C.A. Pettit's Blog, page 2
October 29, 2019
Keys of Fate Part Twelve
Keys of Fate
A Story in Serial - Part Twelve
This is part twelve of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Twelve:The Binding
Viggo couldn’t deal with the voices any longer. He’d woken up in a hospital bed with an alarm going off, and a nurse had rushed in to check on him. The panic brought on by such disorientation had been overwhelming and he’d lost control. Several other people had rushed into the room and held him down to the bed while a man had put something into his IV line with a needle.
Now he was in another room, and there was a man in a chair just outside the door. He was flipping through a magazine and randomly glancing into the room to check on him. Viggo tried to sit up but felt resistance. He looked down and saw that his hands and feet were bound by straps attached to the bed. This was more cause for panic, but he forced himself to remain calm. There was the matter of the voices to deal with, and he was sure they had gotten him into this predicament. He couldn’t let them win with their lies.
They told him irrational things he knew to be false, but he also wasn’t in a rational state of mind. He could feel the residue of the drugs the doctors had used to sedate him. He kept dosing off, and his thoughts felt far away as if they came to him through a tunnel.
But the voices were close. So close.
“She knows,” they whispered. He told himself it was the drugs, but they sounded like they were beside his bed. Two of them. He could feel their presence. “She is here,” one would say and then, “She is going to the house you were going to, Viggo. Lisa will hear the truth of your lies but not from you. Miranda Williams will expose you for what you really are.”
He yanked helplessly against the straps, but he could not move his arms or feet more than a half an inch. He heard their laughter as he clenched his teeth and screamed. Their verbal assault was relentless, and he heard them even above his screams. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the seated man rise, his magazine falling to the cold, polished floor. He rushed into the room along with two women and another man. He saw them through dark, translucent fog. The voices told him that the doctors weren’t real; they were there to hurt him, and Viggo knew they weren’t lying.
The voices had never lied, for everything they’d told him was true. All of his soldiers were dead, and it really was his fault. The crimes he’d committed since that day were his fault, and Lisa knew. Knew everything. Why would the voices lie about these nurses and doctors? Only the voices cared enough to warn him. An arm reached across his chest, close to his chin. Viggo bit the arm, latching on so quick and hard that blood squirted from the arm. He heard a scream.
Hands all over him, pressing him down. The voices closer to his ears, begging him to fight, to not give in.
Darkness took him.
* * *
Abaddon kicked Talis in the chest, and the archangel fell onto his back. His head hit the tile of the diner floor hard. For a moment he lost his vision, but when it was restored, he was looking up at a man-made ceiling and not a forest floor.
He winced in pain and tried to reach to his side where his sword lay. A boot to the side of his face stopped that effort and he groaned in agony with the crunching of bone. He saw Abaddon standing over him, holding his sword. It broke Talis’s heart to see the blade of an archangel in the hands of one of the fallen, but the fear of what that meant outweighed his sadness.
Abaddon sheathed his own sword and held the archangel’s blade up so that the hilt was at eye level. He studied it for a moment and then a wicked smile slowly spread on his face. He reversed his grip and lowered the tip of the sword to the ground so that he was looking down at the round pommel. Talis felt his heart sink as Abaddon began to twist the pommel, unscrewing it.
“It was never about the human, was it?” he asked as he clutched his open chest.
Abaddon smiled wider and shook his head. “No, but you and your heavenly do-gooders just couldn’t resist the bait.” He finished unscrewing it and dropped the pommel unceremoniously dropped it on Talis’s head. The archangel cried out as the ancient metal struck his eye. He clutched the eye immediately and writhed as water flooded the orb. With his remaining eye, he watched in horror as Abaddon once again raised the sword and tipped the contents of the now-open hilt into his palm.
Two golden keys, long and ancient, fell neatly into his hand. The demon’s eyes lit up. He clutched the keys tightly and tossed the sword away. It landed with a clang that Talis knew would haunt him forever.
“Your time here is up, archangel,” Abaddon said with chilling confidence.
Talis closed his eyes and scolded himself for what was coming. Not only for himself and his army but for Viggo and Lisa. Viggo was alone now, and Lisa had lost her way from Jehovah years ago. The lies she would soon be hear were likely to destroy her marriage, and Talis was helpless to stop it.
He felt rough hands grabbing him and tried, futilely, to pull against them. There was no point. He was outnumbered, and he knew it. He opened his eyes, only one of them fully and able to see. Abaddon stood in front of him with the keys dangling from his fingers. Talis felt his hands and feet being shackled and tried not to notice the overwhelming heat. He looked around and saw the fumes of eternal flames, the red darkness of the skyless underworld of Hades.
To his right was a large creature, blacker than the darkest midnight sky. It raised its slick head and bared shining fangs in a wicked smile. Abaddon was walking toward the monstrous demon. As the demon general used the keys to unlock the creature, the one Talis knew all too well, it smiled again.
“Caught off guard?”
Talis looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. He yanked hopelessly against the chains and wished he could cover his ears to silence the anguished screams echoing all across the vast, burning void. But there would be no silencing the screams. As he heard the struggles of his warrior angels being similarly shackled next to him, he knew that his screams would soon join the tortured chorus.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
Coffee with a Devil Part Twelve
Coffee with a Devil
A Story in Serial - Part Twelve
This is part twelve of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Eleven:The Binding
Viggo couldn’t deal with the voices any longer. He’d woken up in a hospital bed with an alarm going off, and a nurse had rushed in to check on him. The panic brought on by such disorientation had been overwhelming and he’d lost control. Several other people had rushed into the room and held him down to the bed while a man had put something into his IV line with a needle.
Now he was in another room, and there was a man in a chair just outside the door. He was flipping through a magazine and randomly glancing into the room to check on him. Viggo tried to sit up but felt resistance. He looked down and saw that his hands and feet were bound by straps attached to the bed. This was more cause for panic, but he forced himself to remain calm. There was the matter of the voices to deal with, and he was sure they had gotten him into this predicament. He couldn’t let them win with their lies.
They told him irrational things he knew to be false, but he also wasn’t in a rational state of mind. He could feel the residue of the drugs the doctors had used to sedate him. He kept dosing off, and his thoughts felt far away as if they came to him through a tunnel.
But the voices were close. So close.
“She knows,” they whispered. He told himself it was the drugs, but they sounded like they were beside his bed. Two of them. He could feel their presence. “She is here,” one would say and then, “She is going to the house you were going to, Viggo. Lisa will hear the truth of your lies but not from you. Miranda Williams will expose you for what you really are.”
He yanked helplessly against the straps, but he could not move his arms or feet more than a half an inch. He heard their laughter as he clenched his teeth and screamed. Their verbal assault was relentless, and he heard them even above his screams. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the seated man rise, his magazine falling to the cold, polished floor. He rushed into the room along with two women and another man. He saw them through dark, translucent fog. The voices told him that the doctors weren’t real; they were there to hurt him, and Viggo knew they weren’t lying.
The voices had never lied, for everything they’d told him was true. All of his soldiers were dead, and it really was his fault. The crimes he’d committed since that day were his fault, and Lisa knew. Knew everything. Why would the voices lie about these nurses and doctors? Only the voices cared enough to warn him. An arm reached across his chest, close to his chin. Viggo bit the arm, latching on so quick and hard that blood squirted from the arm. He heard a scream.
Hands all over him, pressing him down. The voices closer to his ears, begging him to fight, to not give in.
Darkness took him.
* * *
Abaddon kicked Talis in the chest, and the archangel fell onto his back. His head hit the tile of the diner floor hard. For a moment he lost his vision, but when it was restored, he was looking up at a man-made ceiling and not a forest floor.
He winced in pain and tried to reach to his side where his sword lay. A boot to the side of his face stopped that effort and he groaned in agony with the crunching of bone. He saw Abaddon standing over him, holding his sword. It broke Talis’s heart to see the blade of an archangel in the hands of one of the fallen, but the fear of what that meant outweighed his sadness.
Abaddon sheathed his own sword and held the archangel’s blade up so that the hilt was at eye level. He studied it for a moment and then a wicked smile slowly spread on his face. He reversed his grip and lowered the tip of the sword to the ground so that he was looking down at the round pommel. Talis felt his heart sink as Abaddon began to twist the pommel, unscrewing it.
“It was never about the human, was it?” he asked as he clutched his open chest.
Abaddon smiled wider and shook his head. “No, but you and your heavenly do-gooders just couldn’t resist the bait.” He finished unscrewing it and dropped the pommel unceremoniously dropped it on Talis’s head. The archangel cried out as the ancient metal struck his eye. He clutched the eye immediately and writhed as water flooded the orb. With his remaining eye, he watched in horror as Abaddon once again raised the sword and tipped the contents of the now-open hilt into his palm.
Two golden keys, long and ancient, fell neatly into his hand. The demon’s eyes lit up. He clutched the keys tightly and tossed the sword away. It landed with a clang that Talis knew would haunt him forever.
“Your time here is up, archangel,” Abaddon said with chilling confidence.
Talis closed his eyes and scolded himself for what was coming. Not only for himself and his army but for Viggo and Lisa. Viggo was alone now, and Lisa had lost her way from Jehovah years ago. The lies she would soon be hear were likely to destroy her marriage, and Talis was helpless to stop it.
He felt rough hands grabbing him and tried, futilely, to pull against them. There was no point. He was outnumbered, and he knew it. He opened his eyes, only one of them fully and able to see. Abaddon stood in front of him with the keys dangling from his fingers. Talis felt his hands and feet being shackled and tried not to notice the overwhelming heat. He looked around and saw the fumes of eternal flames, the red darkness of the skyless underworld of Hades.
To his right was a large creature, blacker than the darkest midnight sky. It raised its slick head and bared shining fangs in a wicked smile. Abaddon was walking toward the monstrous demon. As the demon general used the keys to unlock the creature, the one Talis knew all too well, it smiled again.
“Caught off guard?”
Talis looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. He yanked hopelessly against the chains and wished he could cover his ears to silence the anguished screams echoing all across the vast, burning void. But there would be no silencing the screams. As he heard the struggles of his warrior angels being similarly shackled next to him, he knew that his screams would soon join the tortured chorus.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
October 25, 2019
Keys of Fate Part Eleven
Keys of Fate
A Story in Serial - Part Eleven
This is part eleven of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Eleven:The Diner
Abaddon had gained the upper hand. Talis sat on a stool at the counter of the diner, letting the thought fester after sending away the two angels that had given him the report of Viggo’s accident. Their forces were spread too thin to successfully fight this battle. He rubbed his forehead with one hand and absently dropped the other to the hilt of his sword.
How many more of Jehovah’s host had been drawn by the cunning tail of Lucifer in the past few weeks? he wondered. For that matter, how many more could they stand to lose? Their forces still far outweighed the demon army, but the enemy’s tactics had grown far more clever in recent days, and even the battle-hardened archangel had grown weary.
There was one victory to celebrate, however. Lisa was close, and though she had been accompanied by a spirit of guilt, Arbon—Viggo’s lieutenant—had been able to dispatch that one easily enough. She was on the highway now, more hopeful but alone and on her way to see a woman that could ruin everything. The situation was delicate, even fragile, and Viggo’s accident and episode had nearly derailed any chances of restoring this family. Talis sighed and shut his eyes as he willed Viggo to be released from the hospital sooner.
He heard laughter and looked up with a gasp. He was surrounded by trees, and the sky was black. He leapt to his feet and simultaneously drew his shimmering sword. He spun around, too late, and felt the cold sting of a sword opening his chest. His sword fell to the forest floor with a dull thud as he dropped to his knees and looked up to see Abaddon towering over him. The demon’s reptilian eyes betrayed the beauty of his almost human face. His smile revealed the truth Talis had fought to accept.
Abaddon had gained the upper hand.
To be continued…
This is the unedited, rough draft of a story in the Journey of Fate universe. All feedback is welcome!If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
Coffee with a Devil Part Eleven
Coffee with a Devil
A Story in Serial - Part Eleven
This is part eleven of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Eleven:The Diner
Abaddon had gained the upper hand. Talis sat on a stool at the counter of the diner, letting the thought fester after sending away the two angels that had given him the report of Viggo’s accident. Their forces were spread too thin to successfully fight this battle. He rubbed his forehead with one hand and absently dropped the other to the hilt of his sword.
How many more of Jehovah’s host had been drawn by the cunning tail of Lucifer in the past few weeks? he wondered. For that matter, how many more could they stand to lose? Their forces still far outweighed the demon army, but the enemy’s tactics had grown far more clever in recent days, and even the battle-hardened archangel had grown weary.
There was one victory to celebrate, however. Lisa was close, and though she had been accompanied by a spirit of guilt, Arbon—Viggo’s lieutenant—had been able to dispatch that one easily enough. She was on the highway now, more hopeful but alone and on her way to see a woman that could ruin everything. The situation was delicate, even fragile, and Viggo’s accident and episode had nearly derailed any chances of restoring this family. Talis sighed and shut his eyes as he willed Viggo to be released from the hospital sooner.
He heard laughter and looked up with a gasp. He was surrounded by trees, and the sky was black. He leapt to his feet and simultaneously drew his shimmering sword. He spun around, too late, and felt the cold sting of a sword opening his chest. His sword fell to the forest floor with a dull thud as he dropped to his knees and looked up to see Abaddon towering over him. The demon’s reptilian eyes betrayed the beauty of his almost human face. His smile revealed the truth Talis had fought to accept.
Abaddon had gained the upper hand.
To be continued…
This is the unedited, rough draft. All feedback is welcome. Tell me where you think the story might be going, and make sure to follow the blog so you can be the first to read part twelve. What would you like to see happen next?If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
October 23, 2019
Keys of Fate Part Ten
Keys of Fate
A Story in Serial - Part Ten
This is part ten of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Ten:Lisa in Texas
Lisa drove with one hand draped on the steering wheel. Her other hand was rubbing her forehead with her elbow propped against the driver’s side window. She didn’t think this road would ever end. Before her, the highway stretched across an endless horizon, narrowing to a pinpoint at the edge of the sky where it met the low, barren hills that felt a thousand miles away.
She drove in silence through the midday, marveled yet simultaneously unconcerned with the fact that the air conditioner, though on full blast, couldn’t begin to compete with the impossible heat and the penetrating rays of a sun that somehow seemed closer than the sun that gently kissed the rolling Appalachians. Yesterday she had sat on her porch, staring out at those mountains; today she was lost in the oil fields of another world, another life her husband had hidden from her for over a decade.
She ran her fingers through her hair as the memory of her conversation with Janice McElroy ran through her mind for the millionth time in less than forty-eight hours. She felt fresh tears, just like she had two days ago.
Three Days AgoLisa sat in one of Janice’s uncomfortable, squeaky leather chairs with a not high enough back and too high armrests. She gripped the edge of both armrests so tightly that she felt like she had just finished a shoulder routine at the gym, and she hated how calm the woman across from her seemed with her papery hands folded on top of the perfectly polished desk.
Janice cleared her throat. “I should be upfront by telling you that I’m quite limited in how much I’m permitted to say.”
“How long have you been sleeping with my husband?” Lisa’s grip relaxed. She’d said it. No point in being tense, now. Across from her, Janice, ancient Janice, sat up straight. Her eyes widened, and she gasped.
“You are forward, aren’t you?”
Lisa felt her gaze about to stare a hole into the older woman. “You’re beating around the bush, aren’t you?”
Janice looked down at the desk and wiped away some dust that wasn’t thee. “No, Mrs. Baptiste, I’m not. I was trying to explain doctor-patient confidentiality to you, and you interrupted me with a horrific accusation.” She folded her hands and resumed her calm posture. “I see Viggo did not actually tell you what’s going on.”
Lisa snorted. “I asked him who you were. He gave me your name and address. What else is there to tell?”
Janice smiled, which enraged Lisa. “There is quite a lot, I’m afraid.”
Lisa felt her heart sink, replacing her anger. She immediately began to fear the worst. Did Viggo love this woman? This older woman? Did Janice care for him more than Lisa? Had she taken care of more of his needs? She fought back tears and maintained her angry expression.
“How about some straight answers?”
Janice nodded. “I am not having an affair with your husband, Mrs. Baptiste. The obvious age disparity aside, he’s madly in love with you and talks about you constantly in our sessions.”
Lisa leaned her head back. Her heart began to beat faster. “Sessions?”
Janice held a hand up and waved it around. “Did you notice where you are, Mrs. Baptiste?”
Lisa glanced at the wall behind Janice’s head and saw multiple degrees mounted there. Degrees in psychology and counseling. A million questions she’d asked about her husband for the past ten years were suddenly answered. All of the money missing every month, on the same day every month, suddenly made sense. That money wasn’t being spent on gifts for a mistress.
“You’re his therapist?”
Janice nodded.
Lisa sat forward and put her head in her hands with her elbows on her knees. She rubbed her eyes and felt warm tears on her trembling fingertips. After a minute, she sat up and looked at the woman across from her through a blur.
“Viggo has PTSD, doesn’t he?”
Janice frowned. “I’m not permitted to say much more than this, but yes. A very severe case of PTSD, in fact.”
“And I accused you—”
Janice held up her hand and smiled. “Honey, this isn’t the first time an angry wife has busted into my office and accused me of having an affair with her husband.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Oh listen, this might seem strange to you, but it’s just a Tuesday for me.”
Lisa laughed. She couldn’t help it, and fresh tears fell with it. Janice reached a box of tissues to her. Taking a tissue and sitting back, Lisa let out a relieved and heartbroken sigh.
“I should’ve seen it.”
Janice was shaking her head. “Honey, these men are so good at hiding anything they think is weakness. He didn’t tell you, and he should have.”
“But it’s not weakness,” Lisa said. “It’s an illness, right? Like a mental illness?”
Janice nodded. “Absolutely, one that can be managed but still claims the lives of thousands every year. And it’s not just men hiding it; though they’re usually the worst offenders. All that masculinity and pride keeps them from getting help.”
Lisa shook her head and looked at her legs. “That’s awful.”
“It sure is.”
Their eyes met as Lisa looked up again. “Where is he? Did he tell you where he was going?”
Janice frowned again. “This is where I could get in trouble for saying too much.”
Lisa wadded up the kleenex in a fist. “How many veterans a day commit suicide because of this?” she asked.
Janice looked at her hands for a moment, then back up and sighed. “Twenty-two.”
“Tell me where my husband is before he becomes twenty-three.”
Janice blinked away moisture in her eyes and then gave a barely noticeable nod.
Lisa in TexasLisa exhaled the memory of that conversation and breathed in resolve. She looked down at the map display on her phone and saw that she had an hour before she would arrive at the house she’d looked up on Google that afternoon. Janice had been forthcoming but didn’t have exact addresses. Viggo had told her that he needed to do something in this small, West Texas town. He’d been vague but had given her a name. After multiple web searches, Lisa had found the article and obituary that eventually led her to the address she was driving to.
She prayed she would find Viggo there. She also prayed she would know what to do if he was. And if he wasn’t. She prayed for wisdom, too, and forgiveness. Though she told herself it wasn’t her fault, she knew the things she’d said and done in response to Viggo’s behavior had likely made it worse for him.
So she prayed. And cried. And drove on in silence across the lonely highway.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
Coffee with a Devil Part Ten
COFFEE WITH A DEVIL
A Story in Serial - Part Ten
This is part ten of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Ten:Lisa in Texas
Lisa drove with one hand draped on the steering wheel. Her other hand was rubbing her forehead with her elbow propped against the driver’s side window. She didn’t think this road would ever end. Before her, the highway stretched across an endless horizon, narrowing to a pinpoint at the edge of the sky where it met the low, barren hills that felt a thousand miles away.
She drove in silence through the midday, marveled yet simultaneously unconcerned with the fact that the air conditioner, though on full blast, couldn’t begin to compete with the impossible heat and the penetrating rays of a sun that somehow seemed closer than the sun that gently kissed the rolling Appalachians. Yesterday she had sat on her porch, staring out at those mountains; today she was lost in the oil fields of another world, another life her husband had hidden from her for over a decade.
She ran her fingers through her hair as the memory of her conversation with Janice McElroy ran through her mind for the millionth time in less than forty-eight hours. She felt fresh tears, just like she had two days ago.
Three Days AgoLisa sat in one of Janice’s uncomfortable, squeaky leather chairs with a not high enough back and too high armrests. She gripped the edge of both armrests so tightly that she felt like she had just finished a shoulder routine at the gym, and she hated how calm the woman across from her seemed with her papery hands folded on top of the perfectly polished desk.
Janice cleared her throat. “I should be upfront by telling you that I’m quite limited in how much I’m permitted to say.”
“How long have you been sleeping with my husband?” Lisa’s grip relaxed. She’d said it. No point in being tense, now. Across from her, Janice, ancient Janice, sat up straight. Her eyes widened, and she gasped.
“You are forward, aren’t you?”
Lisa felt her gaze about to stare a hole into the older woman. “You’re beating around the bush, aren’t you?”
Janice looked down at the desk and wiped away some dust that wasn’t thee. “No, Mrs. Baptiste, I’m not. I was trying to explain doctor-patient confidentiality to you, and you interrupted me with a horrific accusation.” She folded her hands and resumed her calm posture. “I see Viggo did not actually tell you what’s going on.”
Lisa snorted. “I asked him who you were. He gave me your name and address. What else is there to tell?”
Janice smiled, which enraged Lisa. “There is quite a lot, I’m afraid.”
Lisa felt her heart sink, replacing her anger. She immediately began to fear the worst. Did Viggo love this woman? This older woman? Did Janice care for him more than Lisa? Had she taken care of more of his needs? She fought back tears and maintained her angry expression.
“How about some straight answers?”
Janice nodded. “I am not having an affair with your husband, Mrs. Baptiste. The obvious age disparity aside, he’s madly in love with you and talks about you constantly in our sessions.”
Lisa leaned her head back. Her heart began to beat faster. “Sessions?”
Janice held a hand up and waved it around. “Did you notice where you are, Mrs. Baptiste?”
Lisa glanced at the wall behind Janice’s head and saw multiple degrees mounted there. Degrees in psychology and counseling. A million questions she’d asked about her husband for the past ten years were suddenly answered. All of the money missing every month, on the same day every month, suddenly made sense. That money wasn’t being spent on gifts for a mistress.
“You’re his therapist?”
Janice nodded.
Lisa sat forward and put her head in her hands with her elbows on her knees. She rubbed her eyes and felt warm tears on her trembling fingertips. After a minute, she sat up and looked at the woman across from her through a blur.
“Viggo has PTSD, doesn’t he?”
Janice frowned. “I’m not permitted to say much more than this, but yes. A very severe case of PTSD, in fact.”
“And I accused you—”
Janice held up her hand and smiled. “Honey, this isn’t the first time an angry wife has busted into my office and accused me of having an affair with her husband.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Oh listen, this might seem strange to you, but it’s just a Tuesday for me.”
Lisa laughed. She couldn’t help it, and fresh tears fell with it. Janice reached a box of tissues to her. Taking a tissue and sitting back, Lisa let out a relieved and heartbroken sigh.
“I should’ve seen it.”
Janice was shaking her head. “Honey, these men are so good at hiding anything they think is weakness. He didn’t tell you, and he should have.”
“But it’s not weakness,” Lisa said. “It’s an illness, right? Like a mental illness?”
Janice nodded. “Absolutely, one that can be managed but still claims the lives of thousands every year. And it’s not just men hiding it; though they’re usually the worst offenders. All that masculinity and pride keeps them from getting help.”
Lisa shook her head and looked at her legs. “That’s awful.”
“It sure is.”
Their eyes met as Lisa looked up again. “Where is he? Did he tell you where he was going?”
Janice frowned again. “This is where I could get in trouble for saying too much.”
Lisa wadded up the kleenex in a fist. “How many veterans a day commit suicide because of this?” she asked.
Janice looked at her hands for a moment, then back up and sighed. “Twenty-two.”
“Tell me where my husband is before he becomes twenty-three.”
Janice blinked away moisture in her eyes and then gave a barely noticeable nod.
Lisa in TexasLisa exhaled the memory of that conversation and breathed in resolve. She looked down at the map display on her phone and saw that she had an hour before she would arrive at the house she’d looked up on Google that afternoon. Janice had been forthcoming but didn’t have exact addresses. Viggo had told her that he needed to do something in this small, West Texas town. He’d been vague but had given her a name. After multiple web searches, Lisa had found the article and obituary that eventually led her to the address she was driving to.
She prayed she would find Viggo there. She also prayed she would know what to do if he was. And if he wasn’t. She prayed for wisdom, too, and forgiveness. Though she told herself it wasn’t her fault, she knew the things she’d said and done in response to Viggo’s behavior had likely made it worse for him.
So she prayed. And cried. And drove on in silence across the lonely highway.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
October 22, 2019
Keys of Fate Part Nine
Keys of Fate
A Story in Serial - Part Nine
This is part nine of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Nine:The Accident
Outside the diner, Abaddon had made himself comfortable in the leather passenger seat of the small rental car Viggo had picked up at the airport. He smiled as the pathetic human exited the diner with his head down and shoulders slumped. The demon waved a hand to his soldiers, sending them away; he could handle this on his own.As Viggo fished in his pocket for the keys, Abaddon began to speak to himself, soothed by the sound of his own words.
“The fool thinks it can all end so easily.” He made a “tsk” sound and shook his head. “When will they ever learn?”
The driver’s side door opened, and Viggo stood in the doorway, hesitating. Yes, he can feel it, can feel my presence. Come fool, come to your death. Viggo got in, obviously with hesitation, and pulled the door shut. He dropped the key FOB into the cup holder and then started the engine. He gulped with such a loud noise that Abaddon nearly burst out laughing. The human’s fear was deliciously palpable.
“Drive.”
Viggo put the car in gear and pulled away from the diner, onto the hot, black asphalt under the scorching sun of a lonely, West Texas sky. The demon was in control, and now he did laugh.
* * *
Viggo tried to focus on the road, looking just above the white, bloodless knuckles of his hand on top of the steering wheel. He was not alone. The feeling had overwhelmed him as soon as he had opened the door to the little black Kia rental. He was overwhelmed now, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his arm was beginning to hurt all the way up to the shoulder.
He took a deep breath and repositioned himself so that his hands were at ten and two. It was uncomfortable and awkward, but he needed the extra stability. Before him was the straightest and blackest road he had ever driven on. To his left and right was endless, flat landscape, broken up only by the distant plateaus and oil rigs splotched onto the grassless fields of cracked earth. He had never been to this part of the country before, but everything about it felt familiar. That thought amplified the feeling of being overwhelmed, and his breaths began to come out in shallow puffs.
Though he fully knew the road before him was dark, as if freshly paved, it seemed to transform into an older road, one with large holes scattered all over it. The oil rigs to his left and right were still spread out far and in between, but they were no longer oil pumps; they had become huts and houses of earth and discarded materials. There were no longer barrels or trucks beside them but scarcely clad children at play. They were filthy and barefoot, and when they saw his car—their armored truck—the children stopped their game and turned to shout at him. They shook their fists at him and shouted for them to go home. Viggo wanted to stop and go to them, to tell them that they were trying to help, to make their lives better. He knew it was hopeless; all of those years of violence had made the kids who once smiled and begged for “chocolata” into bitter enemies.
Viggo forced his eyes straight ahead and squinted to block out the peripheral sights. Forced himself to focus on the gunner in the vehicle in front of them and keep the proper distance. To scan the horizon in a figure eight pattern ahead and to the left. That was his sector of fire, his area to watch. He didn’t see the ones holding the weapons, only the hot blast as the projectile streaked into the lead vehicle. Streaked in orange and fire, hot yet bringing the cold hand of death. The vehicle’s left side rose before the sound met up with the blast. Viggo watched the gunner being thrown from the hatch. Watched Matthews being thrown from the vehicle.
Someone screamed from the other side of the vehicle, shouting his last name and telling him to swerve. Viggo turned and saw his vehicle commander—Sergeant Abaddon—shouting and pointing, then calm and smiling. Viggo shook his head and felt his breath stop. He turned back to his left and saw the front end of the lead vehicle. They were about to slam into it. He jerked the wheel hard to the left and the vehicle swerved hard, too hard. The tires skipped, and then they were rolling, sideways. Something hit him hard in the face, chest, and legs; and he was instantly coughing through an acrid smell.
The vehicle barrel rolled twice and then slid for twenty more yards before coming to a stop on its side. Viggo heard laughing to his right and screaming all around him. He heard gunfire in every direction. He frantically slapped his hands all around him, but his rifle was nowhere. He smelled diesel and smoke, carbine oil and blood. A horn was going off, distant but then closer, closer.
Strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and around his waist. He struggled against them but was helpless against the raw power of the hands and arms as they dragged him from the smoking vehicle. He felt the hot asphalt on his legs as he was dragged across the road, and then he was in the cracked and crumbling earth in a ditch. Something touched his head, and then the hands were gone.
Viggo opened his eyes and shouted uncontrollably as a King Ranch F-350 slammed into his rental car just a few feet away from him. He lifted his arms to shield his face and ducked away. He heard tires squealing, doors slamming. Someone was shouting. More than one. He heard running steps on the asphalt and someone yelling at him. Had to be him. It was his fault. They were gone, and it was his fault.
Hands grabbed at his arms, but he fought them and yelled, “Haji! Haji!” He turned onto his stomach and tried to crawl away, shouting for someone to bring his weapon, and then he heard an elderly voice, calm, saying something that he knew would never be true.
“Son, you’re home now.”
Viggo stopped crawling and turned onto his backside. He looked up and saw two figures silhouetted by the sun behind them. There were two men, both wearing boots and jeans with big hats that shaded their necks. One was very old, and the other—had to be his son—was probably in his twenties.
Viggo’s voice trembled and his eyes filled with water. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He backed away as the younger man knelt and reached out to him. “They’re gone. I’m sorry.” He looked past them and saw the rental car pressed up against the front of the truck. “I’m so sorry.”
Viggo could not hold back the tears any longer.
* * *
Three Days AgoLisa looked at the building and suite number on the piece of paper in her hand for the hundredth time. Building 3460, Suite 12. She groaned and let her hands fall back to her sides. It was the place. No point trying to convince herself otherwise. She steeled her nerves and then shoved the paper into the pocket of her jeans. One more deep breath, and then she opened the door, pushing it in and feeling out of place when the bells above the door made a pleasant ringing sound.
She ignored the people in the chairs of the quiet waiting area and bypassed the woman at the chest-high reception desk. She marched right for the door of the office with the name she’d memorized, the same name Viggo had written on the paper now crumpled in her jeans pocket. Janice McElroy. She heard the receptionist calling her but ignored the “ma’am stops” and “you can’t go in theres.” She grabbed the door handle and yanked it open.
She heard a gasp at the same time she saw the elderly woman behind the desk who had made the sound. Lisa paused, instantly scanning the slowly rising woman who must have been in her sixties. The image of the business suit, heavy makeup, white hair, and department store perfume didn’t match the one that had been haunting her dreams for the past year.
“Excuse me, but you cannot simply barge into this office,” Janice McElroy said as she ripped a pair of bifocals from her face. “Just who do you think you are?”
Lisa, baffled yet determined to give this home-wrecking woman a piece of her mind, lifted her chin slightly and lifted a hand to pause the receptionist, who had come up beside her. “Lisa Baptiste,” she said with as much grit as she could muster despite the shaking in her voice. “Viggo Baptiste’s wife.”
Janice McElroy set her glasses on her desk. “Oh.” She looked down and nodded. “I thought you might come, eventually.” She looked back up. “I see he finally told you.”
“Yeah, he did. Are you Janice McElroy?” Lisa was more confident now but still a little bit confused.
Janice McElroy nodded then held a hand up to her receptionist to tell her it was alright. The receptionist reluctantly nodded and then went back to her desk. Janice McElroy smiled. “Please come in, Lisa. We have a lot to talk about.”
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
Coffee with a Devil Part Nine
Coffee with a Devil
A Story in Serial - Part Nine
This is part nine of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Nine:The Accident
Outside the diner, Abaddon had made himself comfortable in the leather passenger seat of the small rental car Viggo had picked up at the airport. He smiled as the pathetic human exited the diner with his head down and shoulders slumped. The demon waved a hand to his soldiers, sending them away; he could handle this on his own.As Viggo fished in his pocket for the keys, Abaddon began to speak to himself, soothed by the sound of his own words.
“The fool thinks it can all end so easily.” He made a “tsk” sound and shook his head. “When will they ever learn?”
The driver’s side door opened, and Viggo stood in the doorway, hesitating. Yes, he can feel it, can feel my presence. Come fool, come to your death. Viggo got in, obviously with hesitation, and pulled the door shut. He dropped the key FOB into the cup holder and then started the engine. He gulped with such a loud noise that Abaddon nearly burst out laughing. The human’s fear was deliciously palpable.
“Drive.”
Viggo put the car in gear and pulled away from the diner, onto the hot, black asphalt under the scorching sun of a lonely, West Texas sky. The demon was in control, and now he did laugh.
* * *
Viggo tried to focus on the road, looking just above the white, bloodless knuckles of his hand on top of the steering wheel. He was not alone. The feeling had overwhelmed him as soon as he had opened the door to the little black Kia rental. He was overwhelmed now, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his arm was beginning to hurt all the way up to the shoulder.
He took a deep breath and repositioned himself so that his hands were at ten and two. It was uncomfortable and awkward, but he needed the extra stability. Before him was the straightest and blackest road he had ever driven on. To his left and right was endless, flat landscape, broken up only by the distant plateaus and oil rigs splotched onto the grassless fields of cracked earth. He had never been to this part of the country before, but everything about it felt familiar. That thought amplified the feeling of being overwhelmed, and his breaths began to come out in shallow puffs.
Though he fully knew the road before him was dark, as if freshly paved, it seemed to transform into an older road, one with large holes scattered all over it. The oil rigs to his left and right were still spread out far and in between, but they were no longer oil pumps; they had become huts and houses of earth and discarded materials. There were no longer barrels or trucks beside them but scarcely clad children at play. They were filthy and barefoot, and when they saw his car—their armored truck—the children stopped their game and turned to shout at him. They shook their fists at him and shouted for them to go home. Viggo wanted to stop and go to them, to tell them that they were trying to help, to make their lives better. He knew it was hopeless; all of those years of violence had made the kids who once smiled and begged for “chocolata” into bitter enemies.
Viggo forced his eyes straight ahead and squinted to block out the peripheral sights. Forced himself to focus on the gunner in the vehicle in front of them and keep the proper distance. To scan the horizon in a figure eight pattern ahead and to the left. That was his sector of fire, his area to watch. He didn’t see the ones holding the weapons, only the hot blast as the projectile streaked into the lead vehicle. Streaked in orange and fire, hot yet bringing the cold hand of death. The vehicle’s left side rose before the sound met up with the blast. Viggo watched the gunner being thrown from the hatch. Watched Matthews being thrown from the vehicle.
Someone screamed from the other side of the vehicle, shouting his last name and telling him to swerve. Viggo turned and saw his vehicle commander—Sergeant Abaddon—shouting and pointing, then calm and smiling. Viggo shook his head and felt his breath stop. He turned back to his left and saw the front end of the lead vehicle. They were about to slam into it. He jerked the wheel hard to the left and the vehicle swerved hard, too hard. The tires skipped, and then they were rolling, sideways. Something hit him hard in the face, chest, and legs; and he was instantly coughing through an acrid smell.
The vehicle barrel rolled twice and then slid for twenty more yards before coming to a stop on its side. Viggo heard laughing to his right and screaming all around him. He heard gunfire in every direction. He frantically slapped his hands all around him, but his rifle was nowhere. He smelled diesel and smoke, carbine oil and blood. A horn was going off, distant but then closer, closer.
Strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and around his waist. He struggled against them but was helpless against the raw power of the hands and arms as they dragged him from the smoking vehicle. He felt the hot asphalt on his legs as he was dragged across the road, and then he was in the cracked and crumbling earth in a ditch. Something touched his head, and then the hands were gone.
Viggo opened his eyes and shouted uncontrollably as a King Ranch F-350 slammed into his rental car just a few feet away from him. He lifted his arms to shield his face and ducked away. He heard tires squealing, doors slamming. Someone was shouting. More than one. He heard running steps on the asphalt and someone yelling at him. Had to be him. It was his fault. They were gone, and it was his fault.
Hands grabbed at his arms, but he fought them and yelled, “Haji! Haji!” He turned onto his stomach and tried to crawl away, shouting for someone to bring his weapon, and then he heard an elderly voice, calm, saying something that he knew would never be true.
“Son, you’re home now.”
Viggo stopped crawling and turned onto his backside. He looked up and saw two figures silhouetted by the sun behind them. There were two men, both wearing boots and jeans with big hats that shaded their necks. One was very old, and the other—had to be his son—was probably in his twenties.
Viggo’s voice trembled and his eyes filled with water. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He backed away as the younger man knelt and reached out to him. “They’re gone. I’m sorry.” He looked past them and saw the rental car pressed up against the front of the truck. “I’m so sorry.”
Viggo could not hold back the tears any longer.
* * *
Lisa looked at the building and suite number on the piece of paper in her hand for the hundredth time. Building 3460, Suite 12. She groaned and let her hands fall back to her sides. It was the place. No point trying to convince herself otherwise. She steeled her nerves and then shoved the paper into the pocket of her jeans. One more deep breath, and then she opened the door, pushing it in and feeling out of place when the bells above the door made a pleasant ringing sound.
She ignored the people in the chairs of the quiet waiting area and bypassed the woman at the chest-high reception desk. She marched right for the door of the office with the name she’d memorized, the same name Viggo had written on the paper now crumpled in her jeans pocket. Janice McElroy. She heard the receptionist calling her but ignored the “ma’am stops” and “you can’t go in theres.” She grabbed the door handle and yanked it open.
She heard a gasp at the same time she saw the elderly woman behind the desk who had made the sound. Lisa paused, instantly scanning the slowly rising woman who must have been in her sixties. The image of the business suit, heavy makeup, white hair, and department store perfume didn’t match the one that had been haunting her dreams for the past year.
“Excuse me, but you cannot simply barge into this office,” Janice McElroy said as she ripped a pair of bifocals from her face. “Just who do you think you are?”
Lisa, baffled yet determined to give this home-wrecking woman a piece of her mind, lifted her chin slightly and lifted a hand to pause the receptionist, who had come up beside her. “Lisa Baptiste,” she said with as much grit as she could muster despite the shaking in her voice. “Viggo Baptiste’s wife.”
Janice McElroy set her glasses on her desk. “Oh.” She looked down and nodded. “I thought you might come, eventually.” She looked back up. “I see he finally told you.”
“Yeah, he did. Are you Janice McElroy?” Lisa was more confident now but still a little bit confused.
Janice McElroy nodded then held a hand up to her receptionist to tell her it was alright. The receptionist reluctantly nodded and then went back to her desk. Janice McElroy smiled. “Please come in, Lisa. We have a lot to talk about.”
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
October 18, 2019
Keys of Fate Part Eight
Keys of Fate
A Story in Serial - Part Eight
This is part eight of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Eight:The Waiter
Viggo concentrated all of his focus on his reflection in the smeared surface of the napkin holder. He counted to three as he inhaled through his nose, held his breath for three seconds, then exhaled on another three count, paused, and then exhaled at the same tempo.
The door of the diner hadn’t opened, but he knew that someone had left. Abaddon had left; he knew, but he didn’t know how he knew. Now he was holding a coffee mug in his hand again. The glass of water was gone or had never been there, and his mind was racing. He fixed his eyes on his reflection, trying to look beyond it and focus on his breathing. Carol had shown him how to do this during one of their evenings together. He’d felt better. She always made him feel better.
Guilt broke his concentration and he was covered from head to toe with the same tingling sensation, the overwhelming fear of being caught. Lisa would find out, and everything would be so much worse. He was going to lose her, but he didn’t need a demon to whisper this in his ear; he knew it was true.
He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his breath shaking as it escaped his open mouth. That was worse. Behind his eyelids, in the dark, everything was worse. He opened his eyes and saw his reflection in the napkin holder. He hated it; it was the image of shame. He looked down and saw the mug in his hand, the mug that had become a glass; the coffee that had become water. The voices were there again, telling him he’d imagined it all. He was going insane, they said. She’s going to find out, they said. Everything will be ruined. He felt his heart pounding and his vision blurred. The worst was coming, and his rapid breaths wouldn’t stop it. Nothing stopped it, and it was worse every time. He begged himself not to let it come.
“Breathe.”
Viggo gasped and pushed back from the table. His chair scraped across the floor. He clutched his chest and nearly yelled. The waiter was in the chair across from him. Viggo swallowed hard and opened his mouth to say something, but the waiter held up a hand.
“Calm down, and breathe.”
Viggo lowered his hand from his chest and grasped the edge of the table. Without looking away from the mesmerizing eyes of the waiter, he pulled his chair forward with an awkward scraping sound, slow and loud. He never looked away as he reached out, pulled a napkin from the holder, and then dabbed up the bit of coffee that must have spilled when he’d been startled. The waiter didn’t blink. He set the napkin to the side without paying attention. He thought it might have fallen to the floor, thought the waiter might have glanced to the side and watched it fall. They sat that way for what seemed like several minutes to Viggo, but he told himself it was just a few seconds. Then the waiter spoke.
“I brought your toast.” He slid a plate across the table to the side of the napkin holder and the condiment basket. Viggo looked at the plate and saw toast, eggs, and bacon. When he looked back up, the waiter was smiling. “Figured you could use a little more than just toast. Complimentary.”
Viggo pulled the plate in front of himself. “How do you know my name?”
The waiter smiled again. “You should eat. You have many challenges ahead, and you’ll need your strength.”
Viggo nodded. “You’re not a waiter, are you?”
The waiter laughed. “Right now I am. I’m a servant to those in need.”
“You made them go away?” The waiter gave no response, verbal or physical. “Do you know why I’m here? What brought me here?” The waiter nodded and the smile vanished from his face.
Viggo picked up the silverware wrapped in a napkin and unfolded it. He pulled out a fork and took a few light stabs at the eggs. He looked at the plate, then back up at the waiter, who nodded again and motioned toward the plate. Viggo took a bite and chewed it slowly. He heard himself chewing, heard the swallow. Awkward and wet.
“I had to tell her something.”
The waiter took a deep breath and Viggo heard him exhale. “Yes you did, but you made it worse. You opened this door.” The waiter finally blinked and looked down at his folded arms.
“What’s gonna happen?” Viggo asked through another mouthful of eggs.
The waiter shrugged and stood. “When she gets here, you’ll find out.”
Viggo let his fork drop to the plate. “Lisa’s coming here?”
The waiter nodded. “Yes, but that’s not for you to worry about right now. That’s not why you’re here. Eat your food, Viggo, and then go do what you must. She’ll be here when you get back.”
Viggo looked away and found his reflection in the napkin holder. He took a deep breath; in: one, two, three.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
Coffee with a Devil Part Eight
Coffee with a Devil
A Story in Serial - Part Eight
This is part eight of the serial story I’m currently writing. If you have not read the story from the beginning, you might want to go check out part one first. Click here to read it now. This is a story you get to help me write by providing your feedback in the comments or by sending me a message through my Contact page . If I like your ideas, they might just end up in the story, or I might name one of the characters after you!Part Eight:The Waiter
Viggo concentrated all of his focus on his reflection in the smeared surface of the napkin holder. He counted to three as he inhaled through his nose, held his breath for three seconds, then exhaled on another three count, paused, and then exhaled at the same tempo.
The door of the diner hadn’t opened, but he knew that someone had left. Abaddon had left; he knew, but he didn’t know how he knew. Now he was holding a coffee mug in his hand again. The glass of water was gone or had never been there, and his mind was racing. He fixed his eyes on his reflection, trying to look beyond it and focus on his breathing. Carol had shown him how to do this during one of their evenings together. He’d felt better. She always made him feel better.
Guilt broke his concentration and he was covered from head to toe with the same tingling sensation, the overwhelming fear of being caught. Lisa would find out, and everything would be so much worse. He was going to lose her, but he didn’t need a demon to whisper this in his ear; he knew it was true.
He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his breath shaking as it escaped his open mouth. That was worse. Behind his eyelids, in the dark, everything was worse. He opened his eyes and saw his reflection in the napkin holder. He hated it; it was the image of shame. He looked down and saw the mug in his hand, the mug that had become a glass; the coffee that had become water. The voices were there again, telling him he’d imagined it all. He was going insane, they said. She’s going to find out, they said. Everything will be ruined. He felt his heart pounding and his vision blurred. The worst was coming, and his rapid breaths wouldn’t stop it. Nothing stopped it, and it was worse every time. He begged himself not to let it come.
“Breathe.”
Viggo gasped and pushed back from the table. His chair scraped across the floor. He clutched his chest and nearly yelled. The waiter was in the chair across from him. Viggo swallowed hard and opened his mouth to say something, but the waiter held up a hand.
“Calm down, and breathe.”
Viggo lowered his hand from his chest and grasped the edge of the table. Without looking away from the mesmerizing eyes of the waiter, he pulled his chair forward with an awkward scraping sound, slow and loud. He never looked away as he reached out, pulled a napkin from the holder, and then dabbed up the bit of coffee that must have spilled when he’d been startled. The waiter didn’t blink. He set the napkin to the side without paying attention. He thought it might have fallen to the floor, thought the waiter might have glanced to the side and watched it fall. They sat that way for what seemed like several minutes to Viggo, but he told himself it was just a few seconds. Then the waiter spoke.
“I brought your toast.” He slid a plate across the table to the side of the napkin holder and the condiment basket. Viggo looked at the plate and saw toast, eggs, and bacon. When he looked back up, the waiter was smiling. “Figured you could use a little more than just toast. Complimentary.”
Viggo pulled the plate in front of himself. “How do you know my name?”
The waiter smiled again. “You should eat. You have many challenges ahead, and you’ll need your strength.”
Viggo nodded. “You’re not a waiter, are you?”
The waiter laughed. “Right now I am. I’m a servant to those in need.”
“You made them go away?” The waiter gave no response, verbal or physical. “Do you know why I’m here? What brought me here?” The waiter nodded and the smile vanished from his face.
Viggo picked up the silverware wrapped in a napkin and unfolded it. He pulled out a fork and took a few light stabs at the eggs. He looked at the plate, then back up at the waiter, who nodded again and motioned toward the plate. Viggo took a bite and chewed it slowly. He heard himself chewing, heard the swallow. Awkward and wet.
“I had to tell her something.”
The waiter took a deep breath and Viggo heard him exhale. “Yes you did, but you made it worse. You opened this door.” The waiter finally blinked and looked down at his folded arms.
“What’s gonna happen?” Viggo asked through another mouthful of eggs.
The waiter shrugged and stood. “When she gets here, you’ll find out.”
Viggo let his fork drop to the plate. “Lisa’s coming here?”
The waiter nodded. “Yes, but that’s not for you to worry about right now. That’s not why you’re here. Eat your food, Viggo, and then go do what you must. She’ll be here when you get back.”
Viggo looked away and found his reflection in the napkin holder. He took a deep breath; in: one, two, three.
To be continued…
If you enjoyed this rough draft, you might also enjoy my finished works in the Journey of Fate series. Check out the prequel short story now, for free, by signing up for the mailing list!
