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Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Lost (working novel)


this story developed when i lived in Minneapolis. I was in rush hour traffic heading home from work. It was hot and miserable. one of the things i do is look at the cars around me and wonder what their story is. Then, something hit me: there's an abducted child somewhere on this freeway, stuffed in the back of some strange truck or van, and they'll never see their mother or father again...it was a horrible thought, and then my mind started working on this story...

Lost


Lost by Brad Bodeker



1

She was running late. It took forever for them to get ready in the morning. As always the damn snooze button lured her into another morning of sleeping in, so it was flying in and out of the bathroom then getting Natalie up and dressed and ready for school and another lame excuse to the boss as to why she was late. Another morning of fighting with her to get her hair brushed.

“Nat, stop it!” Barb was in no mood for this game.

“Don’t, you’re pulling my hair, mommy!” Natalie protested.

The brushed pulled at the snarls in her long brown hair. With each pull of her locks she’d whimper and pull away.

“Dammit, Nat, be still!”

“It hurts, mommy, it hurts!”

Barb looked into her daughter’s hurt blue eyes. They were so big and round and innocent. But just a hint of Natalie’s father. The bastard, wherever he is!

A touch of guilt tugged her heart, “I’m sorry, honey, but we’re going to be late.”

Natalie settled down a bit and sucked her thumb. Five years old and still sucking her thumb. Barb thought to herself, Poor girl, I wish I could give you a little more security.

Natalie’s father, which Barb considered nothing more than a sperm donor, left shortly after she was born. Had to find himself, he had told her, said he needed to find himself in Alaska. She had found out later from a friend of a friend that he found himself another girlfriend in Seattle. He sends a card once a year during the holidays for Natalie, but she never let’s Natalie know about it. Bastard.

With Nat’s hair done, it was time to fight to get her shoes on. It was game Natalie played since she was four. To Barb’s frustration, she would kick her legs so Barb couldn’t get them on. With one shoe on, Natalie would use her other foot to kick it off again.

The clock read 8:54 am. Yep, I’m late!

Barb got Nat into the car, and off they went to the school parking lot. The parents all lined up along the semi-circle. Moon Valley Elementary School’s principal, a Mr. Guttenhelm, always stood with the front door of the school open welcoming the kid’s into class as the day began.

“Good morning, kids!” he was accustomed to saying, “Ready for another good day.”

The children never answered him, but he would just smile complacently with that smile that would make Barb just a little nervous.

“Good morning, Ms. Winters, how are you and Natalie this morning?” he greeted.

“Fine, Mr. Guttenhelm, thank you.” Barb would say back.

“Good, good.” He gave her that look, the one privileged people give not-so-privileged people do. “Off to work?”

“Yes, and running late.”

She bent down and kissed Natalie on the cheek and hugged her, “Have a good day, honey, mom loves you.”

“Bye.” Nat said, she gripped Barb’s hand a little tighter.

“I’ve got to go, honey, mommy’s running late.”

“I know.” Natalie’s head was down, her blue eyes sad.

“Come on, Natalie,” Mr. Guttenhelm grabbed her other hand. “Mom will be back to pick you up before you know it. Shall I walk you to your class?”

Natalie didn’t answer. Barb felt guilty, I wish I didn’t have to go to work, Nat. I would much rather just spend the afternoon with you. But, I’ve got to make ends meet, so we can eat and live. I’m not getting help from the sperm donor!

Before Barb knew it, Natalie was going down the hall with Mr. Guttenhelm. She waved an unseen ‘good-bye’ to Natalie and went off to her car.

She took a deep drag on her first cigarette of the morning. It felt good. She only smokes when she’s away from Natalie, because the last time she lit up in front of her she never heard the end of it. All those anti-smoking lectures they were scaring kids with these days! But she always promised herself she’d quit. Someday.

She arrived at work a half-hour late. She slithered through the back hallway, and into the break room. She punched in and made it to her desk before her boss, Angie Bollinger, came in.

“What’s the story today, Barbera?” she asked leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

Barb sighed; a million and a half excuses went through her brain. The wet blanket of sarcasm dripped from Angie, and flashes of red ran through Barb’s face.

“No story today, Angie.” Barb answered. “I’m just running late.”

Barb thought about explaining what it’s like to try and get through a morning with a 5 year old, but decided it didn’t matter. Besides, Angie was a career woman. Not a mom. Nor, she had announced at a business luncheon, would she ever want the anchor of children to weight her down.

“You must get your priorities straight, Barb.” Angie explained, “You can’t just start whenever you want to.”

“I know that, and I’m sorry I’m late. It won’t happen again.” Barb’s face was warm more with anger than embarrassment.

“There’s a lot of other people that can do your job, you know. People that are punctual.”

This bitch was trying to egg her on, give her an excuse to get fired.

“Don’t you depend on this job to raise your daughter?” She continued.

Barb’s fist clenched under her desk. Use my daughter in a sentence, bitch, I’ll fuckin’ kill you!

“Priorities, Barb,” she mercifully was turning away. “Priorities.”

Barb’s tongue came out as Angie went out of eyesight. She let out a big sigh and wished she could grab another smoke. The stack of work wasn’t as high as yesterday, but high enough to let her know she’d be working late.



At lunch, Barb called her friend, Jessica to pick Natalie up, as she would probably be here at work until 6. Jessica said she wouldn’t mind. Her own daughter was in a grade ahead of Natalie and she had to pick her up at the school anyways, and the two girls played well together.

So with that all set, Barbara continued the rest of her day as if nothing would go wrong. She never heard a peep from Angela again, and aggravation from the rest of the details from her job stayed at bay. After a pot of coffee and 5 cigarettes, her day was flawless. But whatever cruel god prevailed over her life, decided it was time to give her a reality check.



2.

“Mamma” Columbia lay awake most the night. She had trouble sleeping like most nights, but tonight was different. Perhaps it was the silence of the country, the way it was almost deafening at night. Or maybe the complete blackness of the night. Either, she thought she was used to; she had lived here most her life. There was something agonizing to be thought about in her mind, she just needed to be able to focus on it.

Her “boys” were in their room playing their video games. Shouting every once in awhile at dying their pixilated deaths and then ‘shushing’ each other, as they knew their “mother’s” wrath, if she was awakened by their shenanigans.

Mamma Columbia rubbed her rough calloused hands over her naked bloated body. Wandering her abdomen and then to her privates and up to her stomach again.

It’d be nice to have a child of mine own. She thought to herself. Why hath the Lord forsaken me with a barren womb?

A tear fell from the corner of her eye and into her ears. She sniffed a few times and then sighed, Be it Your will. Be it Your will, then bless me with a child.

And whether the voice was one fabricated from her own mind or an actual true supernatural voice, it was there. The voice was familiar from her childhood.

Is thou not happy with the children I’ve blessed thou with? It said to her, Doth thou become greedy with mine gifts?

She shuddered, No, Lord. No. You are right; I am blasphemous for even asking for such a thing.

Her god was silent for a while and Mamma Columbia began to whimper.

Thou hast shown great faith in Me. He finally spoke up. And I shall show you mercy. If ye seek, so then, shall ye find.

She sat up in bed, eyes wet but with the expression of joy on it.

On your knees, woman, and thank me for that which I will give to you!

Obediently, she knelt there naked in the dark, her hands in the air, her mouth in a perfect “O”, and she pleased her god the way she had been taught when she was a nine-year girl. And echoing in her mind was what her god said, “Seek and Ye shall find.”



Jessica waited in her Dodge caravan impatiently. She had left the stove on simmer and was hoping to be in and out of here with the kids and home for supper. But, as the ocean of little faces poured from the doors of Moon Valley Elementary, she looked for her own daughter Carrie and Barbara’s daughter Natalie.

Steve Miller came over the radio and she turned it up. She had been a huge fan of the Steve Miller Band since she was a teenager and more so since she had gone to their concert in Minneapolis last year. “The Joker” twanged from the speakers and she began to ease and sing along.

…really love your peaches wanna shake yo tree…She sang, her favorite part. She glanced towards the door that Carrie usually came out of. Just one kid after another, a few she recognized from birthday parties and all that other “mom” stuff. But no Carrie, no Natalie.

…I’m a Joker, I’m a smoker, I’m a midnight toker…The crowd of kids spilling out of the school began to thin out. Jessica, sighing to herself, thinking the girls were probably running around the hallways and goofing around. A bit of anger flashed in her and she shut her van off and began to walk to the front doors of the school.

Mr. Guttenhelm, standing there smiling like he does in the morning, greets her with a handshake.

“Here to pick up Caroline, Mrs. Alberson?” he asks.

“Carrie.” She corrects, “And I’m also picking up Natalie Winters as well, have you seen them?”

“Earlier today, but not this afternoon.” He welcomed her into the school, “Come on, and let’s find them. I’m sure they’re just playing somewhere.”



“Hurry up, Natalie, mom’s going to be mad!” Carrie says to Nat who was in the stall of the girl’s bathroom.

“I know, I know!” she says a bit peeved.

“C’mon, Nat!” Carrie urges, “Everyone’s leaving!”

“Leave me alone!” Natalie says; it came out more like “Lee mee lone!”

The toilet flushed and Natalie came out holding her backpack and then washed her hands like her mom taught her to do. Germs, Natalie, mom would say, germs that will get you sick. So remember to always wash your hands after you go potty, okay?

Natalie suddenly got lonely for her mom. She felt it come on after she received the note from the office lady saying that she was to ride home with Carrie’s mom, Mrs. Alberson, because mommy was working late. Again.

Minutes after Jessica and Mr. Guttenhelm passed the girls lavatory, Carrie and Natalie walked out into the hallway and towards the front doors. Carrie spotted her mom’s van and they both ran out to it.

Carrie grabbed the handle of the side door and gave it a yank like she had since she can remember in her six-year-old memory. Her hand slipped off of it and smarted. She tried it again and it didn’t budge.

“What’s the matter?” Nat asked standing there with her thumb in her mouth.

“It’s locked.” Carrie stood there confused.

She looked in the front of the van on her tiptoes and couldn’t see anything. She tried those doors and they were locked as well.

“Now what, Carrie?” Nat asked not letting go of the thumb in her mouth.

Carrie looked around the parking lot and then said, “Maybe mom went inside to look for us. You did take forever in the bathroom.”

“I know!”

They both trotted back into the school, not noticing the old rusted blue van with road dust crusted to its fenders and quarter panels. It’s motor gurgling from the large hole in its exhaust pipe. Waiting.



Jessica and Mr. Guttenhelm paced the hallways of the kindergarten and 1st grade wing. They were empty except for a few teachers coming in and out of their classrooms. A janitor emptying the trashcan by the drinking fountain.

“Let me check with Carrie’s teacher.” Jessica said, “And you check with Natalie’s, okay?”

“Of course!” Mr. Guttenhelm answered. His expression was one of worry. Not so much for the girls being ‘missing’, but the reputation of the school would be at stake.

Jessica couldn’t find Ms. Ginnacci in her room, so she headed down to the teacher’s lounge. Mr. Guttenhelm found Mrs. Holmquist in her room cleaning up some construction paper off the carpet.

Mrs. Holmquist said that Carrie had come down to her room to pick up Natalie and they both left together.

Jessica found Ms. Ginnacci in the teacher’s lounge puffing her way through a Camel light. Ms. Ginnacci said that she excused Carrie early to walk over to Mrs. Holmquist’s class to pick up her friend. But she hadn’t seen them leave.



Natalie and Carrie couldn’t find Jessica anywhere in the building. They were just going to go down the hall where the teacher’s lounge was but got distracted when they saw the playground outside.

“Carrie?” Nat stared with wide eyes, “let’s go play on the swings!”

“No,” Carrie protested, “We have to find my mom!”

“Awww, c’mon, Carrie! Please?”

“Okay, just for a bit.”

“Okay, just a little bit.” Which came out “N’kay, jus a widdle bit.”



“This is serious, Mr. Guttenhelm!” Jessica was getting hysterical.

“Please, Mrs. Alberson,” he tried to calm the coming storm. “I’m sure they might be in the bathroom or something like that.”

“Fine!” she said, “You stay here and watch for them, I’m going to look in the all the bathrooms!”



Natalie’s giggle was contagious. Both of the girls laughing the way innocent children do. No cares in the world, just a goal to have fun. The autumn air was crisp but not bitter. The smell of the river hung in the air, but it was fall and the water smelled fresh, not rank like in July.

Natalie was the first to notice the woman walking towards the playground. She swung slower as the lady approached. Carrie was saying something to her, but she was concentrating on the lady. There was something Natalie did not trust about her, the way she walked or the way she was staring in her direction.

“Natalie?” Carrie shouted, “Hello, are you listening to me?”

Natalie didn’t say anything back as this woman approached them. Carrie dropped off the monkey bars and clammed up.

“Hello, girls!” the lady greeted.

Both of them just sat there not really looking at her, just at the ground below her.

“It’s okay.” The lady assured, “You shouldn’t talk to strangers. But your mom is looking for you and she’s in the office waiting for you.”

Carrie looked up with her untrusting brown eyes at the lady. She hadn’t seen this lady working before in the office, but she really didn’t pay much attention to the big people of school except her teacher Ms. Ginacci.

The woman bent lightly and held out her hand.

“C’mon, girls,” her smile friendly as warm sunshine. “I’ll take you to your mom.”

Natalie looked to her older friend for direction. Carrie, kind of rocked herself side-to-side trying to decide whether to trust this big person.

“Natalie. Carrie. Come on, now, don’t keep your mom waiting.” The lady said.

Carrie’s eyes lit up when the lady said her’s and Natalie’s name. Maybe this lady did work in the office after all.

“Come on.” The lady said.

Carrie looked over at Natalie who was sucking her thumb again.

“It’s okay, Natalie.” Carrie said walking towards the lady, “Let’s go see my mom and we’ll go home.”

“That’s right, honey.” The lady said.

Natalie took Carrie’s hand and they walked with the lady from the playground.



Jessica, with Ms. Ginacci in tow, was going through the lavatories in the entire school, and peeking in separate classrooms.

“Maybe they’re on the playground?” Ms. Ginacci suggested.

“Which way?” Jessica asked.

Ms. Ginacci led her to the wing where the playground was close to. They walked by Mr. Guttenhelm who looked even more alarmed when he saw them coming down the hall without any children with them.

This is bad! He thought to himself, Really, really bad! The school board is going to eat me alive! The newspaper! That fucking rag is going to plaster this incident all over the fucking place!

“No luck?” he trembled.

“Do you see any kids with me?” Jessica said sarcastically.

“There’s no need to get hostile about this, Mrs. Alberson. I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

“We’re going to check the playground.” Ms. Ginacci said.

“Uh, all right, I’ll stay here in case they come by.”

“Good idea, Chuck.” Ms. Ginacci said with some sarcasm of her own.



Carrie wondered why they didn’t just go in through the doors by the playground. They were walking all the way around the school building towards the parking lot.

“I thought mom was in the office?” she asked the woman.

The woman just muttered under her breath. It sounded to Carrie like, Sick ‘n yee shell fine.

They rounded the corner where her mom’s van was parked. She thought maybe they were going to just wait for her mom there. Carrie looked at the woman and then at Natalie who was sucking hard on her thumb.

“It’s all right, Natalie.” Carrie trying to comfort her friend, “We’re going to wait for mom by the van.”

Natalie just kept sucking.

They got to her mom’s van and kept going. Carrie was very alarmed now.

“That’s my mom’s van, ma’am.” She stuttered staring at it as she walked by it.

The lady kept a steady grip on her hand and kept muttering, “Sicken yee shell fine.”

Carrie began to tug hard at her hand as they were gaining distance from her mom’s van.

“But that’s my mom’s van, lady!” she cried out.

Natalie felt her friend’s fear and began to cry, not letting go of Carrie’s hand as she was being tugged in the wrong direction.

“No!” Carrie yelled, “No! Mommy! Stop! Stop!”

Carrie’s struggles were unnoticed by the lady and she slipped up and both her and Natalie ended up falling to the asphalt of the parking lot. They scraped their knees and elbows and Natalie hit the side of her face on the ground leaving a nasty scrape. They both began to bellow out.

The side doors of the rusted blue van and a boy came out. His jeans were dirty as well as his t-shirt. His hair unkempt and long, and he looked to be about 10 years old. Natalie and Carrie got up at the same time; they were both frozen to the ground as this dirty-looking boy came towards them. The lady just smiled at them. Natalie hid behind Carrie and wept while Carrie just started shouting.

“Get away from us! Get away!!”

The boy had two thick gauze pads soaked with chloroform and he placed them over their faces. Natalie went out right away while Carrie kicked a bit and then went limp. The last thing she heard was, “Seek, and ye shall find! And I found me two, Praise God!”



The blue van was gone by about three minutes when Jessica, Ms. Ginacci, and Mr. Guttenhelm came out to her minivan. Sitting on the ground next to the passenger side door was two backpacks. One with Scooby-Doo on it and another with Barbie. Jessica’s heart sank and she thought she was going to puke.

“They must be around here…somewhere?” Mr. Guttenhelm spoke up.

“Would you just shut the fuck up for one minute?” Jessica barked and then started to sob.

Ms. Ginacci rubbed Jessica’s back and said, “Let’s go back in and call the cops.”

“No! No, we can’t just jump the gun on this ladies!” Mr. Guttenhelm sounded as if he was whimpering, “They have to be around here! Let’s just look some more before we call the police, hmmm?”

“Stop worrying about your reputation, Hank, and do something useful for once!” Ms. Ginacci snapped.

Her and Jessica went inside and phoned the Moon Valley Police Department.



3.

Barbara sat in Detective Gunner’s office shuddering from sobbing. She had received the call from Jessica and she just sat in shocked silence as Jessica went on with the story on the other end. She didn’t even hang up the phone as she grabbed her purse and headed straight for her car. The traffic was thick on this side of I-35; she took out her pack of Marlboro lights and began a regimen of chain smoking. Getting across the 169 interchange she had lit another cigarette and then saw she still had one going in the ashtray. She stubbed it out and began sobbing. She thought about getting out of her car and just running to the Moon Valley Police Department.

“Mrs. Winters? ” Detective Gunner said absently.

“Y..yes?” she slowly came out of her grief-stricken stupor.

The Detective gave a comforting grin, “I was wondering if you have a recent picture of Natalie we can use to put out?”

Barb looked around the office. Her guilt was a large wet blanket that hung on her and wouldn’t come off. She hadn’t pictured herself getting pregnant and then losing the father to some tramp in some other state. She didn’t find herself raising a daughter on her own, not being able to give her daughter the life she wanted. And now, here she was in some cop’s office, giving him a photo of her daughter who’s been….kidnapped? Lost? Missing? None of those words comforted her.

“Uh, Mrs. Winters?” the Detective spoke up again.

“What? Sorry.” She sniffed a few more times and then rummaged through her purse, “Yes, of course, I’m sure I’ve got one in my wallet somewhere.”

Jessica had finished her interview with the other detective and came into the office with her husband to talk to her.

“Barb, I’m so sorry!” she began sobbing, “I…wish I would’ve…God dammit!”

“It’s okay, Jessica.” She began crying again, “I just don’t understand how this all happened!”

The detective stood up, “We need as much information as you can give us. We’ve got officers looking around in the surrounding area now for your girls and we’ve broadcasted a missing child alert for both your girls.”

Barb produced last year’s photo she had done for Christmas. Natalie was sitting under a Christmas tree with a Santa hat on. She remembered that day almost perfectly. She trembles; I never thought I’d be giving this photo to a police officer to help find her. I never thought…

“Is this the most recent photo you have, Mrs. Winters?” the detective asked looking thoughtfully at it.

“I think I have one at home from her birthday this year.” She started sobbing again thinking that she may never have another birthday with her again.

“Anything recent would help a lot, Mrs. Winters. I…”

“Ms. Winters.” Barbara corrected.

“Sorry.” The cop’s face flushed a bit.

“Don’t be. I had better call her father. He probably doesn’t give a shit, but it’s his right to know, I guess.”

Detective Gunner thought for a moment and then said, “Ms. Winters, Natalie’s father didn’t put up a fight with custody did he?”

“Grant?” she laughed to herself, “He wasn’t even around when she was born. He was out drinking with his pals down at the Dogg House. Then we separated when Natalie was two.”

“Well,” Detective Gunner thought to himself how to carefully word this, “sometimes, when situations happen like they have, the other parent will have some sort of awakening and decide they want to be a parent, and when they feel that it’s hopeless they’ll get any parental rights after years of estrangement, they will go through some kind of extremes.

“Does the father still live in town?”

She was in the midst of contemplating the possibility, “No. He said he was moving to Alaska and ended up in Washington.”

“All right, it’s still a possibility we can’t rule out, although it doesn’t explain why Carrie was taken as well.”

“Unless he took her because she’d be a witness?” she grasped.

“Possibly.”

Jessica fidgeted with her hands while her husband rubbed her back.

“In the meantime, folks,” the Detective finished, “I would suggest you get together any ideas and photos that can help us find them.”

They all got up, shook hands and left.

“Barbara,” Jessica asked walking down the steps of the Moon Valley P.D. “Would you like to come over for coffee? Or a stiff drink?”

“No, thank you.” Barbara answered. “I should get a hold of Grant, and my mom’s coming up from Mankato.”

“If you need anything, Barb.”

“Same to you, Jess.”



“She what?!!” Grant’s voice bellowed over the line.

“She’s missing, Grant.” Barb said impatiently.

“Well, where the hell were you when this happened?”

“I was at work, Grant!” her anger trying to push it’s way up, but she didn’t want him to know how she was feeling. Never again, bastard!

There was an uncomfortable silence. Barb lit a cigarette, and exhaled loudly over the phone.

“Are you still smoking those fucking things?” he asked.

“I called to tell you about your daughter, Grant, not to discuss my habits.”

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do about it way out here in Washington?”

Barb bit down on her cigarette butt and then took another drag.

“Well, I thought maybe you’d care! But, like always, you don’t! I don’t know why I even bothered calling you.”

“Maybe because you just miss me?”

“Oh, God, get over yourself already, Grant! I have!”

“Then why are you calling if you’re over me?” his voice on the other line smug and she could tell he had this shit-eating grin on his lips. This infuriated her even more.

“Good bye, Grant. Have a nice life thinking about yourself.”

“Wait a minute! That’s it?”

“What?”

“Well, I thought we could talk…or something.”

“No, I’m busy trying to find my daughter, not talk to some egotistical piece of shit like you. Good bye.”

She hung up the phone and had a small smile of victory on her face. She put out her cigarette and started going through Natalie’s things. She was trying to find some recent pictures for the police. She found one of her in a pink-checkered dress, standing behind a giant sheet cake with a purple dinosaur on it.

More tears came out of her eyes. Where are you, Nat? Please don’t be scared. Mommy won’t give up looking for you, sweet heart.

Fran, Barb’s mom, brought in a cup of coffee from the kitchen.

“How’d it go, honey?” she asked with some caution.

“How do you think, mom?” Barb answered without any aggression.

Fran paused. They had both been crying the entire evening. From putting together flyers with Natalie’s photo on it, and answering phone calls and making a few to relatives and friends.

“Well,” Fran started, “what do we do now?”

“I don’t know, mom. I won’t be able to sleep tonight, so I’ve got to do something constructive with my time.”

“Why don’t we go around and hang up our flyers?”

Barb took her first warm sip and agreed.



Jessica was already out doing what she could. Her husband took one vehicle and she took another. She had driven by the school about twelve times this evening. Passed the spot where she found their backpacks and slowed down and started to cry and would do her rounds again.

The police were out as well. She had seen them canvassing the area by the school with volunteers. The thought that her daughter may be dead tried to creep in but she blocked it out. Too soon. She thought to herself, Much too soon for something like that to happen. She’s still alive, I can feel it.

Steve Miller came on again, same song as before. She felt the tears well up again and she turned off the radio. She drove the city limits of Moon Valley in silence for what seemed like days. She would nod off from time to time, swerving off the road and then back on again as she snapped awake.



4.

Mamma Columbia sat on her porch that overlooked the Minnesota River basin. The night was quiet, and the small airport behind her property wasn’t flying any traffic in or out tonight. The crickets, sure they were in full sing, but other than that, peace. She could see the lights of Shakopee on her left, Chaska straight ahead, and the town of Moon Valley to the right. She knew that the police would be searching the area, but that didn’t concern her.

She did not live by man’s laws, she lived by the Lord’s. And He, after all, had given these two girls to her. “Seek and Ye Shall Find.” He had said, and that’s just what she did, and the Lord graced her with not one girl, but two. How the bounty of the Lord’s grace made her heart swell.

The girls would have to adjust, of course. They wouldn’t accept Mamma Columbia right away, but they would. Just like Bill and Cory did. Besides, these girls were younger and easier to mold. She checked her watch, a plastic $4 watch from Target, and hollered for her boys.

“Boys!” she bellowed, her voice gravelly from smoking Pall Malls. Her speech had a hint of slur due to dentures that didn’t fit well. “Boysh! You better go feed your shishters!”

The two boys ran down the narrow staircase and headed for the kitchen. They grabbed two mason jars filled with garden grown green beans and then started to the basement where the girls were kept.

“Boysh!” Mamma yelled from the porch, “C’mere firsht.”

They came obediently. Michael, was the oldest, he was 10 years old. Mamma had acquired him (praise God) in Edina at Southdale Mall. He was an infant then, and his unmindful parents, had been arguing during their Christmas shopping spree. God had blinded their sinful eyes from Mamma Columbia snatching him for her own. He was a good boy. Mindful of his manners, and obedient. He was Mamma’s archangel, protective and loyal.

Gabriel, the youngest, at 7 years, was Mamma’s baby. He was taken a few years ago when the Lord had decided that Michael needed a brother. He was at a daycare center in Minneapolis. The daycare aides hadn’t even noticed that Gabriel was gone until his foster parents came to pick him up at the end of the day. He was a little wilder than his “brother” Michael, but always looked to please his new mother.

“Thank you, boysh.” She slurred, “Are you excited to play with your new shishters?”

“Yes, mamma.” They agreed in chorus.

“They’re going to be scared at firsht, so be gentle with them. God has given them as your shishters so treat them as such, undershtand?”

“Yes, mamma.”

“Good boysh.” She patted each boy on their bottom, “Now go serve them supper.”



The root cellar was dark. The floor was a dirt floor, and crawling with all sorts of unseen bugs. Carrie shivered in the corner with Natalie sleeping peacefully next to her. She was afraid to move. The darkness was thick, even with her eyes adjusted they couldn’t see her own hands in front of her. She had gripped Natalie’s hand and hadn’t let go since she’d been awake.

Friday, September 25, 2009

u n me


we live




in the morning mists



before the sun burns it away



we live in between



today and yesterday



we’re the faceless lovers



of vivid dreams



the words that never reach



the tip of the tongue



we’re the kiss



that’s cut short



we’re the back story



of a well written script



the scent of warm honey



hidden within a forest



the ebb of an ocean wave



drifting back out to sea



the mirage



on steaming tarmac



we live



in the lingering memory



of a beautiful dream…

Monday, September 21, 2009

The Ballad of Memphis (working)


you ever sit on a plane and wonder...well, yeah, you know what i'm talking about...you wonder if this is going to be the moment that god or whoever it is out there calls your ticket. when you're up high in the sky with nothing but gravity and the hard packed earth below you...yeah, you wonder...with my imagination...this is what i came up with...this is why i don't sleep well on planes....

You've done it. Here it is. This is the day. This is your day, Mr. Memphis Theodore Burroughs. You started out from humble beginings, selling magazine subscriptions, and then you designed tennis shoes that everyone wanted to wear. Pro athletes, movie stars, the public. You opened up your own clothing line and that soon opened up your own chain of stores. Then you began a record store, which turned into a music distributing company, Verocity Records. Every pop princess and Disney has-been sings for your label and the people buy them. You've monopolized downloaded media, and everyone, every-goddamned-one, downloads their music, video, books, ringtones from you! You moved on, you grew bigger, FiberDyne, Verocity Aerolines, and now this: Verocity Aeronauticals Star Plane. The Memphis Belle. The first airplane to break the stratosphere and orbit the earth.
Today, is her maiden flight. You've invited politicians, reporters, celebrities and of course your flavor of the week: Danica Hershey, your newest musical sensation discovery. Sure, she's 19 years your junior, but you're Memphis Burroughs. You've got more money than Trump and the prince of Burnai together. More moxie than Hugh Heffner. Tonight, you're going to fuck the shit out of her at over 100,000 feet above the Earths surface in your personal suite.
There is the usual ass kissing, the few nay sayers, but after the press conference and photos...The Memphis Belle is loaded up and awaiting clearance for take off on runway 17 of SeaTac airport. Her jets rumble, your passengers sip nervously on the cocktails and smile shyly at you. This is it. This is the moment. You are the man.
The tower calls out the clearance codes, the engine revs and the plane jerks. The g-force pulls you and the passengers into your soft memory foam seats.
You have a direct link to the cockpit. An earpiece. Within seconds the nose lifts and clouds race past. The Earth's gravity pulls at you and your guests. There is some nervous groans.
"No worries, folks." you announce over your personal speaker, "just as we explained in the briefing meetings, you'll experience a slight discomfort as gravity pulls at us, and your head may feel like it will explode...but rest assured...the crew will be leveling out the cabin pressure..."
The secondary boosters kick in and the Memphis rips through turbulence like a ginsu. You tap the button to the cockpit.
"Any problems, captain?" you whisper.
"No, sir." he answers obediantly, "all systems check okay, we should be breaking through the stratosphere in a few minutes."
"Excellent. You've done well, captain, much appreciated for the smooth flight."
And that was the wrong thing to say. You knew it was. In fact, after you said it, it felt bad in your mouth like diet soda. Because from that moment on, things went bad. Things went really bad.
It started when Kevin Newmann, yes, the action hero movie star, threw up into his cocktail glass. Then he unbuckled his seat belt and attempted to get up to use the bathroom. The idiot got up. The plane was doing mach 7 and about to break through the atmosphere into space and he got up out of his seat.
"I've got to puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu........!" was all that came out of his mouth as he was ripped out of his standing position and slammed through the back wall into the cabin area. He suffered several broken bones, a ruptured kidney, and many lacerations. His career was done. But that is entirely irrelavent.
Just before the Memphis Belle broke through the atmosphere there was a rumble from beneath the plane.
"Captain?" you call through your monitor, "Is everything okay? What was that?"
"Instruments are reading normal, sir." you notice a hint of nervousness in that voice, "No alarms and I just ran a systems check....doesn't seem to be anything..."
"What the hell was that noise that came from underneath us?" the direction your moment of glory is going is starting to piss you off.
"I can't be sure, sir."
"You can't be sure? What do you mean you can't be sure??"
You look up at Danica, she could care less. She's busy looking out the window watching the the earth in full view. The rest of your passengers however, are shaken. After Newman's exit, and the rumble of the undercarriage, they're not sure if they wanted to take a magic carpet ride with Mr. Memphis Burroughs.
"The captain will be leveling off and we'll be reaching orbital pattern in a few moments, folks." you announce, "As soon as we level off, we'll have a look at Mr. Newman's injuries. But please, do not attempt to get out of your seats until we've reached enertial dampening. The light will come on momentarily."
There is concern on some faces for the fallen actor. Some, these are rich people on board, afterall, and they didn't become that way by caring about people. There were just a few bleeding hearts here and there...and you yourself had done some philandering in your long rich career. The Humane Society, the children's cancer fund, hell you even shaved that beautiful mane of yours for St. Baldrick's the children's cancer fundraising event.
The bell goes off. Ding Dong (you wanted that Star Trek sound...the tooweeee-ooo...but they couldn't put it in) The seatbelt light shuts off.
"The seat belt light is now off." the captain speaks, "it is now safe to move about the cabin area. On behalf of Verocity Aerolines, Mr. Burroughs, and my crew, we'd like to thank you for joining us on our maiden flight through orbit. You may experience a slight queeziness as you'll experience the zero-gravity effect in the cabin. We do have gravitational stabilizers equipped in the cabin, but I thought it would be a treat to experience zero gravity. If there is any discomfort during your flight, please be sure to let our staff know."
You feel proud again. Incidents forgotten already. Even as famous Dr. Gregory Bohnstetter, head of cardiology at the Mayo Clinic, the guy who put in 3 stents in your own pulminary system, patched up Mr. Newman and made him as comfortable as he could with a few doses of morphine.
Everyone unbuckles and floats towards the port windows. The Earth glows filling every window. People 'oooo' and 'aahhh'. Some are having problems navigating their way through zero gravity.
"Folks," you begin your glory speech. "thank yew so much for joining me on this maiden flight. A few bumps and bruises are to be expected and ah pray that Mistuh Newman will recover from his injuries which ah will cover all expenses. In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy yourselves. Mi casa es su casa."
There is the congradulatory handshakes, the shallow shoulder pats and kisses.
"You've opened a doorway, Mr. Burroughs." compliments a congressman from Texas, "You've opened the future to space flight for the average citizen."
"Thank you, Mr. Rice." you smile and reach into your breast pocket for your viagra pills.
You look over at Danica, who is staring in awe at the planetscape, this one's for her. You pop the blue pill into your mouth and walk over to her.
"Honey." you put your arm around her waist, "ah'm going up to the cockpit to personally congratulate my crew for a bit, would yew be a dear and meet me in our suite in say....15 minutes?"
"Sure, honey." she says, in her sweet young voice giving you that coy look that you know means, do what you want to me, just make me rich and famous.
You make your way to the cockpit. You press your finger on the keypad by the locked cabin door. A light reads your prints and the door hisses ajar. You open the door and walk into the cockpit which is lit up with the most hi-tech avionic equipment money can buy. Of course, you didn't have to buy any of it because you own FiberDyne that supplied the cable and fiberoptics, and you own Verocity Aeronauticals which provided the rest of the material.
"Captain," you pat him on the shoulder and then look around at the other 3 crew members,"Gentlemen. Ah can't thank y'all enough for a job well done. Congratulations to yew boys, now let's make sure yew git us all home safe and sound as well."

Friday, September 18, 2009

couples


you don't love me
you're just used to me
this isn't at all
what i thought we were
going to be
cuddling in bed
the feeling is dead
"i love you"
only said in the head
good night kiss
what i miss
the passion and moaning
now it's come to this
dusty dry arid plain
nothing left but human stain
what was once
naked sore rugged love
now just rolling over
to sleep
good night, darling

Thursday, September 17, 2009

the appointment...


writing in minneapolis
the hub of midwestern culture
amongst the university students
some leaving home for the first time
some coming back for the last time
to be young
to be given that chance
no regrets
you're going somewhere
me
i'm sitting outside
next to a bronze statue
i have no idea what it means
writing in a black notebook
waiting for a urology appointment
drinking .95 cent gas station coffee
i've got regrets
and pissed away my chances
people pass me with caution
am i that dangerous looking?
do my thoughts seem that impure?
ah, fuck you anyways
i'm awaiting results
that i probably don't want to hear
a reality i don't want to face
writing in minneapolis....

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Alpha Kingdom Book 1: Trouble in Aradi

i had been asked several times, mostly by my kids, to write a childrens book. well, i could never swallow writing something cheesy and childlike, so i knew i would have to take a fantasy role on this. alpha kingdom is what took place. i started this one by the text book, i wrote out the characters, then i mapped out the land, then some of their languages and it got to be sort of Tolkienish...but don't worry, i could never reach his caliber, but i did an outline of this story and realized i've opened up a string of history about one kingdom reaching full circle...damn, hope i live long enough to finish this....

In the highest towers of Castle Eaven, the King looked out its window towards the north. On his right he could see the Open Country, to his left the Wisdom Mountains that shadowed over the Hill Country, and ahead of him where the River North flowed; the Olostic Gardens, beyond that, was the Sea of Nothing. The sky, in its brilliance, shimmered its radiant light across the land, for no night had ever befallen Aradi. Yet, in all the King’s infinite wisdom, he could tell there was a hue of purple building up in it.




The Wisdom Mountains looked a bit more ominous, their normal light green color getting darker. They loomed over Bigiddo Valley like giants ready to pounce. But he had heard no word of anything out of order from those provinces in Hill Country. The Chancellor of Billathor had just visited the palace last week in a meeting with his High Minister Atan Rey, and Atan had not reported anything out of the ordinary.



The King stroked his long white beard. A wrinkle formed on his troubled brow and he sighed. “Something is still not right.” he thought to himself. He had a connection with everything in Aradi, he was a part of it as it was a part of him.



“Your majesty?” a low voice came from behind.



“Ah, Minister Rey,” the King was happy to see his most trusted advisor. “I was just thinking of you.”



“Were you, my Lord?”



High Minister Atan Rey was probably the most beautiful of all the citizens of Aradi. He was one of the Firstbornes, one of the Eternals, and head of the King’s Gathering. He held the high honor of heading the Temple, and was the trusted advisor to the King. Whenever the citizens of Aradi needed advice of the King they came to the Temple and heard words spoken from the King , through Minister Rey. Atan was the wisest of all the subjects and answered only to the King himself.



“Atan,” the King began. “Something troubles me. I wonder if I might entrust you with the burden of listening to me.”



“But of course, Sire,” Atan Rey sat beside his king and placed his delicate hand on the King’s. “You need not fret over burdens, you are much too busy for that.”



“Atan, there is a disturbance here that I cannot put my finger on.”



“Sire?”



“The Presence, it feels different somehow. Usually, it flows and penetrates through everything, giving off its warmth to everyone here. But it feels…corrupted.”



“Your majesty, certainly you can’t mean…?”



“No, no. I do not mean that the Presence has turned itself against us, that is quite impossible. But there is something out there that is…tainting it. Do you know what I mean? Can’t you feel it yourself?”



“I’m afraid that I cannot, your Majesty. Surely if there was some…impurity within the Presence I would have noticed something at the Gathering. We all would have.”



“I suppose your right, dear friend. Perhaps I am being foolish then?”



“On the contrary, my Lord. If there is something behind this then mayhap you should hand this responsibility to someone else.”



“Yes, Atan, you are right. I shall have an investigation start immediately. I will need someone to travel amongst the citizens of Aradi and see if there is anything that they can detect.”



“I shall start on it immediately, my Lord.”



Atan Rey got up to leave and the King stopped him with his mighty voice.



“No, Atan, I should not need to bother you with such matters. I will find someone else.”



“But, Sire, if anyone can detect an anomaly in the Presence, surely it would be me. I am the High Minister of the Gathering. The people of Aradi look to me for spiritual guidance as you do, wouldn’t I be the prime…”



“I understand your reasoning, Atan.” the King interrupted. “But I’ve made up my mind. I will have Chael and Briel answer my call.”



“Chael and Briel? Pardon my insolence, but they are your soldiers. The people look at them with more contempt than anything else. I again beg you to reconsider this matter and make me your….”



“Atan, I have chosen Chael and Briel. If their investigations come up with anything, then I will have them bring what they’ve found to you. Agreed?”



“Agreed, your Highness. Please excuse me.”







Among the River North, just to the south of Mandragel, Lady Ankind sat dreamily on the banks. Her hair shimmering in the light, her gown glowing about her as it rest in the lush grass of the Olostic Gardens. Her delicate foot dipped into the cool water of the river, she was reading a scroll that had been written by Atan Rey. She did this every afternoon. It was her time to meditate and to let the Presence flow through her.



Just beyond a grove of Vera Trees, a watcher sat in hiding. He stood there in the shadows of his cover admiring the beauty whom sat before him. Her hair was a dark brown that matched her deep eyes. It flowed just past her shoulders in curls. Her eyes were always expressing happiness. Her full lips had a constant grin on them, that made her dimples express themselves on her rosy cheeks. This watcher’s heart agonized to be with her, but he was a soldier, not royalty at all.



He decided reluctantly to leave her to her reading. He crept out of his shadows and walked towards the Front Gate of the Gardens. His thoughts were only on Lady Ankind, until an Uribim interrupted his daydreams.



“Master Chael,” it was Taph, leader of his kind. The Uribim were small, like new borns at full growth. They had wings like humming birds. They were kindred with the faeries, but spent most of their days running messages to the people of Aradi.



Chael had jumped, “Taph! By the King, you’ve frightened me!”



“My apologies, sir.” Taph’s head bowed.



“No apologies needed, friend. What news do you bring me this hour?”



“The High Minister Atan Rey requests your presence at the Temple post haste. There is a mission of most importance he has for you.”



“Very well, Taph, and thank you.”



Taph looked towards the direction Chael had come from and then back at Chael with a grin, “She is beautiful, is she not Master Chael?”



“Mind your business, Taph.” Chael returned his grin.



“Very well, I’m off to find Briel, as he will be joining you on this mission.”



“I believe you’ll find him at the Drenton Temple or on the banks of Le’Anse Lake, I believe he was helping Priestess Lith with something there.”

Road Trip (completed)

this is an early one. i drew a lot of my scary stories from vivid nightmares i'd had. here's one that still gets under my skin...

It was just another business trip. At least that’s what we told our wives. In reality it was a four-hour sales pitch in New Orleans and then a two-day party at the Mardi Gras. I felt a tad bit guilty telling my wife how I was dreading taking this trip with all the ass-kissing I had to do with Murray, my partner, but…a guys got to party, right?




We drove the trip as usual. We didn’t mind the traveling expenses because the company picked up the tab anyways. We worked for Fyberspace Network Systems, a growing fiber-optic company that was looking to expand its southern market. We were the spearhead of the project. I had them eating out of my hand on the phone the week before, so it wouldn’t take much to reel them in.







It was a long and tedious drive from Minnesota, but with us taking turns with the driving, it wasn’t so bad. We were like college kids on a road trip to spring break. I only hoped my liver could stand the abuse of the four day binge. Oh, the sacrifices I give for my company.



We checked in at our hotel and had a bite to eat at the outdoor café just a block over.



“What time is our meeting tomorrow?” I asked sipping a Long Island Tea.



“Uh,” Murray fumbled through his leather calendar. “It’s at 10am at the Hick’s center.”



“We better not hit it too hard tonight then.”



“It’s in the bag. We could do this deal blindfolded.”



“I’d almost like to see that. What do you want to do tonight?”



“Hell, man, I don’t know…let’s ask the guy at the front desk. I’ve never been to one of these things before.”



“Me neither.”



The waiter came by to take our order. We asked him what were the best places to go to during the Mardi Gras. He stared at us for a moment. I didn’t like his stare. I was thinking maybe he was gay or something but he told us about this one bar on the far side of town, and he was kind enough to draw us a map. He claimed it was a good place to get the feel of the south.







We got to “Dante’s Blues Saloon” at about a quarter to eight. It was some of the best blues I’ve heard, true blues. The singer up front sang it from his guts, an old black man with dirty clothes and a frayed fedora. His words lulled out from his cracked lips holding a cigarette in them. At any rate, I ordered my first pitcher of beer with the company credit card and the night started to rock.



Murray had danced a few songs with a couple of girls. I’m no Mr. Morals, but it seems almost like cheating on your wife. Especially the way he was dancing with the ladies. It looked like screwing with clothes on.



Well, it was about ten to midnight when I seen her. I feel guilty just staring at her, but her eyes. I tried to act like I was staring at something else, but it was damn near next to impossible. She had shoulder length brown hair, full lips, this cat suit thing (God bless the man who came up with spandex), and those eyes. My God, they trapped you, made you stare at them. That’s when I realized she was coming over to our table.



“Ya’ll don’t look local.” Her southern drawl, perfect.



“Uh, nope.” I wanted to shut up. I was going to sound stupid. I’ve been married too long to be smooth.



“We’re from Minnesota, honey.” Murray spoke up, “Have a seat.”



She sat down without taking her eyes off me.



“So ya down for the Mardi Gras then?”



“Uh, no.” I said trying to clear my throat, “We’ve got business down here.”



“Well, ain’t that nice. Ya’ll wanna dance?”



“No. No thanks, I’m married.”



“Sugah, I didn’t ask ya to sleep with me, I only asked ya to dance.”



“I don’t think my wife would appreciate…”



“Well, aren’t you a good ‘lil ‘ol Catholic boy.” She turned to Murray, “How ‘bout you, sugah? You married too?”



“Yep,” he grinned at me. “But I’m a Protestant.”



That bastard was out there bumping and grinding with her on the dance floor. She knew how to move too. I was feeling the guilt again so I went back to where the phones were and called my wife.



When I came back to our table she was gone but Murray was sitting there pouring a fresh pitcher. I glanced around to see if I could spot her, but there was no sign of her.



“Jeez La-weez, you are a dumb-ass!” He said as I sat down.



“What are you talking about?” I poured myself a glass.



“That chick really dug you, man. You let her get away with that ‘good little Christian boy’ act. I think that turned her on the most.”



“Murray, c’mon, I’m friggin’ married. Happily I might add.”



“Oh come off it! We’re far away from home. I love my Lynn, too, but hey…when in Rome.”



“Just drink your damn beer.”







The sale went through just as we had imagined. The suits on the executive floor of Fyberspace will be very pleased with our success. This was a multi-million dollar account and the commission was going to be heavenly.



We celebrated at this ritzy little Cajun joint off Bourbon Street. Our management told us to celebrate on the company. We went through three carafes of wine and I was feeling a good buzz when we left. Oh, the food was pretty good too.



“Well, where to now?” Murray asked.



“Let’s go back to that bar we were at.” I answered. I wanted to see her again.



“That place was kinda lame, I want to hit the strip. Lookit all those people.”



“Tell ya what, I’m gonna go get started at Dante’s, then I’ll meet you back here at 8:30?”



“Suit yourself, just don’t get yourself in any trouble.”



“I’m not going to see that woman, if that’s what your thinking.”



“What ever. See ya.”







I rolled the rum in my mouth like I did the lie I told Murray in my brain. The music at Dante’s was thumping. It seemed all a guy could hear was the bass drum. I pushed out a Kool from its pack, it seemed all they sold down here was soft packs, and held it tightly in my lip.



“Need a light, sugah?” her voice was behind me.



She put her hands over my eyes. “Guess who?”



I reluctantly pulled them off.



“Hey.” I said with my dumb-ass smile.



“Hey yourself.” She sat down. “Where’s your friend?”



“Uh…Murray went into town for the festival.”



“That boy was quite the dancer.”



“Yeah, so I noticed.”



She put her hand on mine and I looked into those damn eyes. Were they always this green? I could have sworn they were blu….



“Ya wanna show me what ya got?”



Her tongue ran across her upper row of teeth.



“Uh…no. I told you I’m married. I don’t…”



She gripped my hand tightly. “I don’t think you came out here by your lonesome just to sip on rum all night.”



I felt like a fly caught in a web. I dropped my gaze from her and concentrated on putting my cigarette out.



She got up and pulled on my arm.



“C’mon, sugah, I don’t bite.”



I knew that she did bite, and that those eyes had teeth.



I danced like an idiot out there. I think most men dance like idiots except for slow dancing. I tried to keep a distance from her. She grabbed my hips and thrust hers to mine. I stared up at the disco lights, thinking my wife could see me somewhere behind the colored filters. She slithered her arm around my neck and brought my head down so I’d be facing her. We moved in one writhing motion. For a moment I had forgotten my wife and was lost in her eyes.







The next morning I opened my eyes and tried to shake some of the cobwebs from my still half-drunken mind. My head yelled at me to knock it the hell off. I did notice that I was in a strange room. At first I thought maybe it was just because I wasn’t used to the hotel room, leave alone the fact that I didn’t remember how I got back.



Then I realized, I wasn’t in a hotel at all. I was in someone’s house. I was lying on a hide-a-way bed in someone else’s living room. I sat up quickly, my head still bitching the whole time. I winced in pain, so I turned my head slowly to gather my surroundings.



It was a tidy home. It was all pretty old but well kept up. It smelled a little dusty, but everything down here smelled a little dusty or damp. That’s right when a man walked in.



He was holding a TV tray filled with a bowl of Grape Nuts, half a grapefruit, toast with some orange marmalade, and a bloody Mary with a celery stick poking out the top of the glass.



“Good mornin’, Daniel.” He was a cheery cuss. He had salt and pepper curly hair with a mustache to match. He was medium build wearing a white terry cloth bathrobe with tufts of charcoal gray chest hair sticking out.



He placed the tray on the end table next to the couch.



“Uh…” I tried not to look at him and tried to remember last night. “Who the hell are you and where am I?”



“Had too much to drink, Danny?” He smiled at me.



She came down the stairs into the living room. Her hair was wet and she was drying it with a towel. She wasn’t wearing anything but a long sweatshirt.



“I see you’ve met my daddy.” She smiled at me like her father.



“Actually, Rachel,” Her dad looked at her. “I don’t think Dan had time to grasp the morning. How did ya sleep, hon?”



“Just fine, daddy.” She kissed his cheek and then sat down on the bed next to me.



I fell back onto my pillows.



“How the hell did I get here?” I asked looking up at the ceiling.



“I drove you, silly.” She giggled. “Boy, you must’ve had way too many.”



“Would you be so kind as to tell me what time it is?”



“Why sure.” She looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the living room, “It’s a quarter past nine in the morning.”



I let out a deep sigh. I should’ve called my wife. I told her I would call her every night I was down here. I was in deep but maybe Cheryl would understand. I began to wonder how Murray made out last night.



“Why don’t you eat your breakfast and Rachel and I will take you on a ‘lil tour of New Orleans.” Her father said, pronouncing New Orleans like ‘N-Awlins’.



“Really,” I forced my head off the pillow again. “I really should get back to my hotel.”



“Nonsense,” he insisted. “I’ve got some errands to run, and I can drop you off afterwards.”



Something about the way those two looked at each other really gave me the chills, but my foggy brain wouldn’t let me think straight.



“Oh, all right. What can it hurt?” I hesitantly asked. I knew full well I was heading for trouble with my wife later. But I couldn’t stop myself.







It turned out her old man is a real estate agent and a damn good one at that. He’s sold a lot of homes costing over $4 million along the gulf coast. He knew the city well and pointed out a lot of points of interest that most tourists don’t get to see.



We had pulled into this old neighborhood. The “Blue Bloods” he called them. On either side of the cobblestone street were tall gothic mansions. Weeping willows guarded each on like a giant spider. I was beginning to remember some of the Anne Rice novels I’d read as a teenager, and I could feel the presence of her characters all around me.



We pulled up to a curb in front of a huge church. It matched its haunting neighbors with its ancient tall looks and willow trees on all four corners of its lot.



“What’s this?” I asked.



Rachel’s father looked at me from the front seat then towards Rachel. She smiled at him, and then at me.



“I thought bein’ a Christian and all,” she drawled. “Ya might want to go to church.”



I digested what she said. I looked at her dad and then at her. They both stared back in anticipation. I looked out my window at the church again.



“Yeah,” I said. “That’d be just fine.”



They looked victorious at each other. I thought Cheryl would flip out if she heard that I went to church while on a business trip. Me, the guy she has to drag out of bed every Sunday morning at 8am, sometimes unsuccessfully. The guy who wouldn’t go to ‘Promise Keepers’ because it was opening fishing season, and it was more of a sin to skip that in Minnesota then a Christian men’s conference. Yes, she’d be proud.



“I hope nobody minds I’m not wearing a tie.” I said.



“Oh, don’t worry, sugah.” Rachel reassured. “We’re pretty casual on our dress code with visitors.”



We stepped out of the car, and I stared at the size of the church. It was as long as it was tall. There was something about the steeple that was missing. It gave me an uneasy feeling. I tried to brush it off, but became more uncomfortable as we got closer. It didn’t have a cross on top.



“Where is everybody, are we late?” I asked sheepishly.



“Just a ‘lil, but that’s okay.” She pulled on my arm.



I hesitated just enough to read the marble marker in front of the steps:



Church of Light



Luciferian Synod of Illumination



I tried to dismiss what I had just read, but there was an engraved etching of satan staring boldly towards heaven as if proud of his blasphemous ways.



“I…I can’t go in there.” I croaked.



Rachel’s father grabbed my arm.



“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said in a tone no longer friendly. “You’ve gone too far to back out now.”



“I will not go in there!” I tried to pull against his grip, but it was incredibly vice-like.



“You don’t have that choice anymore.”



He was dragging me up the steps towards tinted glass doors. I was trying to struggle, but my strength was starting to leave me.



“I’m a Christian!” I tried to shout but my voice was leaving me too.



Rachel grabbed my face. She dug her nails into my cheeks. Her eyes were on fire now. No longer green or blue. I looked fearfully into the endless depths of her pupils.



“Do Christians commit adultery?” she snarled at me. “C’mon fess up! Ya’ll a bunch of hypocrites?”



“Adultery?” I became confused. I only danced with her.



“Yes, adultery! Or don’t you remember last night?”



My mind began racing. It ached to remember a shred of anything from last night. I started feeling guilty. I wasn’t sure if I had slept with her or not.



As I stood there in utter disbelief, I was dragged into that hideous church. It was dark. The only light shined through the stained-glass windows portraying Satan as a god. They dragged me up a flight of stairs. I heard chanting all around me. It seemed to be getting closer.



“I don’t belong here!!” I shouted with what I had left.



I swung my arm and knocked Rachel’s father off balance, and he tumbled down a few stairs. Rachel jumped on my back locking her feet in front of me. I rolled down the stairs and broke her leg lock on me as we spilled out on the landing.



Two cloaked figures rushed me. They never said a word as they wrestled me into a corner. I was able to gouge one of them in the eye with my thumb, and he let go. The other held onto my calf as I crawled towards the tinted glass doors. I tried to kick at him, but he wouldn’t let go. I looked up and saw that Rachel and her father were coming after me. To my left more hooded figures were coming from behind a black curtain.



Fortunately the onrush was simultaneous and forced me through the glass doors. I had glass in my mouth, hair and some down my shirt.



“Danny!” Rachel screeched at me.



I took off immediately and tried to run down the front steps. It felt like running through a tar pit. I felt a hand claw at my back. I hit the cobblestone street and returned to normal speed again.



“We’ll get you, Danny!” Rachel hollered. “You can’t hide from us, we’re everywhere! You have my mark!”



I ran about six blocks. I haven’t done that since I was 13. I was in the market square hoping to get lost in the crowd. There were vendors selling everything from tie-dye clothing to hand-made jewelry. I noticed there were ouija boards hand-made from the very cypress trees grown in the swamps of Louisiana. At least the signs claimed so.



“Help you wit somethin’?” The clerk asked giving me the up and down.



“What?” I was a bit startled, “Uh, no. I’m just kinda looking around.”



“Just seen you lookin’ at dose crystal charms so intently for the last ten minutes. You wanna try it on?”



“Uh. No. Thank you, but I don’t think this is my kind of place.”



“You sure?” He pulled a string of costume pearls. “I’ve got some love beads?”



“No really, I…”



“C’mon, gumbo, it’s de Mardi Gras. You gotta at least own some love beads to give to the ladies.”



“All right.”



I unbuttoned the top three buttons of my dress shirt and took the beads from him. I was only trying to humor him until I saw he wanted $25 for them. I put them on despite the fact.



“How much?” I asked even though I knew.



He looked at me strangely. He was staring at my chest. His eyes got wide with a sort of fury. His face trembled, then his hands creaked into fists.



“You!” He shouted. “It’s you!”



I took the beads off me and looked down at my chest. There were five deep holes over the spot where my heart was. As if someone had punctured the area with their finger nails. I backed away from the merchant.



“It’s him, everyone! The chosen! He’s here!”



I took off out the door and ran. I didn’t want his friggin’ beads anyways. I knew were I was. Three blocks from my hotel so I sprinted. There were at least seven guys and a few women tailing me.



I ran into the lobby and up two flights of stairs. I began to remember why I was going to quit smoking every New Years Eve. They weren’t following me anymore, but I ran all the way to my room praying to God Murray was there.



I fidgeted with the room key. It was one of those damn magnetic card keys. I kept putting it into the slot upside down. I almost broke it in half on a few tries.



“Dan, what the hell?” Murray opened the door.



I was thankful he was there but pushed past him. I pulled my clothes from the closet and threw them on the bed.



“Bad night, man?” He asked looking a bit confused.



I went into the bathroom and started grabbing all my toiletries. I threw them into my small leather pack that my wife had given me for Christmas.



“Dan, what the hell are you doing?” Murray asked almost perturbed.



“We’re going, pack now!” I looked out the window nervously.



“Say what? I’m not going any…”



“Stay if you want. I’m going. Now! I’ll take a cab!”



“To Minnesota? Don’t talk stupid! Now calm down and tell me what’s going on!”



“No time! I’ll explain later!”



“All right.” He sighed and started packing.







We drove into the night without saying a word to each other. I don’t think I ever blinked, my eyes felt dry. I just stared straight at the windshield. I focused on the bugs hitting the window.



I smoked a pack all the way to St. Louis and was working halfway into my second by the time we hit the Iowa border.



“We’re stopping to eat.” Murray finally spoke up. “You’re going to tell me what happened back there.”



“No…I…”



“I’m buying you as many shots as you want until you talk.”



I swallowed and almost came to realizing I had been gripping the dashboard with both hands. I crushed out the cigarette I was choking down and blew out a long white cloud. My throat hurt.



“Okay, Murr.” I agreed quietly.



We stopped at this sports bar just off the I-35, I-80 interchange in Des Moines. It was called something like “Billy Ray’s” or “Billy Bob’s” or something like that. It smelled good in there. I was still a little out of it.



We ordered. I just ordered a salad to pick at and a beer, but Murray ordered me three fingers of Tequila. He said he thought I needed it, hah.



“So…what the hell happened?” He asked. He was genuinely concerned, I was thankful.



“That bitch tried to kill me.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I don’t think I could look anybody in the eyes ever again.



“Dude, I knew she was trouble, but kill you? Come on!”



“I’m not screwing around here, man! She was mixed up in this cult thing! Her and her dad were trying to sacrifice me, or something! Freaky-ass-shit!”



“Whoah, slow down. Devil worshipping? Sacrifice? Dad?”



“Look, I got away from them, went down to the market, and this guy points at my chest and says I’m him, him the chosen one!”



“The chosen one?”



“That bitch said I slept with her and committed adultery, and that she put some mark on me.”



“Some hot sex, eh, bud?”



“Would you be serious? I’ve got no recollection of sex with her! I’ve got this mark on my chest though.”



“Open up your shirt, Dan.”



I looked down as I pulled my shirt open halfway. There on my chest where her fingernails had dug into my flesh, was a red pentagram. Each of the holes connected with a scratch mark. There was a scab shaped like an upside down triangle.



Murray stood up. His eyes were wide. He began to tremble. I dropped the cigarette from my mouth. My eyes were also wide.



“You!” Murray shouted, “You believer in a false god!”



“No.” I whimpered. “Murray, what are you…”



“He’s here! The chosen one from the two-faced religion! The cross-hugging hypocrite! The betrayer!”



I slid out of the booth and tried to stand. Murray struck me and knocked me down.



“He is here among us! And I thought you were my best friend!”



I slid away from him and stood up. The customers were starting to gather around me and were chanting. They were cursing me. They were cursing God. I pushed my way into the lobby as they chanted, and Murray hurled cuss words and spat on me.



I slammed into the hostess who seated us, and we both fell. I got up and tried to help her up.



“Help me.” I pleaded. I felt like I was in an episode of ‘the Outer Limits’.



“There is no help for the chosen.” She scowled. “No help for the filth of His flock!”



I ran out of the truck stop and headed for the interstate on foot.



I ran to a rest area just outside of Williams, Iowa. I had run and walked a distance of 78 miles in the ditch. I didn’t want to be spotted. It had rained on and off for six hours. I was hoping to dry myself off and hopefully get a little rest before I started out again.



I used one of those hand dryers to dry myself. The warm air felt comforting on my cold wet face. I sneezed a few times. ‘Great’ I thought, ‘I’m catching frickin pneumonia’.



I looked into the mirror and examined the mark on my chest. I never saw this the morning I woke up in Rachel’s house. I washed my face to try to wake myself. The whole thing seemed so unreal. I didn’t want to believe everything that my brain was registering as reality. I couldn’t bring myself to it.



‘Maybe if I slept.’ I thought, ‘Maybe if I slept and woke up at daybreak and had a nice sink bath. Maybe then everything would make sense. Then I could just return to my normal little life and I promise, God that I’ll go to church every Sunday willingly. Next year, I’ll be the first in line to go to Promise Keepers.’



I went out into the lobby and saw the phones hanging on the wall. I searched my pockets for change. I came up with .45 cents and a wad of lint.



I’ll call Cheryl. She’ll come and get me. She’ll come and get me, and we can return home together and live happily ever after. Yeah, right! How the hell can I explain why I’m here in a rest area in Iowa? ‘Honey, I slept with some girl in a devil cult and now they all want to kill me. Can you come pick me up? Murray? Oh, he’s one of them too.’



I dropped the change into the slot and dialed collect. It was busy. I thought I might just take a little nap in the stall, and call later. I can tell her that Murray decided to stay, and I wanted to come home early because I missed her so much. So I hitched a ride. That would work, right?



I drifted into sleep.



“Hey. Hey, buddy?” a voice woke me out of the blackness.



“Huh?” I awoke with a jump, and my fist clenched. I was ready for them.



“Easy, buddy, you okay?” It was a trucker. He was a tad pudgy and on the later side of 50. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and Wrangler jeans. A Burrough’s Cartage, Inc. hat sat proper on his graying red hair.



“Yeah!” I tried to look mean. “Yeah, leave me be!”



“Just checking. I heard you crying out in your sleep. You need a ride somewhere?”



“No, I’m fine.”



“Okay, I’m heading into Minneapolis if you’re looking for a ride.”







I gave in. I rode in his semi with one hand on the door handle and the other holding my shirt closed. He spoke once in awhile, but I just nodded my head not really listening to him. I just wanted to be home with Cheryl. I just wanted to be back with her in my safe little home. Everything will work itself out later.



He pulled off onto highway 62 in Richfield, MN. He went over to the shoulder and stopped his rig. It gasped as the air brakes engaged. He looked a little concerned at me, and I clutched the top of my shirt. He held out his hand.



“This is where I drop ya, bud.” He said with a smile, “The brass would fine me if I showed up with a rider and all, ya know.”



“Thanks.” I took his hand, and he gripped mine and shook it.



“This close enough for ya?”



“Yeah.” I opened my door.



“Well, good luck to ya. Take care of yourself.”



“Thanks for the ride.”



I walked three miles to a convenience store just off the highway. I walked in to use the payphone. I almost started to cry. I began to feel relief, and I felt safe. I was only five miles from home. I never wanted to hear my wife’s voice more in my life. Once I heard it I knew everything would be okay.



I got to the phone back by the bathroom. It smelled awful. I didn’t care. I dropped my change into the slot. There was no dial tone. There was nothing. I looked at the receiver and clicked the lever several times. Nothing. The damn thing wouldn’t even give me my change back.



I slammed the phone down and went up to the cash register. I waited behind two customers impatiently. They were paying for their purchases with a damn credit card! I began to wonder if people in a hurry felt the same way when I was paying with a credit card, especially when the clerk can’t operate the machine.



I finally got up to the register.



“I need to use your phone.” I said desperately, “It’s a local call.”



“There’s a pay phone in the back by the bathrooms.” The pimple-faced kid grinned at me.



“It ain’t working. Can I just use your phone up here?”



“Sorry, it’s against company policy for us to use the business phone for anything except business.”



“Look, it’s an emergency. I’ll just take a minute! It’s a local call for chrissakes!”



“There’s a warehouse just on the other side of the parking lot. They may have a phone.”



“Thanks, you’ll make employee of the month!” I would’ve argued with the punk in any other circumstance, but I hadn’t the energy. I walked out across the parking lot to this warehouse.



The lady at the front desk was pleasant. She greeted me with a smile and said I could use the phone in back. She guided me back down the hallway. She opened the last door that opened into the warehouse. It was dark in there except for the desk lamp that shined down on a black phone with an old rotary dial on it about fifty feet ahead of me.



I thought it was odd that she wouldn’t let me use the one up front on her desk, but I wasn’t in the mood to discuss company policy with her.



I dialed the number wrong twice. My fingers fumbled with the rotary. What kind of business uses a rotary phone anyways? I dialed a third time and got the first ring.



“Hello?” it was her voice. Oh, Cheryl. Sweet Cheryl. Her voice was so soft and warm. So safe. Sweet Cheryl.



“Honey?” I was starting to break down.



The phone went dead. Someone cut the line. I closed my eyes, and the chanting started again around me. Coming from the darkness, from the mustiness. It was all around me. I dropped the receiver.



A tear fell down my cheek.



“You can’t run.” A voice spoke from the unseen group of people. “We told you, we are everywhere!”

the empty cell (completed)

i used to work in a jail, and some of the whack jobs we'd get in there would make your hair fall out from insanity. here is a concept based on an actual incident and inmate i dealt with on the night shift. of course his name is changed and the county is my own creation Moon Valley County. I've submitted this one around to some mags and contests, and it's seen the light of day only on one underground mag.

Brody came in as always with his thermos of coffee, a sandwich and a bag of corn chips in a plastic bag. In the other hand a paperback sci-fi novel, usually something from Ray Bradbury. His winter cap on and frost gathering on his mustache, he journeyed up the courthouse steps and then hung a sharp right into the Law Enforcement Center. He waved at the dispatcher as she buzzed him through to the jail office.




Jimmy Vaughn already had his jacket on and was ready to leave. The other jailer, Nellie Polk, was just coming in from the jail cells after handing out the nightly meds.



“What’s on for tonight?” Brody asked Jimmy.



“Same as always, nothin’.” Jimmy answers as he spits out his chewing tobacco into the office sink.



Brody studies the Photo Board. It displays pictures of the current inmates of the Moon Valley County jail, all 22 of them. He knows pretty much all the faces, most repeat offenders, probation violations or DWI’s. There is a new face on the board, but it’s blurry and a little distorted.



“Have a little problem with the MRAP machine?” Brody asked, the MRAP took full 360degree photos of its subject and downloaded them into a nation-wide database.



“Oh, that guy.” Jimmy rolls his eyes. “You want to try and photo him go for it, that guys a freak!”



Brody motions to the photo board with his thumb, “Do you want to tell me which one of these boys in here aren’t?”



“True enough. But there’s something about Quidam that I don’t like. Something going on behind them eyes of his.”



Nellie rolled her eyes at Jimmy and gave Brody a smile.



Brody returned it and attached his radio to his duty belt and fetched the cell keys from their respective hook. They were large and cumbersome, but after Brody’s fifteen years here, he didn’t notice.



“Gonna make a check.” He hit the button that released the door going out into the jail. “Is anybody out on work release?”



“Nope,” Nellie answered. “They should all be here.”



Jimmy left and said ‘good night’ as Brody stepped out into the jail cells.



All the inmates were either playing cards or watching wrestling on TV. Brody never understood how inmates got seventy-three channels of cable while he watched two snowy local channels at home. Some waved at him, bitched about the evening meals and some he took a minute or two to converse with. When he came to the last cell that was holding their new inmate, Quidam, he stopped.



The air was different, cold and dry. He stepped down the catwalk behind the cell’s wall and peeked in through the two-way mirror at Quidam. He was writing on the walls with a nub of a pencil. The writing was too small for him to read from here, but Brody thought he better put an end to it. He came around the front of the cell where there were bars that separated the inmate from the jailer.



“What are you doing?” Brody asked with some intimidation in his voice.



“I…I’m trying to figure out the pathway.” Quidam answered without looking up.



“Pathway? Mr. Quidam, I’m not exactly sure what you me…”



“The pathway. I’m almost there. Please, hush.”



“You’re going to have to stop writing on county property. If you need paper I can get you paper, but you cannot write on county property.”



Quidam didn’t stop. He wrote with a fury, stopping only a few times to ponder a thought and then returned to his work. Brody noticed the guy’s lips were chapped and cracked. He was constantly licking them with a dry tongue. Brody went around to the backside of the man’s cell to where the door was.



“Mr. Quidam,” he hollered. “I’m coming into your cell. I need you to stand up with your back to the wall facing me!”



There was no answer. He turned the heavy key in the door lock and pulled the door open. Quidam was crouched on the floor, writing with fervor. Brody spoke into his shoulder microphone for Nellie to come and assist and then walked in all the way to where Quidam was crouched, being careful to make sure the door didn’t lock.



“Do you have a problem following orders, Mr. Quidam?” Brody was getting agitated. The walls, table and floor were decorated with this madman’s writing.



“May 24th.” Quidam spoke, “May 24th, 1984.”



“What?”



“May 24th, 1984. That was the day that God lifted the veil from my eyes and showed me the Eight Disciplines.”



“The ‘Eight Disciplines’, right. Do they include grafitti?”



“You don’t understand. You couldn’t understand. Of course how could you? You are below the comprehension of such infinite conjecture. You are part of an ill-governed machine put together to oppress the free thinkers, the ones who contemplate the reason for existence. But I, sir, I have mastered the Eight Disciplines. I am far beyond anything even the most scholastic of men. They have been blinding our children, they’ve put the veil on all of us, but I lifted it. Thanks, be to GOD!”



“What are these Eight Disciplines, if I may so boldly ask?” Brody’s face was flushed with anger, but he kept sarcasm around to cap it.



“You don’t want your eyes opened. Besides there isn’t anytime! Now go away, I’m about to find a Ninth Discipline that God Himself knew nothing about.”



“All right, Quidam, I don’t know what kinda drugs your freakin’ out on but I’m taking your pencil and locking you down until you straighten out.”



Quidam almost growled at Brody when he bent over to take the pencil. Then, without warning, Quidam leaped at him and bit into his shoulder. Nellie and two Sheriff’s Deputies were coming down the hall at that moment and hurried when they heard the commotion. They pulled Quidam off and they all hauled him off to the isolation cell.



The isolation cell, commonly called the “Quiet Room”; consisted of a mattress, four metal loops to handcuff the inmate down in case he tried to harm himself, and a hole to piss in. A camera sat up in the ceiling so they could keep an eye on him.







The mid-shift ended at 10 o’clock and Nellie had left. Brody sat alone at the controls of the security office, nursing his bruised shoulder. Since the evening’s incident, Quidam was shouting out Bible verses and demanding that Brody repent. This went on and on until about midnight.



“I can still find it.” Quidam’s last words were, and then there was silence.



Brody turned up the microphone that was patched into the isolation cell. He only heard whispering. On the monitor, Quidam was writing something on the wall with what looked like his finger.



“The bastard cut his finger somehow and is writing in his own blood!” he thought to himself.



He hit the button on the microphone, “Mr. Quidam, if you’ve harmed yourself in any way in there, I will have to 4-point you down.”



Quidam only started to write faster and faster. Within minutes the entire south wall was covered in blood. He was starting to write another page on the west wall.



“Damn it!” Brody spat. He stood up and punched the button to go into the jail area again. He grabbed some bandages from the first aid kit and then some latex gloves.



As he approached the isolation cell he sat silently with his ear to the door. Only whispers from Quidam could be made out. Brody opened the food port in the middle of the door and peeked his head in.



Quidam was squatting there with a mad stare in his eyes. There was blood around his mouth and the stump of his index finger. He had chewed off the tip and spit it on the floor.



“I’ve found it.” Quidam grinned victoriously at Brody, “The Ninth Discipline, it’s all right here.”



Brody threw open the door and stopped just short of the entrance. The blood on the walls had congregated into a giant crimson splatter. It was bubbling and things were moving within it.



“We’re going to meet God.” Quidam cheered.



The blood started to spurt. It flecked the front of Brody’s brown uniform, and doused Quidam’s orange jumpsuit. Brody thought he heard something gargling within the splatter on the wall. He pulled on Quidam’s sleeve.



“Don’t take me away, I’m going to meet God!” he protested.



Dark clots sprung out and some rested on Brody’s badge. He fell into the hallway on his back. The door stood ajar with his legs in the way. He heard someone rattling at the office door trying to get out into hallway to assist him.



Brody tried to get up and slipped on the blood pooling on the floor. His third try was successful. The door to isolation slammed shut and he heard something roar from within. He slipped again trying to make it to the security office door. The officers saw the wideness of Brody’s eyes as he pounded on the door. He saw that one of the officers was trying to punch the button to release the door lock while the other was trying the fail-safe key.



“Open up!” Brody yelled, “Open up, for the love of God!!”



“I found it!!” yelled Quidam from the cell. “I’ve found the Ninth Discipline, Lord!! Have mercy on meeeeeeeeeeee!”



With that, Brody heard the roar again and then heard something crack. Quidam’s bones perhaps, he didn’t want to know. He just wanted to get in the office where there was a gun.



Sudden silence emanated from the cell once more with a lake of blood coming from under the door. There was a mewling sound and then a loud thump that shook the heavy metal door. Panic was renewed in Brody and some of the other inmates started to holler with a few choice words. Another thump and the door started to bend.



“Open up this door, and do it NOW!” Brody screamed.



The door to isolation was hit again and came off the hinges. The door landed on the ground. He heard the thing in isolation move towards the entrance, which was only eight feet from where Brody stood. It’s feet splashing around in the dark puddle beneath it.



“Slide your gun through the drawer!” Brody motioned to the drawer that slides from the security office into the hallway.



He reached into it and pulled out a 9mm. He cocked it back and waited for it to come. It howled inside the cell.



“If this is God, then I’m quitting church!” he thought to himself.



But nothing came. It was quiet. Only the drip of Quidam’s blood came from isolation.



“Brody?” the officer called from the security office.



Brody waved his hand at them and walked over to the cell cautiously. The door had lain there on the floor with what looked like claw marks and more blood. He swung his head into the cell quickly and then, back out. He pivoted his whole self to the entrance with the gun drawn.



It was empty. All the blood was draining into the piss hole like rain into a storm sewer. There was no sign of Quidam except for the raw stub of finger he had chewed off.



The security door swung open and about nine police and deputies flooded into the hall.



“You okay, Brody?” one officer asked.



“No.” he whispered, “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay.”