Blood Money

Previous Flash Fiction

On the third day of the sixth month of his fifty-seventh year, Randall Bass woke up knowing exactly what to do.

For most of his previous thirty-five years, three months, and four days, life had been much the same, punctuated by occasional major events: job in his twenty-second year, marriage in the twenty-fifth, children in the twenty-eight and thirty-first.

Every morning, he had dressed in a blue or gray or brown suit, with a white shirt and a tie striped in shades of brown or blue or gray. Coffee and two slices of white toast, morning bus at seven fifty-three, evening bus at five-fifteen. Home by six, and dinner with the family. At some point, it became dinner with only Gladys. And then dinner alone.

In his fifty-fifth year, Gladys had been diagnosed with cancer.

He’d spent months arguing and pleading and threatening the insurance company as all the claims were denied, excluded from coverage, or considered experimental treatment.
For five months, he’d watched her suffer and die as debt depleted their modest savings and retirement, leaving sixty-six thousand, three hundred twenty nine dollars and fifteen cents in medical bills not paid by insurance.

A month ago, on the four-hundredth day following the funeral, his boss had called him in and explained the corporation had outsourced accounting to the Philippines, then handed him his walking papers. No severance, no benefits, no gold watch. Thirty-five years with the same corporation and nothing to show for it.

Following his termination, he’d endured a month of coffee and toast and dressing in khakis and T-shirts, of sitting in front of the TV, of uncertainty.

A month of foreclosure, repossession, and shame, courtesy of the greedy insurance company and their lack of coverage.

But this morning Randall awoke knowing exactly what to do.

At seven fifty-three, he caught the bus, and transferred downtown. He walked into the bank at nine twenty-six. At nine-thirty, he greeted the teller and made his request, knowing she would have to act.

He had the patrons, the tellers, and the guard on the floor by nine thirty-two, a result of producing his Beretta.

Sirens cut the air ten minutes later, but Randall was long gone.

For twenty days, he thrilled to his new career. Four banks, sixty-six thousand, three hundred twenty nine dollars. He kicked in the fifteen cents himself, from the tray on his dresser.

On the twenty-third day of the sixth month of his fifty-seventh year, Randall dressed in a blue suit with a gray tie, grabbed the duffel, and caught the seven fifty-three bus. He transferred uptown and carried his bundle into the lobby of Advent Insurance. At eight-forty Randall greeted the receptionist and asked for the claims examiner, knowing she would have to act, and she acceded to his request.

Mr. Wilson strode into the lobby at eight forty-three, dressed in a black suit, hands on hips, brows drawn down into a sharp vee and ready to argue, a payment pugilist.
Randall pulled out the Beretta and urged the patrons and the guard onto the floor, and Mr. Wilson front and center.

Randall smiled as he emptied the cash on the floor and stepped into the heap, topping it with two nickels and five pennies and inviting Mr. Wilson to join him.

“My wife is dead. I’m bankrupt. Here's the funds to pay the claims. Now you have your blood money,” Randall announced to the patrons and the claims examiner. He dropped the gun onto the cash.

On the granite floor, the patrons looked at each other but didn’t move. The receptionist peeked around the side of her desk.

At eight forty-five, sirens screeched and red and blue lights flashed in the street outside. Seven cops stormed the lobby, guns drawn. They approached the two men standing in the pile of money.

“Which one’s the thief?” said the lead cop.

“The one in the black suit,” said the receptionist.

Kelly Whitley
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Look for more flash fiction in the October edition

Previous Post: Junk Food

Copyright © 2011 Kelly Whitley
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Power Play: Chapter Six

Cassie’s not having a good week. She’s tired of dealing with the mixed signals from her boyfriend and she’s attacked by a large dog. Then it gets worse. Said boyfriend is keeping secrets and possibly using her for his own ends and the dog that attacked her? Yeah, that was a werewolf and now she’s going to be howling at the next full moon.


Not only does she have to deal with a deranged werewolf, intent on killing her but she’s got her boyfriend’s father pushing them to mate. Did she mention her boyfriend was a werewolf too? It’s going to take all she’s got to handle these alpha men and get what she wants too. Things can only get better. Right?


If you missed Chapter Five, you can find it here.


Alex’s obvious acceptance to not press his case allowed her to breathe easier and the stranglehold on her defenses eased a fraction. She could do this.


“Beyond the obvious difference, being a werewolf isn’t much different than being human.” Alex gathered the dishes and carried them over to the sink.


“I’m assuming you’re referring to the ability to shift when you talk about ‘obvious’, but what about my senses and healing?” She stacked the rest of the dishes and joined him at the sink. Keeping her hands busy would stop her from jumping him.


How perverse was she that she wanted him more now that he’d agreed to abide by her rules? His turnaround only enforced the idea that he didn’t care. She was a means to an end. That thought was enough to push any amorous feelings out of her head. He’d already switched to lecture mode while she argued with her libido.


“Your amplified senses are a gift of the wolf. Just like natural wolves in the wild, your hearing, sense of smell and to some extent, your taste buds will be more developed, more sensitive. The healing is due to the increased metabolism.” He filled the sink with hot, soapy water and submerged the dirty dishes.


“Increased metabolism?” She nudged him aside and started washing dishes while he rinsed and dried them.


“I don’t know exactly how it works, but basically, your cells regenerate faster, healing your body faster than a human. It also causes you to age more slowly.”


“Wow, better than Oil of Olay.” Cassie grinned, relieved when she found an answering smile. Despite everything she’d learned, she hated the tension that lay like a thick cloud in the room between them. “So what else?”


“Let’s see…you’ll be stronger. Oh, and you can’t get sick now.” He put the clean dishes away and began to wipe the counters down.


She gave the sink a final swipe and turned to face him. “At all?”


“Nope. The virus or whatever doesn’t allow other viruses to take hold. It destroys them.”


She stared out the window for a few moments and let the silence fill the space between them. Could she ask him the question burning in her mind or should she find someone else? How would he take it? As an invitation? No, he knew how she felt. He would just think her curious about all the changes that had gone on in her body lately. It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Okay, here goes.


“Can I still have babies?” She heard Alex’s gasp and took a quick glimpse. He’d closed his eyes, pain creasing his brow. Probably should have waited to ask someone else. The fear that her dream of a family would be lost forever prompted the question, but now wasn’t the time. “Uh, never mind. I think I’m going to go lie down for a while.”


She hurried from the kitchen and up to her room, locking the door before lying on the bed. She wasn’t sure what Alex’s reaction to her last question meant, but it couldn’t be good. He looked as if he were in pain before she took off. She could only assume she couldn’t have children and that thought weighed on her heart, bringing more tears. She’d always wanted lots of kids, probably a by-product of growing up in the foster care system. For someone who never cried, she sure was making up for lost time.


Cassie decided to stop feeling sorry for herself. From this moment on, no more tears. So Alex didn’t love her. She’d already made plans to deal with that. She couldn’t have kids, but nothing was stopping her from adopting. She remembered what it felt like to be alone in the world – with no one wanting you. Being a werewolf didn’t seem like such a bad gig. She had better senses and was stronger now. She would learn to use that to her advantage and ensure she was never a victim again. Staying younger looking was a big bonus as was the healing. This could be a positive experience if she let it.


She thought about Alex’s behavior this morning. He acted as if she hadn’t overheard his plans to use her and wanted nothing to do with him. Her lids grew heavy and not even the swirling thoughts in her head could keep them open.

****

Cassie made her way downstairs again, too restless to stay put. Since it was near dinner time, she’d make herself useful and help with dinner.


At the foot of the stairs, she saw Alex and another man leave the study. His resemblance to Alex, as well as his voice, told her this was his father. They stopped when they saw her and Alex’s eyes lit up. His father’s gaze drilled into her. Her determination not to show weakness to this man was the only thing that allowed her to maintain eye contact with him. He was intimidating. All at once, his face lightened and he smiled, moving to stand in front of her.


“Cass, this is my father, Jackson Waters. Dad, this is Cassidy March.” Alex introduced them and stepped back.


Cassie held her breath for a moment, unsure of what would happen next.


Jackson Waters pulled her into a hug and kissed her on the cheek.


“You’re even lovelier than Alex described. Welcome to the Hill Clan and the Waters family, my dear. My Nila can’t wait to meet you.”


She jerked back from his embrace, unsure of how to react. Did he think she and Alex were still together, that they were getting married? A pang of unfulfilled dreams raced through her. “Uh, thank you.”


Alex clapped his father on the shoulder and winked at her. “Come on, Dad. You know Mom will be upset if you’re late to dinner.”


Jackson gave a rueful laugh. “Your mother certainly keeps me in line.” He tipped his head at Cassie. “Miss March, a pleasure.”


Alex herded his father out the front door, and Cassie made a break for the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and the air cooled the telltale heat of her blush. Why did she let him get to her? Pull yourself together, Cass.


Alex walked into the kitchen, and she whirled on him. “What was that all about, Alex?”
His eyes widened and his left eyebrow rose. “What was what?”


She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “That whole welcome to the family and the clan crap. What did you tell him?”


Hurt flashed in his dark chocolate gaze, but his expression closed almost immediately. She must have imagined it. After all, he’d have to actually care about her to be affected by anything she said to him.


Alex sighed. “I didn’t tell him anything, Cass. He knows you’re my mate and he assumed you had agreed to the claiming. As for the clan, every wolf in this area of Texas falls under my father’s rule unless they petition for lone wolf status.”


Cassie’s pounding heart slowed and the weight on her chest lifted. “Oh.” Could the floor open and swallow her whole?


Alex shook his head and turned to leave.


“I, uh, thought I’d make some dinner. Is that okay?” She chewed her bottom lip and glanced up at him through her lashes.


“Help yourself to whatever you want, Cass.” He walked out without another word.

****

The tension between them dissipated over dinner. They chatted lightly, laughed and joked. She sighed. It was almost like their dates, except now she knew his ulterior motives. Or did she? What was so important about her? Why didn’t he just find someone else now that she knew the truth? Better yet, why didn’t he choose a female werewolf at the start?


As dinner drew to a close, Alex sprung an unwelcome surprise. He explained the inner circle and told her about the meeting with them. His father’s advisors had decided to send out a hunting party to find the rogue.


“We’ll be leaving in the morning so I won’t be here when you get up.”


They were back at the sink, her washing and him drying. She stopped and stared at him until he glanced up.


“What?” He looked perplexed, and she clutched the counter.


“I’m going to be here alone? What if the guy shows up here?” She loosened her grip and scrubbed the pot, trying to keep her hands busy so he couldn’t see them shake. Her heart pounded in her chest.


“Don’t worry, Cass. There will be a couple of guards outside the whole time I’m gone. If he’s dumb enough to show up here, we’ll get him.” He must have noticed her shivering because he pulled her into his arms.


“I promise he won’t get near you. I don’t take chances when it comes to your safety.” He tilted her chin up, staring into her eyes. “Okay?”


Cassie nodded slightly, unable to look away. Her throat closed around a lump as Alex lowered his mouth to hers. His lips whispered against hers like butterfly wings. When she didn’t pull away, he ran his tongue across her bottom lip. Her heart stuttered at the sweetness of the kiss. She knew this wasn’t smart, but the little shocks exploding from his touch ricocheted through her, scrambling her brains and any good sense she might have once had.


He nipped and nibbled until she gasped. He slid inside, tasting all of her. She slipped her hands around his neck with a moan. His hands skimmed down to her buttocks and he pulled her up against him. The evidence of his arousal pressing into her belly broke through the sensual fog enveloping her and she pulled back. She couldn’t do this. Not like this.


“Cass…” Alex reached for her.


She spun around and ran for the safety of her room. Long after returning to her room, Cassie lay awake. She put her fingers against her lips and replayed that kiss. Her emotions zinged from one extreme to the other. All the time she and Alex were dating, he’d never kissed her like that. True, he’d said he wanted to tell her about himself first, but could she trust that?


Then there were the conditions of her remaining here. She was only staying until they caught this rogue. If she gave up any more of her heart, she’d never be able to put it back together when this was over. But was it already too late?

****

Please return on October 5th for Chapter 7 of Power Play.

~~Riley Quinn~~

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If you missed any of our previous posts and would like to catch up, you can purchase the Digital Digest Volume I and Digital Digest Volume II anthologies as ebooks for only $.99!


Copyright © 2011 Riley Quinn


All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Finders Keepers: Tempted - Chapter Six

Recap: In Chapter Five, Adam’s mission goes from bad to worse. Demonica received his gift from the Congo.

He’d spent three weeks schlepping his ass through all manner of muck and mud. His attitude bordered on extremely pissed off thanks to the demon covering his tracks and taking off at the first sign of danger. Adam was better. He learned to hide the signs the demon looked for.

Now he hid in the woods while the demon holed up ahead in the luxurious cabin. Adam figured the guy thought he was untouchable here. Security had been beefed up, but the cabin featured a wall of windows overlooking a deep ravine.

Adam lined up his sniper rifle and waited. He’d spent the time learning the guy’s patterns for a reason. Time he took this guy out for good. He’d learned enough to know the demon was a genuine bad guy. Even now, he had a young girl in the cabin against her wishes. All for his own amusement.

“Come on you big bastard. Show her the view.”

His finger itched over the trigger, brain slowed down, vision enhanced, and breathing slowed. He recalculated his trajectory and waited a little longer.

The fat bastard moved in front of the windows, dressed in his robe and rewarded Adam for his patience. Probably thought he was safe behind the coated glass. A regular sniper wouldn’t have seen shit, but Adam wasn’t any regular sniper.

His finger squeezed the trigger lightly twice. He watched through the scope as the first bullet shattered the glass and entered the demon’s chest. He could see the thing screaming, even if the voice didn’t travel this far. Mere seconds later, the second bullet entered squarely between his eyes, ending the screams forever.

He quickly put his weaponry away and threw the sack over his shoulder. Time to run for it before the goons panned out and found him. He ran at top speed while sending a message for a pickup. Thank goodness Washington wasn’t far from Montana. He might have time for a shower before dinner. He smirked and activated his tracking device.

Thirty minutes later, he didn’t know if his legs would hold out. The rope dropped out of nowhere and he grasped the life line. Once inside the helicopter, Adam collapsed onto the floor and panted while his body recovered.

“You called for a ride?”

“Remy, what took you so long?”

“She was in the shop. Got an engine upgrade, damn near stealth now. She runs longer, farther too.”

Adam wondered why he hadn’t heard the thing. Now he was just thankful. “Take me home...”

“With pleasure.”

Adam showered and treated the few minor wounds he’d gotten on his own. Mostly bug bites and bramble that would heal on their own in no time, probably before he even made it in for his debriefing. As he strapped his holsters on his waist this time, his shoulders being sore, he couldn’t help thinking about the blonde demon again.

He dug out his phone and sent a quick text. Danny, any news on Monica?

His phone beeped almost instantly. Besides loving her new gun, she’s been in the bar every night waiting to see if you came back.

Adam smiled and threw on his jacket. Well, maybe he’d just have dinner at the Pub tonight. He had a little time before the Council began calling for their debriefing. For some reason, he couldn’t resist trying to see Monica one more time, like somehow it would carry him through.

He walked through the door of the Pub and took a seat at the bar. The place was pretty deserted tonight, probably because of the wet weather. He nodded to a smiling Danny behind the bar who sat a glass of water in front of him.

“Probably better not to go to the Council with alcohol in your system,” he joked and moved back toward the kitchen. “Special is cheeseburger and fries, want some?”

“Yeah, sure, sounds good. Has Monica been in yet?”

Danny sat the plate in front of him and chuckled. “Not yet, girl seems to like late hours.”

Adam nodded and dug into his burger. It was heaven, divine after living off nature for weeks. He preferred to save the room in his pack for ammo instead of food. It left him few options in the wild. He was paying his compliments when the bell at the door jingled. First he caught Danny’s grin, then the rainy wind brought the scent of cinnamon to his nose.

He turned and smiled. “Hey there.”

“Adam!” She started to run toward him and slowed to calmly sit next to him. “Hey, thanks for the gun.”

He smiled. “I figured it was better than those knives you were walking around with. Do you know how to use it?”

“Of course, handsome. I just prefer the daggers because they’re easier to hide.”

His eyes traveled over the lush breasts encased in a latex tube top and the jeans riding low on her hips. If she’d come looking for him, the outfit definitely caught his attention.

“I can’t stay long. Still have to debrief my mission. Just needed to grab some things.”

She moved closer, the sweet smell of her more intoxicating than anything Danny had on tap. “Sure, handsome, whatever you say. Did you get your man?”

“I did,” her mouth closed over his and cut off his smart reply. She swept her tongue over his and Adam groaned. His fiery little demon’s kisses tasted a hell of a lot better than the burger. His? When the hell had he decided she belonged to him?

He pushed the thought aside, pulling her in tight against him and deepened the kiss, only stopping when his phone buzzed. The Council, probably wanting to know why he was late. Adam grabbed a napkin and jotted down his number. He slid it over to her and answered his phone.

“Coming in now,” he clicked it shut and turned to her. “That line goes to a special encoded phone I carry. If it’s an emergency, come get Danny here.”

He pressed his lips to hers again quickly. “Got it?”

She nodded, the glaze of lust coating her baby blues not entirely lost on him.

“Trouble, Danny. Number, napkin. Got it. Are you sure you have to go?”

He turned at the door. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Demonica watched Adam walk out and fought against every instinct screaming for her to run after him.

She’d spent the time between their last meeting and this one puzzling over the incendiary response she had to the super soldier and come up lacking for answers. Barely exchanging more than a short conversation, a few kisses and lusty looks didn’t consist of enough to explain how she’d looked for Adam at every turn, jumped up with each knock at the door in hope he’d be behind it or dreamed of his body over hers every damn night until she refused to sleep to end the torture. Except it hadn’t – even awake she could feel, smell and taste him.

Patiently, Demo waited long enough to make sure he wasn’t coming back and then headed home. She had planned to invite Adam over if he’d been at the pub but his running off dashed the idea to bits.

Sure, she mused as she lifted a forkful of apple pie to her lips. He’d shown plenty of interest while their lips had been locked together. Did a heated kiss mean he wanted more than a romp in the sac? For that matter, did she?

A quick knock sounded at the door. She put the fork down and went to see who could possibly be paying her a visit at such a late hour. Blue eyes blazed at her from the other side of the curtain and she quickly pulled the door open.

“Adam?”

“Can I come in?” He glanced behind her and smiled. “I realize it’s late but, I think we need to talk.”

Demo moved aside and shut the door once he stood in the foyer. She tilted her head for him to follow and returned to the kitchen where her coffee and apple pie waited.

“Can I get you anything? Pie, coffee, a beer?”

“No,” he replied quietly. “Just you, listening for a minute.”

Resuming her seat, Demonica waited for him to say whatever he’d come to tell her.

“Look, I’m going to level with you, Monica,” he began. She narrowed her eyes at him and he cringed. “It’s not a bad thing, just me being honest. Hear me out?”

“Sure,” she agreed. Looking up at him through her lashes, she toyed with the handle of her mug and waited for him to continue.

“I know that look,” he paused and took a deep breath. “Listen, I’m really digging you here. At first, I thought you were an assassin sent to find me and, I’ll admit that’s why I got close. Anyway, the thing is – I don’t want to take advantage of you or have you think I’m taking advantage.” He paced, voice dropping to a fierce rumble with each step, “I mean, I usually wouldn’t care – just take you to bed, do you up nice and run for it. But, I just can’t do it. Not to you.”

Adam stopped in front of her. Demo began to speak but he hauled her up and crushed his mouth to hers in a soul deep kiss. Her arms slid up over his shoulders and she pulled him close as their lips parted.

“Adam,” her voice quavered. “If we’re being honest – I was planning a quick romp between the sheets when I walked into Danny’s that first time.” She closed her eyes for a second and then focused on him, “I couldn’t stop thinking of you while you were gone. Every time I opened the door or heard a footstep outside I ran to see if it was you. I don’t know what this is but, I want it. I want you.”

“Thank god,” he sighed and laid his forehead against hers. “I just feel like, for once in my horrible life, I should do this right. Oh, speaking of,” he produced a small packet from one of his pockets and handed it to her. “Treats for your pets. They have to like me, too.”

His phone vibrated between them but he let it go without answering.

“I guess that means you have to go?” she resisted the pout inherent in the question. Her fingers stroked the buzzed back of his head and she prayed he could stay a bit longer. “FYI, you are doing it right. For me anyway.”

“It works for me too,” he moaned. His eyes closed but not before she caught the change in his pupils. “They can wait a few. Not too long or I’ll get another mission but, yeah – screw ’em.” Adam pulled her into another long kiss. The constant flare of heat in her belly expanded, licking out to slowly devour her with need.

Demo brushed her fingers over his temples. The hard angles of his body pressed to hers threw her senses into overdrive. She could smell the pheromones rolling off him in spades and every inch of her called out to him, begged for Adam to take what she offered.

“All I want or need is you.”

Adam opened his eyes and the pale blue tiger pupils pulled a soft gasp from her. Fear and longing swirled in their depths as he stared, unblinking, back at her.

“Don’t let it scare you,” he whispered. “I’d never hurt you.” His phone buzzed, a gentle reminder of the missed call. “I can wait fifteen minutes and then I have to be at the pickup point. That’ll take me five minutes to get there at full run. I promise, Monica, I’ll always be honest with you, but if anyone asks, you think I’m a traveling salesman. Okay?”

“Got it,” she replied with a smile. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me and, for the record, I think they’re beautiful.”

“They change a lot,” he smirked. The phone buzzed again, more insistently this time and he growled. “Listen, if you ever need anything and I’m not around – go to Danny. He’ll get hold of me as soon as he can.”

He leaned in and his tongue flicked over her earlobe, “God, you taste sweet as salvation. I’ll try not to be gone so long this time.”

“You know where to find me when you get back. Here or the pub.”

Adam pulled away and she watched as he slowly put back all of the shields he used to keep himself alive in place. He turned to walk away and she gasped for breath. Pain filled her chest and she realized it came from the feeling of her heart walking out the door with him.

 ~*~

Come back on October 20^th, 2011 for Chapter Seven of Finders Keepers: Tempted.

If you missed any of our previous posts and would like to catch up, you can purchase the Digital Digest Volume II anthology as an ebook for only $.99.

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Copyright © 2011 Danielle Gavan and Jennifer Feuerstein


Danielle Gavan
Urban Fantasy and Erotic Romance Author

Ardeur ~ Tarnishes Tiaras ~ Cursed ~ Unwrapped

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All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

The Promise

My husband left me. A loving father, a beloved son and brother, a cherished friend, and he was gone forever. I continued to stare straight ahead while my pastor droned on about how he was in a better place.

Bullshit. He belonged with me.

The memorial service ended after an hour.

At the reception, many of David’s former students made a point to speak with me. As shy and bumbling as some teenagers can be, each one carried a note of sincerity in their words. “He made class fun. He told good jokes. Skipping class wasn’t an option in Mr. Shepard’s class. He was funny.”

Our son’s soccer team attended the service in their soccer uniforms in honor of their leader and coach. The adolescent boys buzzed around the food table, then quickly made their exit outside.

I longed to join them.

But instead, I had to put on a gracious face and play hostess to over three hundred people. My sisters surrounded me like protective armor and let in only those they deemed worthy. As I moved through the crowd of people, I exchanged pleasantries and thanked them for coming.

I couldn’t help but overhear bits and pieces of conversations as I trudged through the masses. It reminded me of trekking through crowded airport walkways. They talked about next week’s soccer practice, the price of fuel, and the weather forecast. All they could think of were such frivolous things as next week’s PTA meeting.

Didn’t they get it? My husband was dead.

This is a time when everyone should talk about David.

A warm hand grabbed hold of my upper arm.

“Katelyn.” No one ever called me by my full given name. I lifted my gaze to meet the cool blue eyes of Seth Allen, David’s best friend from high school.

The depths of his eyes searched mine. The temperature in the overstuffed room must have dropped twenty degrees, because I swear the look in his eyes appeared almost icy. “Let me know when you’re coming to Alaska.” He stated simply.

“What do you mean?” Panic settled in and my knees wobbled. Good thing he still held my arm or I might have toppled over.

“Whenever you feel ready.” He let go of my arm.

“Ready for what?” I replied lamely, knowing damn well what was coming next. And now everyone would know.

The change in his face was like a shifting kaleidoscope. The pieces still weren’t settled to form a complete picture. His voice lowered an octave and he moved closer to me so only my ears could hear. “I’ll take you to spread his ashes. This year or next…or the next. Whenever you’re ready.”

Relief washed over me like bubbling surf across the sand. “Yes. Yes, of course I’ll contact you. Thank you.”

“If there is anything I can do. Anything at all.” He hesitated as though he contemplated what to say next. “Please let me know.”

A sheen of moisture in his eyes dissipated as he blinked and waited for me to respond. I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted me before the words came out.

“Dave was a good friend, a very good friend. He helped me through…a lot.”

Our gazes locked. He nodded, turned and left the room. I knew without a doubt how difficult it was for him to say those few words. And it meant the world to me.

When the crowd finally dissipated, I scanned for my younger sister Livvy and found her a couple of bodies away. We made eye contact and I mouthed, “Get me outta here” in a silent plea. She finished chatting to our parents neighbors and we cut toward the nearest exit. Like Moses parting the red sea, Liv found a path for our escape.

“I couldn’t stay in there another second,” I said. Arizona’s January air remained cool despite the late afternoon rays of sunshine. I took brisk strides in the parking lot and moved away from the church while Liv ran beside me to keep up. “I can’t breathe.”

I didn’t know which direction to go. I just knew I had to get my heart pumping and move my legs.

“People understand, Kate.” Liv attempted to match my steps, stride for stride. “It’s okay.”

We kept walking.

After several blocks, I spun on my heel. A well of tears formed on the edge of my eyelashes. “We have to go back. I have to get the boys.”

Liv placed her hand on my shoulder. “Kate. They’re okay.” She slid her hand gently down and gripped my forearm. “It’s going to be okay.”

I stopped. My eyes held hers. Concentrate. Think. Liv is right. Take a deep breath. Slow down and breathe. “Give myself permission to be sad. That is what the counselor keeps telling me.”

“The counselor is right, Kate. Everything will be all right. We are all here to support you. All of us.” She said each word deliberately. “Take…it…one…day…at…a…time.”

On the sidewalk of some street, God only knew where, and now, now is when I decided to break down.

The tears poured like an open faucet. Liv embraced me with all the strength her five foot two inch frame could muster. I bent over her and took all she had to give. Her soothing words calmed me.

“I can hardly breath without him.” I managed to choke out between sobs. “My lungs feel tight and packed in, like they don’t remember how to work.”

I shouldn’t dump my emotions on her. She was my youngest sister. I should be telling my older or middle sister this, not her. But Liv and I had always shared a special bond.

Liv smiled through her tears. “Do you mean like when we were kids in a hurry to clean our room and shoved our clothes in the drawers? We stuffed and crammed everything in, only they wouldn’t close shut.”

I stared at her. Then, I actually laughed. “Yeah, exactly like that. Cramming clothes in drawers that won’t shut. That’s how my lungs feel.”

Then I realized it. Today was my husband’s memorial service and I had just laughed. My tears flowed again in earnest. “As if you ever had to clean anything,” I said. “You always found a way to get out of it.”

She grabbed my hand and dragged me behind her. “Let’s go. There’s a little park up around the corner.”

I went straight for the swing set. Liv chose the swing to my left. We shuffled our feet along the gravel and got moving. When was the last time I’d swung on a swing set?

My body slipped through the air, again and again. The predictable rhythmic of pumping my legs invigorated me. The wind whipped through my hair and my stomach lurched with each dip. I forgot everything for a minute and enjoyed the floating sensation.

If there was anything I’d learned in the past eight months, it was to live in the moment.

“Hey, get out of my shower.” Livvy yelled when our swings were in perfect sync together.

I tipped my head back, looked up at the clouds and laughed again.

When we stopped to catch our breath, the bright orange sun had already begun its decent onto the horizon. How long had we been gone from the reception?

“We should get back,” I told Liv.

She twisted in her swing. “We don’t have to.” She stopped, kicked at the gravel so dust rose up. “We can stay here as long as you want.”

I needed to tell someone. I couldn’t keep it inside any longer. With everything happening so fast, I’d managed to set it aside for a while. But now I had to speak up. And why not tell my sister?

My head hung low while I concentrated on one multi-colored gray and white rock. I held tight to the cool metal chain links of the swing and tasted the gravel dust in my mouth. “How can I keep my promise to David?”

“What promise?”

I sighed and closed my eyes. “About a month ago, before the pain medication took David in and out of consciousness, we talked about the future. Or rather my future. With the boys. Without him.”

Liv remained silent. I couldn’t lift my head to make eye contact with her, but I knew she watched me. “He asked me if I would move to Alaska.”

“But…why? All of your family is here. Here in Arizona.” She sounded incredulous.
I opened my eyes to meet the disbelief in hers. “Because his family is there. And that is where he grew up.” I simply stated what Liv already knew.

“But you need the support of your family. Now…now more than ever. You can’t leave. You need all of us near you. Surely David didn’t know what he was asking.” Her eyes pleaded with me. Her face looked pained. It was my own pain reflected back at me.

Most people have several sections in their life. Like a peeled orange, or pieces of a pie, each wedge represents a space of time. Childhood, teens, college, career, married life, babies born, raising children, retirement and so on. But mine had just three.

BC—Before Cancer, DC—During Cancer, and AC—After Cancer. Currently being in AC, I longed for the carefree days of BC. DC was the shortest section of my life. Too incredibly short.

So how do you qualify for the three-sectioned life? Well, you have to suffer permanent loss. It doesn’t have to be death necessarily. It could be the loss of the use of your legs, or the right side of your body. It could even be divorce, the permanent death of a marriage, or the break-up of your parents. I suppose some children of a divorced home would consider themselves in a three-sectioned life. But at least for them, there is always the possibility of putting it back together.

So, like a child dreaming of her parents’ reconciliation, I dreamed of a cure for my husband’s cancer and irradiating it from our lives.

But it was not to be.

No matter how hard you fight, how much you pray, how much you risk, sometimes you still can’t win. A coach has a playbook to plan his attack. Our strategy to battle cancer followed all the rules. We were supposed to win.

I would have done or said anything in those last weeks of my husband’s life to give him comfort. Of course I would promise him to move. What was moving over 6,000 miles compared to combating cancer?

Cancer robs you of everything. Your dignity, time, and hope just to name a few. So doesn’t it rob you of telling the truth too? Isn’t there a waiver written somewhere that says if you do or say things you don’t mean because of cancer then you aren’t held responsible? The “truth police” surely wouldn’t prosecute me, would they?

The truth needed to be told to someone. The burden I carried was too much to bear along with everything else. “I did tell David I would move, when he asked me.”

“But you can’t mean it.”

I stood up from the swing. My feet crunched on the gravel as I stepped out. “We have to get back. It was rude of me to leave.”

My eyes were dry and I only wanted one thing. Get to my boys. Livvy’s short legs motored to keep up with me. She wisely dropped our conversation. It was enough that I told someone. I didn’t want to dwell on it right now.

The church parking lot had emptied by several more cars since we left. My boys were throwing a football on the front lawn with their cousins. My oldest son, Justin, glanced at me from the corner of his eye before he ran to catch a pass. His look said ‘you should have told me you left.’ Or was it my imagination?

My mother-in-law stepped out of the church just as we were about to walk in. Marie Shepard clearly looked relieved to see me. Wayne Shepard, my father-in-law stood behind her, and took an extra second to analyze me as if he stored the knowledge that I hadn’t been at his son’s memorial service for its entirety.

I headed past them into the foyer and followed the smell of burnt coffee. Liv clipped along close on my heels and beat me to the styrofoam cups. Packets of pink and blue sweetener envelopes lie scattered around amongst the spilled coffee grounds.

And I couldn’t help but think that is what my life looked like.

Scattered, disorganized and burnt.

By Becky Lees

Young Adult Fiction Author

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~Posting again on October 17~

Copyright © 2011 Becky Lees

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Ceara's Tales Part 2

August 15, 1451

Darkness started to descend in the forest and still I ran. Branches scraped my skin hours ago and thin lines of dried red ran across my arms and legs. I wasn’t sure how far I’d gone from the stockade walls of Mikov’s farmhouse, but I feared it might not be enough. The deceptive calm of the trees and the softening heat of the day did nothing to soothe me. My heart thundered in my chest and the sound of my ragged breaths filled the twilight.

Would he find me? Had I a chance? Every time I started to feel safe I pushed the hope into a tight ball around my heart, protecting me and fueling me to continue on. The stable master’s voice, the last one I’d heard at the farm, rang again and again in my mind.

“You think others haven’t tried what you’re doing, lass? You may hide in the straw of the wagon, but mark my words, he will find you.” The slovenly bastard pushed off me and tied his breeches, leaving his seed on my thighs.

I smiled and rose from the straw, lowering my skirts. “Is that concern I hear in your tone, Thomas?”

He may have asked a steep price to smuggle me out beyond the walls, but it was no worse than what I’d endured for months—and at least he was human.

The weathered face of the stable master frowned, his big bushy eyebrows scrunched together in his displeasure. “You’re all dead anyway. It’s just a shame to see such beauty go to waste.”

Bits of straw still tangled in my hair, tickling my face as I stumbled over a root. The smell of burning peat reached me as I rose from the forest floor. Not sure how long I’d been running, the timing seemed premature for an evening cook fire—perhaps I’d reached the next closest farm. Letting my nose guide me, I made my way through the dim light to the edge of the trees.

Dark clouds covered the sky, making it darker then the hour warranted. More than likely, the pending rain drove the farmers indoors for an early dinner. A crack of thunder overhead signaled a coming summer storm and I hoped the family would consider taking in a dirty woman traveling alone.

Potato plants in neat rows stretched on for an acre, with the faint outline of a thatched roof showing in the distance. The carefully guarded hope I’d held near my heart blossomed, filling me with renewed energy. I might just make it out of this living nightmare yet.

A tingling entered my limbs, the muscles protesting despite the desire to reach safety. Each step seemed a trial, reminding me of the muscle ache I’d get when Aidan and I worked during harvest time, long past sunset to get our crops in. I pushed on, stepping carefully down a row to not damage the maturing plants.

Shadows lengthened and through the distance two shapes stood out, possibly the farmers. Exhaustion clouded my mind and I wasn’t sure if the figures up ahead were fence posts or the inhabitants. I straightened, trying my best not to look like a beaten dog. The scent of farm animals and fresh soil mingled in the rain-scented air with burning peat moss, triggering sharp memories of Ireland.

Twenty feet from the edge of the field I felt a rumble through my feet. Recognizing the thunder of hooves, I craned my neck, trying to discern where the riders might be approaching from. The road near the small cottage was clear and my heart seized in panic.

I whirled to see a team of black horses breaking through the dense trees and barreling across the field toward me at a full canter. Foam dripped from their mouths and a crazed look glinted in their eyes. Their pale-skinned riders dressed all in black, with flowing black capes fluttering behind them in the growing breeze.

No! It can’t be! How did they find me so fast? Fear clutched my throat and adrenaline pumped through my veins, chasing away the last of my fatigue. My instincts screamed to run, but I knew there was no hope.

Lurching forward in a staggering run, I waved to the figures near the cottage as I cleared the last of the crops. “Help!”

Standing not fifty feet away were the couple who worked the land. A tall man with dark hair and a thin frame turned at the sound of my voice—he took one step forward until he spotted the oncoming horsemen. He froze in his tracks, horror and fear twisting his face.

Mikov’s voice boomed out across the field as the horses raced upon me. “Leave her, Finnigan! She is mine!”

Finnigan grabbed the hand of the woman standing behind him and raced for his cottage door, slamming it behind them both in his haste.

“No!” I screamed into the growing darkness. The skies chose that moment to open up and rain poured down from the swollen black clouds. Not willing to accept defeat so easily, I ran toward the house, determined to bang on the wooden door and beg to be let in.

The sharp neigh of a horse screamed in my ear and a booted foot landed firmly in my back, shoving me to the dampening ground. The shock of hitting the hard earth reverberated up through my arms and knees as a frustrated scream of defeat tore from my lips.

Two other horses pawed the earth around me—the three vampires had me effectively pinned. A large round object was thrown on the ground near my head. I turned my face and gazed into the staring dead eyes of Thomas, the stable master. His mouth was locked in a silent scream and the jagged flesh of his severed neck stank of fresh death.

“Silly lass,” Mikov rasped while dismounting from his steed. “I smelled your essence on him.” Gloved hands grabbed my upper arm and yanked me to my feet. He tsked when he saw the scratches on my arms and ran a leather-encased finger down my skin. “We’re linked by blood, you and I. You can never hide from me. Your life force calls me like a beacon.”

He mounted his horse and dragged me up in front of him. One steely arm wrapped around me and he locked both of my wrists in his larger hand as the rain pelted us. “You are mine now and forever. There is no freedom for you, Ceara.”

Thomas’ last words ran through my mind. “You’re all dead anyway.” Tears leaked silently from my eyes, mixing with the summer downpour and streaming unnoticed down my face.

Is this what my life has become? Am I only food for a monster?

~~*~~

Ceara's tales will continue next month, if you like what you're reading and would like the convenience of reading it directly on your Kindle each day, check out Digital Digest on kindle, or pick up back month's issues in a 99 cent ebook through Amazon, B&N, and Apple as well as other fine online retailers.

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~~ C.J. Ellisson ~~

Guest Speaker at Vamps at Sea – a Vampire Themed Cruise to Alaska

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Copyright 2011 C.J. Ellisson

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

The Patron Chronicles - Part Three

When we last left Esseus, a specialist in the Universal Compliance and Violations Department in Heaven, and Hazelsplat, demon from the 5^th circle of Hell, Hazelsplat had been accused of tempting the soul of a 15 year old boy, young Mr. Pinyon. But the wily demon planted the seed of doubt that he was not the nefarious demon tempting the boy.

Dear Hazelsplat,

Your theory that there is a demon perpetrating crimes under your guise is disturbing on many levels. How do I know you’re not lying? How do I know this isn’t some ploy to throw me off your track? Simply put, I don’t. As you cannot be trusted to tell the truth in the most benign of matters, the best I can do is to take your suggestion under advisement.

If what you say is true, then you’ll be most pleased to know we’ve wrestled Mr. Pinyon from the clutches of your copycat fiend. The young man is now healing at Saint Mary’s Rehabilitation Center and is doing quite well. He’s even volunteered to receive spiritual counseling from the resident chaplain. We are very pleased here at the U.C.V.D.

It seems Mr. Pinyon is by nature a considerate and kind spirit, which leads me to wonder why you or any demon would target him. As we both know, those with a penchant to do good and feel remorse when they stray from the path are hardest to convert. An adolescent under the Minors Act is harder still as their sins do not stick to their soul, but slide from them like rain from a blade of grass.

I can only assume the bigger the challenge the greater the reward. Does Hell have a point system? One point for a soul already black from its numerous crimes against humanity and God. Five points for those tottering on the razors edge between right and wrong. And ten points for an inherently pure soul, who has yet to commit any grievous offense. I suspect the soul’s journey is nothing more than a game for you demons.

Try as I might, I don’t understand the draw of evil. Soiling one’s soul by hurting others purely for entertainment is a concept so foreign to me I feel I must be missing some nuance of the process. I suppose it’s much like asking why a serial killer slays his innocent victims or why a pedophile violates a child. There is no reason, no answer that will satisfy the rational mind.

Though I know there is little chance you will heed my words, I will still don my hat as an ethereal leader and remind you that it is never too late. Should you wish to join the forces of good and be brought into the Light, you need only purify your soul through selfless acts and faith. I can almost hear your laughter at my suggestion. It matters not. It is my duty to remind you that the door to redemption is never closed.

Think well on it, Hazelsplat. The benefits of good far outweigh those of evil. I hope this will be our last correspondence now that Mr. Pinyon is secured and on the right path again. Please do not feel obligated to respond to this letter.

Sincerely,

Esseus Apollomae

7^th Level

Universal Compliance and Violations Specialist

Dear Esseus,

Not respond? How could you suggest such a thing after giving me so much fodder for a reply?

It seems you have thwarted the forces of darkness once again with your clever maneuvering. So Mr. Pinyon will be receiving the uplifting messages of Chaplain Reeves. I’ve heard of this man and his tireless determination to purge the world of evil. Bravo, there could be no better mentor for a young impressionable boy. Perhaps Pinyon will take up the good chaplain’s cause and start reforming his friends. Oh, I shudder at the thought.

It seems you have put a stop to the imposter demon’s shenanigans. Again, kudos to you. I guess he realized there was no fooling the all seeing eye of the Universal Compliance and Violations Department. Just the mention of U.C.V.D. strikes fear in the heart of all demons.

You have genuinely surprised me, my dear Apollomae, and that’s not easy to do. You say you don’t understand the draw of evil, yet you sit in a position that requires not only understanding, but empathy for the victims of temptation. How can you effectively help a soul if you have no compassion for what that person struggles with? Perhaps you can’t. Perhaps that is your greatest downfall. Rules and regulations get you only so far when dealing with humans. They are emotional creatures, prone to attack or flee at the slightest provocation.

To truly help you must truly empathize. That is where the servants of Satan have the upper hand. We not only understand the draw, we’ve experienced it and can offer more of the enticement. Take Mr. Pinyon for example. You look down from your glass house and see a boy struggling against temptations, yet you don’t understand why the sin is so appealing to him. How can you fix the symptoms if you don’t understand the disease?

I look at the young man and recognize his desire for acceptance, his desire to manage his life that has swung wildly out of control. His mother is the worst kind of parent and the most immoral of women. If there is a sin, she has committed it in some form. He has no one to guide or reprimand him during these tenuous teen years and that's what makes him an easy target to a less than honorable demon.

No matter how tough Mr. Pinyon acts, his greatest desires are boundaries and to be appreciated. You have given him this in the chaplain. But will the man be the best choice to accomplish Mr. Pinyon’s journey back into the Light? Or will Chaplain Reeves lead him down a path more insidious than any I could have ever tempted him with?

I wonder if your lack of understanding will be his eventual downfall. Don’t mind me, I’m just thinking out loud now. I guess time will tell. And rest assured, old friend, I will be watching the young man’s trek down the path of righteousness. If I were you, I wouldn’t crow too loudly about your triumph where Mr. Pinyon is concerned.

Sincerely,

Hazelsplat

Empathetic Demon

5^th Circle

of Hell

Boone Brux

Paranormal Fantasy Author

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If you enjoyed this installment of The Patron Chronicles please return on October 31 to read more. If you missed last month’s issues, The Digital Digest Volume I-Issue I and Issue II is available through Amazon.

Copyright © 2011 Boone Brux

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual person’s living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.