in fact it was no longer straight or pointy.  It curled into a small form and lay in the middle of the road.  Gently the stranger knelt and put a hand on the lump.

It moved.

The stranger grinned and pulled out of his duster.  With one hand he helped the dazed woman sit up and with the other he slung his duster over her shoulders, hiding her.

“It’s you,” she looked up at him with eyes like the stars, rain washing away the dirt and mud.

“I told you it would work,” the stranger said and gently wiped her pale hair away from her face.

“But – how?”

“When the Santa Anna blows, all bets are off.”

She stood with his help, wobbly as a new born animal.  “Are you real?  Is this another – “

“I am real.  Just as real as you are.  We don’t have to live in dreams anymore.”

The woman sobbed and leaned forward into the man’s chest, the rain falling around them.

Behind the man someone called out, “Everything okay?”

The stranger turned a little and waved, “Just fine, thank you.”

“We – we have to get out of here.”  She gripped the front of his shirt, her face lined with fear.

“We will.”  The stranger put his arms on her shoulders and gazed down into her face.

“But how?  They’ll come looking!”

The stranger chuckled and glanced at the barn where a horse neighed.  “I borrowed the West Wind.”

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May 17, 2010

Going Home

Title: Going Home

Genre: Fantasy

Rating: PG

——-

Food.  He always thought of food.

Te’llana laughed into the wind and slapped the dragon’s neck with the palm of her hand.  The dragon’s eyes whirled in its face as it looked at her and below, above and ahead all at once.  She leaned forward, the wind whipping her face and making her eyes water; she loved flying.  No matter how bad things got, no matter how much her husband yelled at her, Te’llana could always fly.  The dragon peaked its ascent and then sharply dove, low hanging clouds making her clothes damp as they plummeted as one being towards earth, her stomach rising into her throat.  She never felt so alive as when she was on the back of a dragon, and with the frequency that they sought her out, Te’llana thought they knew it too.

The winter settlement spread out below them like a children’s toy, and a little away from it was the clearing where Te’llana lived with her husband, the other Dragon Speaker.  The ruddy brown dragon Te’llana had taken to calling Toph rumbled deep in his throat and circled above the clearing.

::It’s okay, you can set me down.:: Te’llana’s voice sounded cheerful in the dragon’s mind; while most dragons were not talkative, they were social and liked company.  They were also sensitive about relationships, be them dragon, or earth or human.  It hurt that even the dragons knew Te’llana was not happy; it was probably why they came so frequently to her and not her husband.

Toph snorted, hot air rushing back and over Te’llana and then the dragon began a slow, spiraling descent.

Te’llana bounded off of the dragon, sliding down its scaley hide until she landed on the ground with a grunt.  Toph’s horned head swung around and nudged her.  Te’llana always loved the cooing, purring noises the dragons made in their throats, it reminded her of babies, which only made the dragons snort and look at her with their heads cocked to the side when she tried to explain.  In the language of dragons, she understood this to be a reprimand.

She peeled off her riding leathers and rubbed Toph’s face with loose sand.  The way he flopped over and presented his belly made him seem like a large dog the Animal Talkers were fond of.

“Te’llana,” a harsh voice called from the safety of the trees.

Te’llana’s heart fell.  She’d hoped for one more night alone; the moments of freedom she was allotted were too few.  “Yes Husband’s Mother?”  She didn’t leave off scrubbing the dragon’s belly; she could not be faulted for doing her duty.  There were too few Dragon Speakers and too many dragons.

“Come with me, now.”

She started at the direct command.  It was within her right to refuse; she was doing her duty, but her husband would hear about it and then he would be angry at her.  Sighing, Te’llana dusted off Toph and slid off of his belly.  ::Go now.  Come again when you like.::

Toph rolled his eyes and snorted, burrowing into the sands and making no move to leave.

::Fine.  I’ll be back later.  They cannot keep me all day and night.::

She followed Husband’s Mother in silence, as the woman preferred Te’llana to be at all times, and went back to the village.  Te’llana was not a native of the tribe and kept to herself mostly, happy to remain aloof in her home with only her dragons to talk to and her husband to care for.  Even after four years, the women did not accept her and the men looked at her with jealousy; their wives were not slim, with hair the color of the sun and eyes like the sky.

They went to the hut that served as the village meeting grounds; Te’llana was wary of this place.  Since the village had never accepted her she rarely joined in anything, preferring her lonely dragon hut instead.  All of the village adults were there, which only made Te’llana nervous.  Being summoned did not bode well.  What had she done?  Her husband had complained about leaving the laundry out too long but that did not warrant a rebuke from the entire village.  Panic created a tight knot in her throat.  For a moment she thought about bolting, but that would only make her husband angry.

Te’llana took her place in the line of her Husband’s Family as least important, next to her Husband’s Brother.  The village chief stood in the center next to a low fire, a roll of papyrus in his hands.  He looked at her with those same unfeeling eyes he’d turned on her when she’d begged him to not marry her; she’d never forgiven the man for making her marry her Teacher.

“We have a message from the Seshaw Tribe.”

Confusion was on everyone’s faces.  Te’llana didn’t know why this involved her.  Husband had gone with some other men to help the Seshaw raise new huts because his own Father could not go.

“The tribe was raising huts and were attacked.  Os’acca was killed, the others are injured.”

Te’llana’s flesh went cold; she should be crying and sad.  That’s what a good wife would do.  That’s what she should be doing, but instead she was so happy!  No more nights spent fearing what else he would want her to do, what else he might do to her.  No more days spent in drudgery, flinching at shadows and mistakes.  Her husband was dead.  Around her others wailed loudly for her loss and there was talk of a war party, but Te’llana heard none of it.  She was a widower; at eighteen summers she was finally free.  Eventually she mustered tears, ducking her head from the disapproving looks; she probably wasn’t crying enough and her wails were not loud.  But her tears were tears of joy.  She could go home, to her own people and see her mother again.  There were so many possibilities now, her heart swelled with joy!

“Te’llana.”

Flinching, she turned to face Husband’s Mother.  Os’anna.  She was Os’anna, not Husband’s Mother.  “Yes, Os’anna?”

The woman scowled at her and gestured to the family hut.  “Come and eat with us.”  It was a command and not a request.

Biting her lip, Te’llana followed the woman into her domain where already people were leaving offerings for the dead.  She tried to make herself small and out of the way but there were so many people pressing into the hut and smearing their tears on her face and patting her cheeks.  Several women commented about her lack of a child, there was no one left to take on Os’acca’s name.

Os’anna sniffed loudly and waved one woman away.  “It’s okay, Te’llanna will marry my youngest son, Os’ubba, and their firstborn will be named Os’acca in his honor.

Te’llanna went cold and then hot.  Her large eyes were stung by the smoke from the incense.  She felt eyes on her.  Turning she saw Os’ubba standing near the entrance to the hut, looking at her.  She had always been wary of her husband, but she was afraid of Os’ubba.  He got loud and violent, and several times Os’acca had been called into the village to handle his little brother.  Te’llanna felt like the hare caught in a trap.  She had to get out of here.  She had to leave.

It was the dead of night; she’d been forced to sit up for a long time with Os’anna and then she lay awake listening to the three bodies breathing heavily until she was sure they were asleep.  She had to go now.  Os’anna would not let her go.  As much as the woman didn’t like her, having her in their family made others jealous.  Te’llanna would never understand the woman.  She ran up the path to her hut, hoping and praying Toph was still there.  The meadow with it’s sandy shallow was empty.  Te’llanna wanted to cry, but she knew it was worthless; dragons didn’t often just wait around.

She forced herself to take several deep breaths and climb into the hut.  She would have to go on foot until a dragon came looking for her, so she would need to carry her saddle and riding leathers.  That meant she couldn’t carry much else.  She made a bundle of two spare sets of clothes, a water bottle and what dried foods there were.  Os’anna would be upset if she took anything else, and to be honest, Te’llanna didn’t want to keep any reminders of these four years.

Looping the straps around the saddle she made a pack out of it, and carried the rest in her arms.  Home was back towards the village, but she wanted as much distance between her and it before the villiage woke.  The forest was quiet; it welcomed her like a friend, folding over her, covering her.  These parts she knew so well.  The hollow where roots grew, the dark places where mushrooms sprouted, and the clear pool that rose up from the ground.  These were what she would miss, and these she could not take with her.

A dark shape blotted out the moon and then another and another.  Te’llanna froze and looked up, but they were gone.  She changed direction and ran for the meadow.  Three dragons crowded each other, their heads swinging around.  She whistled and loped towards them, the saddle banging awkwardly on her back.  She greeted each of the dragons quickly and imparted her need to them.  The way the three dragons trilled and looked at each other, Te’llanna had the suspicion they were not telling her something.  Had they known?  Were they here to protect her?

She lost no time in saddling the golden female, Jasmine, and pulled on her riding leathers.  Crawling up into the saddle she held on, feeling a thrill of new beginning, of chance, of hope.

She was going home.

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May 12, 2010

The material of nightmares.

Title: The material of nightmares

Genre: Fiction

Rating: PG

Thoughts: I have really vivid dreams.  This is the product of one that woke me up at 1am and kept me up for hours.  The dream featured people I knew, all of them, and in a place I know. I changed characters, setting and the voice, but the general idea is there.

——-

You know how you sometimes have nightmares about someone trying to kill you?  It’s a pretty good indication you’re watching too many crime tv shows.  But what about when it really happens?  What do you tell people afterwards?  It’s not like there’s a support group for people like me; most of them are dead because their serial killer did their job.

I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of a class reunion.  In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that I never left town then I probably wouldn’t have gone.  Instead, not only was I going, I had to help plan it too.  Why I was putting together a social mixer for people I never talked to in high school just to get together and not talk to again was beyond me.  But there I was, taking off work early to get the latest plans to Kelly, who had left long enough to go to school and now taught science.

Why I took the swing by the history hall even though the new coach was clearly not at school, I’m not sure.  Wistful thinking perhaps.  Muscular and good looking, he wasn’t the kind of guy I dated.  Those kind were a little overweight, quiet, and ‘safe’.  I was daydreaming, sad as it maybe while walking towards Kelly’s classroom.  That’s probably why I didn’t hear it.  I simply wasn’t listening.  I had to pass the history hall; it’s just sad to me that we still have halls for each subject.

It was late enough most of the lights were off except for a few evenly spaced down each hallway.  It looked like a few of the teachers were still there, Mr. Amis who had been teaching so long he’d taught my younger brother and me, and a second year teacher that creeped me out.  The guy was nice and all, but he gave me the heebie-jeebies.  A person just can’t be that nice.  Every time he saw someone he might know he said hello in a falsetto voice.  He always smiled.  He only ever said nice things.  There’s only so much niceness you can take before you get a cavity or something, so I avoided the history hall.

Kelly’s light was on, but she wasn’t in the classroom.  Annoyed, I told myself she was probably getting something to eat or going to the bathroom.  Of course she could also be off gossiping with the Spanish teacher and leave me sitting for hours.  I pulled out my phone, just in case an imaginary friend decided to text me, but mostly because it gave me something to do with my hands.  Kelly’s classroom is actually two in one; the first one was set up with desks, the second was the lab room and they connected through a wide door.

I heard something in the lab room.  It would be like Kelly to be in there and me in here, both of us waiting on each other.  The door was ajar so I just slid between it, relishing one of the moments I could remind myself of all the weight I’d been losing in preparation for the reunion.  I stopped in the doorway.  One of those 24-hour lights, the only one in the lab that would never turn off, illuminated Kelly.  It looked like a scene out of Dexter or CSI.  One leg was out straight and the other bent unnaturally under her, the plum colored pencil skirt hiked up to her thighs.  Her jacket was tossed on one of the tables and she just wore a silk tanktop.  It had little patterns of pink, purple and white interlocking rectangles; why I picked up that detail I will never know, but I’ll never forget that shirt.

It was stained in the abdomen, and a redline across her throat.  It looked almost fake, except who would shoot a tv show here?  That’s why I knew the pool of blood around her was real.

Watching all those crime shows I thought seeing a dead body wouldn’t be a big deal.  I mean, it’s just like they’re sleeping, right?  What’s so bad about that?  Well it’s different.  I’m not sure how to describe it.  Maybe like you saw that container of yogurt in the fridge and you’re all ready to dip apple slices in it, you aren’t even going to bother with a bowl.  Open it up, and the fragrance of rancid dairy and curdled yogurt slams you in the face.  A dead body is worse than that.

I froze in the door.  The sickly sweet history teacher stood with his back to me and a knife in his hand like the ones hunters use in movies like The Hunted and Rambo.  He was covered with blood.  He ran his free hand through his hair and got all fidgety.  You know how people talk about fear clenching their hearts?  That’s not even near the truth.  It was like fear was a bodybag come to take me home.  I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t even edge out of the door; I was stuck with my ball and chain holding me in place.  I could see me dying, joining Kelly on the floor.  Then the reunion plans would really be screwed.

I wondered if they would do a benefit for us at the reunion.  Maybe they’d even cancel school tomorrow.  Heck, they might do an episode of CSI based on us!  That wasn’t exactly comforting, but it took my thoughts off of my impending death.

But death had not come for me.  Death came for Kelly and promptly left.

After a few moments, like a cat who can’t keep away I edged into the room.  That’s when it hit me, that vacant look on her face, the way her throat sort of poked out around the gash that pushed it home.  Kelly was dead.  Panic took over then and my cell phone which before had been superfluous was now actually useful.  I retreated to a corner and covered my mouth – and got the police station’s answering machine.

I would be the one person in the world that would get an answering machine on a 911 call.  The second attempt went better.

“Hello 911. What’s your emergency?”

“I want to report a murder. I’m at the Marcus High School on Cherry Street.  The science teacher, Kelly, oh god – “ this would of course be when I start crying, verbalizing something gives it some strange, otherworldly power and sends you into an uncontrollable mess.  It’s a universal law.  “The new history teacher killed her.  I saw him standing over her holding a Rambo knife!  Oh my god.”

“Calm down ma’am.  Is he still there?”

“I don’t know.”  Why this told me to cross to the door and stick my head out into the hallway, practically announcing – hey, I’ve seen the dead body! – I don’t know.  “I don’t see anyone,” I mutter on the phone – as I hear a door swing open.  Wheeling around, coming out of the boys bathroom, is the history teacher, Mr. Potas.  I’m pretty sure I squeaked, or yelled because he jumped and looked at me like I was going to attack him.

And then I did what any sane woman would do.  I turned around and ran.  I might have yelled.  And I probably screamed.  I ran back to my car and got in – without being followed.  Panting in my car I cried and talked to the 911 operator until the police arrived.  And of course it was a day when I wasn’t even dressed nice; I was wearing an old sweater with coffee stains and black slacks.  Whenever someone has to call the cops in the movies they’re always hot.

The cops asked me questions and had me sitting around for a long time.  One of them ate onion rings while he talked to me; onion rings!  The whole time I just wanted to gag and tell him to finish eating and then talk to me, but I didn’t want to be left alone.  Eventually they told me to go home and lock my door and don’t think about it.  I’ve never heard such crap advice in my life.

I spent the whole night on my parents couch, eating ice cream.  The next day was a repeat, and the next night I moved onto fried chicken.  Why?  Because Mr. Potas – Raul I think his name is – disappeared.  The cops couldn’t find him.  No one has seen him.  The address on file for his house is a PO box – and no one knows where he lives.  It’s not like there are that many options in a small town; most people have lived in their homes since their grandpappy built it during the great depression.  You either live in the new rented houses, the ghetto apartments, or in the country.  With the first two ruled out, there are now hundreds of thousands of acres of country property to go over.

After five days living on my parents couch, I smell and they’re annoyed and I go home.  At first I have all the lights on and I double check both of the doors.  Heck, I even make sure the windows are locked.  I go over everything twice.  I haven’t mentioned the nightmares because they’re terrible and talking about them makes them worse.

My mom gave me sleeping pills, the kind that knock out an elephant, but I can’t take them.  I have this nightmare that Raul would come after me when I’m asleep.  Then I wouldn’t even get the dignity of a sprawling floor pose, I’d be flopped in bed, no struggle.

Day three in my apartment and I’m popping the pills.  I haven’t been to work in a week and I haven’t slept in four days.  I’m delirious and talking to my picture frames.  They don’t talk back, which is a good sign I think.  If they did – then I’d have something else to think about.

On the brink of actual sleep, where you’re sort of awake and sort of dreaming, I’m laying on my back and staring up at the patterns of light that the nightlight casts on the ceiling.  Its calming for some drugged up reason.  I trace them with my eyes and think about rainbows and kittens.  But the shadow on the ceiling doesn’t look like a rainbow or a kitten.  Blinking, I glance towards the door; the light from the hall is blotted out by the shape of a person.  A very large person.

I’ve been practicing my screaming in my mind.  Even drugged into repose I manage an impressive near-death scream that shatters the night.  I don’t know if I’ve screamed, like really screamed in years; the sound tears at my throat, it hurts!

Raul stumbles backwards.  He’s blocking the only way out in the bedroom and all I can think about it putting something between us.  Snatching the cell phone, in the moment of confusion created by my screaming, I jump into the closet.  It doesn’t lock from the inside, but it’s something solid between me and something sharp, pointy and potentially dangerous that’s in his hand.

911 is on speed dial.  I’m screaming into the phone before I realize it.

Someone on the other side snatches at the door and I drop the phone to keep hold of the door.  It’s Raul.  In the dim light I can see his face twisted into a grotesque mask.   He’s pulling it open a few inches and then losing his grip.  The face I glimpse on the other side isn’t saying hello.  He’s not the person I remember chatting with in the grocery store.  I don’t think I even recognize that face.

Somehow it was over with in an instant.

There was yelling and he wasn’t pulling on the door anymore.  There was a crash and something hit the door, but I wasn’t about to open it.  The yelling got louder and then stopped as people started talking.  Straining to hear what was going on, when someone knocked on the door it made me jump, and let go of the doorknob.  The door disappeared and a police officer shone a light in my face.

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May 8, 2010

Jumping Ship

Title: Jumping Ship

Genre: Chick-Lit

Rating: PG

Thoughts: This came about pondering the situation Christie finds herself in.  I’m not really loving the way this wound up because I think I wrote everything I had yesterday.  I might revisit this, but I’m not sure how much it interests me.

——-

“I haven’t heard from her in weeks!”  Natalie snatched her keys and purse from a table by the door.

“I know!  I got a call from her parents,” Sarah still hadn’t moved from the couch and looked from Natalie to Amy who stood in the middle of the ring of furniture.

Amy was texting with her right hand and thumbing the sparkling wedding set on her left.

“Amy.”  Natalie jingled her keys.

“Right, right.”

“You know,” Sarah rubbed her chin thoughtfully and looked at Amy, “the last time I saw her, was at your wedding.”

Amy sighed and flipped her hair over her shoulder.  “Everything’s been such a blur since the wedding.”

Natalie and Sarah both rolled their eyes and gave each other a long suffering look.

“You know,” Amy brightened and looked at the other two, “I should be getting the pictures back soon!  Christie will want to see those, right?”

“Amy,” Sarah fixed her eyes on the woman who had been the focus and pain of all their lives for the last year.  “Did you ever stop to think that Christie, who struggled to fit into the dress you picked out for her, who agonized over being too tall and not perfect enough, was pushed over the edge by your wedding production?”

Amy clenched her fists, getting defensive.  “The wedding was beautiful!  Everyone had a great time.”

Sarah shook her head.  “Christie cried in the bathroom because Charlie, the groomsman you put her with, said she was fat.”

Natalie stood by the door, her eyes wide.

“Charlie was an ass.”  Amy flipped her hair and clenched her phone in her fist.  “Christie can do better.”

“Amy, in case you haven’t noticed, Christie doesn’t think so.”  Sarah put her purse in her lap and leveled with their blissful friend.  “If it’s taken you this long to see that Christie has always been shy and self-conscious, you’ve had your head farther up your ass than I thought.  The only reason she’s ever even had a boyfriend was because we set her up with people.  This thing with your wedding, she was overwhelmed.  We all were. Five hundred people!  Amy – do you even know that many people?”

“Family and friends!  And then some co-workers.”

Amy and Sarah stared at each other for a moment.  Sarah was blunt and honest, but the kind of friend who never let go.  Amy had lovingly dubbed her “The Pit-bull” in college.  Amy, for all that the wedding sent every other thought and consideration out of her head was the life of their group.

“Hey guys, um, so her flight is coming in soon.”  Natalie thumbed at the door.  “So are we going to go?”

Christie twisted the seashell necklace around her finger and buckled her seatbelt for the descent.  Her extended weekend getaway to distress had turned into a week, and then three weeks.  She was fairly certain she was getting fired, but she didn’t care.  It wasn’t like her data entry job was going anywhere.  Her supervisor didn’t promote girls that didn’t screw him or get him jelly donuts, and Christie’s diet strictly outlawed donuts, and her supervisor was a disgusting piece of work.

Three glorious weeks spent in Florida.  She’d gone to escape the depressingly perfect wedding and her own glorious inadequacies.  She hadn’t expected to find the solution to all her problems.

The minutes spent before the plane landed stretched on for eternity.  As soon as the wheels touched down, Christie and every other technology crazed person on the plane powered on their phones, filling the cabin with dings and chimes.  For the last week and a half her phone had experienced a serious backlog of calls, messages and text messages.  She’d dutifully ignored them all, except for one.

Christie giggled; twenty-seven and giggling, this was a new stage indeed.  She opened the message.

From: JD

Let me know when you land. Miss you already.

She hugged the phone to her chest and looked up at the buckle-up light, a broad grin on her face.  Biting her lip she sent a text back and scrolled through the rest.

After Amy’s wedding she’d gone off her own deep end.  She couldn’t booze it up, too many carbs and would completely cancel out the starvation diet she worked so hard to maintain.  Ice cream and sappy movies would only make her feel more hopeless.  Instead, she did something she didn’t even expect; she took a vacation.  The first day and a half was miserable; she wasn’t ready for a bathing suit, she was alone, and everyone else was having a wonderful time on the sands at South Beach.

But all that changed because she decided to take the bus.

Choosing to cover all her bases, Christie penned a quick message.

To: Mom, Amy, Natalie, Sarah

Hey! Just landed. Call later!

She got a reply almost immediately.

From: Sarah

Here to pick you up!

That wasn’t what Christie had planned on.  She chewed her lip and texted JD again.  He was at work so he couldn’t reply immediately but he said he liked looking at his phone and having multiple text messages from a girl.  She thumbed through the ones from him and wiggled her newly painted toes.

It was agonizing how long it took to unload the plane and she could only drag her feet so much before turning up at the baggage claim.  Natalie, Sarah and Amy were waiting in a cluster.  She saw them before they saw her; of course they didn’t recognize her.  They were looking for a girl probably in sweatpants and flip-flops, her hair up in a ponytail and white as a ghost, her weight hidden by a bulky sweatshirt.  That was what they expected from her.

Christie checked her reflection in the tinted windows.  She’d splurged on highlights so her hair looked almost caramel, with bits of blonde.  Three weeks spent working on her tan and her skin had a sun kissed look she’d never thought was possible on her.  She still wore flip-flops but she’d exchanged sweatpants and a sweatshirt for a sundress and oversized sunglasses.

“Here goes,” Christie muttered and hoisted the imitation designer purse on her shoulder and put on a nervous smile.

“Oh my gosh,” Natalie saw her first.  “Christie?”  She shrieked and dive-hugged her.

Christie grinned and hugged her back.  Amy and Sarah closed in on either side, creating a massive group hug.  There were immediate demands for where she had been, what she had been doing, why she hadn’t told anyone anything – and Christie didn’t say a word.  She was a deer caught in the headlights; too many questions and none of it she’d even once considered how to answer.

“Are you even listening to us?”  Amy tossed her hands up in the air, laughing though it was obvious she was frustrated with Christie’s silence.

“Yes,” she said at last, sheepishly.  “I just – it’s a little overwhelming right now.”

“Of course it is! We’re all yelling at you and none of us has even mentioned how amazing you look.”  Sarah took a step back and eyed Christie’s transformation.  She was still heavier than the other three, but there was something different about how she carried herself.

“Thanks.”  Christie blushed.

“Okay, so let’s get your bags and we can grab some food and then you, young lady, are going to tell us everything.”  Leave it to Sarah to take charge.

Half an hour later, seated around a table at Joes Crab Shack where Christie’s tropical dress fit in perfectly.  They all sipped appropriate looking fruity beverages, making small talk.

“So, seriously cupcake,” Sarah put her drink down with a heavy clink, “what’s the deal?  Where have you been?”

Christie’s phone lit up, her hand diving for it.  For a moment she shut out whatever the other three were saying and focused on the text.

From: JD

Glad u made it home ok. Friends already nabbed u? Everything ok?

To: JD

Yeah.  We’re at Joe’s now.  It’s just weird. I didn’t really think about having to tell every1. Things u don’t think about in the act. ;)

She looked up at three anxious faces.  “Okay, so I decided to go to Florida for an extended weekend and it turned into three weeks.”  Christie shrugged and clamped her straw between her lips.

“And what?”  Amy leaned forward; she smelled a rat and Christie was a terrible liar.

Fidgeting with whatever was nearest her fingers, Christie looked guilty.

“You go away for a three day weekend and stay three weeks?”  Sarah rolled her eyes.  “Doing what?”

Amy winked, “Or who?”

Christie went three shades of red and looked down at her hands.

Three very wide sets of eyes and three very shocked faces sat in stunned silence.

“Christie,” Natalie hissed, “what happened?”

“You’d better start talking before we fill in the blanks for you,” Amy advised.

“Well…”

She’d been sitting on the bench, waiting for the bus.  She was just going to go back to her hotel and get some ice cream at a gas station and hole up until it was time to leave.  Someone sat down at the end of the bench.  Unlike everyone else, he wore cargo pants and a tshirt, listening to an iPod, and wore rather drab colors.  She didn’t even remember what she’d said; something snarky about two people who walked by.  He’d looked at her with vacant, lost eyes that wondered more why she was talking to him than what she’d said.

“Sorry,” she’d mumbled, and went back to fiddling with her bag.

“Yeah, tourists this time of year.”  He shrugged and smiled at her, sort of shy.

“Gee thanks.  Should I pack up my bags and go home?”  Under normal circumstances Christie wouldn’t have said anything to him, but she was in Florida for the direct reason of doing something abnormal, except she had failed.

“Sorry, you don’t really look like a tourist.”

“Is that a good thing?”  She squinted into the near setting sun.

He shrugged and fiddled with his iPod.

“This is going to sound weird,” Christie blurted out, “but do you want to get some food?  I’m down here by myself and eating alone sort of sucks.”

He looked at her like she was from Venus and had antennae coming out of her head.

“It’s stupid. Ignore me.”

“No, that sounds good.  Just not every day you sit down for the bus and someone asks you out to dinner.”

“So to recap,” Natalie said, “his name’s JD.  He works IT in Miami and owns a condo.”

Christie was picking her napkin into little tiny bits.

“And you spent three weeks in his condo?”  Sara was halfway through her food, which was better than everyone else.  They’d spent most of the meal with jaws dropped.

“It wasn’t three weeks.”  She looked like she was sunburnt, all the giddiness from earlier sucked completely dry.  Retelling the last three weeks made it all seem crazy.

“Wow, Christie, you’re the last person I thought who would jump off the deep end like this.”  Amy picked at her food and fiddled with her phone.

“So how’d it all end?”  Natalie bit a fry in half.  “I mean, what do you say to a guy you spent three weeks with and then just up and leave?”

“Um.”  Christie looked at the blinking face of her own phone.  Another message from JD.  “He’s sort of coming up here next weekend.”

Three shocked faces gaped back at her.

“What?”  Amy set her phone down hard.

“He’s coming here?”  Natalie repeated the words like she was just learning English.

Sarah pursed her lips and swirled her drink.  “What’s your mom going to say?”

“He’s coming.”  Christie shrugged her shoulders and sat back in her chair.

“Wait.  Let’s go over this,” Amy leaned forward, “You meet some strange geeky computer guy in Florida, shack up with him for three weeks, everyone you know is shut out, and then make a big decision like bringing the stranger up to meet everyone else?”

Christie’s eyes flashed and she glared at Amy.  “You know, if he was one of the ass holes you set me up with, you’d be buying me lingerie if he lasted three weeks.  You’re just upset because I found a guy, on my own.”

Natalie looked shocked and reached out to put a hand on her friend’s shoulder.  “Christie, that’s not true.”

“We’re just worried about you.  What if he’s some skeezy.  We’re just looking out for you.”  Sarah shook out her hair and looked matter of factly at Christie.

“You’re just mad because I did something for myself, without asking you.”  Christie dug in her purse and slapped down money.  “Is it too much to ask to just be happy for me?”  Standing up, Christie walked out of the restaurant and jumped in the next cab, abandoning friends and her things at Joes Crab Shack and called the one person who might not understand her, but at least supported her being happy.

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