Rebecca Besser's Blog, page 15
February 15, 2020
Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #22
The material (chapter) in this post is copyrighted by the author and may not be used or copied in any way without the author’s permission.
Chapter 1
Alice was somewhere between transcribing Dr. Price’s faxed notes and entering a lab request when she decided to eat someone. It wasn’t a conscious decision, exactly, and the thought registered as a cramping pain in her stomach simultaneous with a throb at the back of her brain. Alice rose stiffly from her desk, thinking about getting something to eat, although she felt nauseated and hadn’t been hungry a moment earlier.
Drs. Price and Goldblum had the only doctor’s office in the strip mall, nestled between a Dairy Queen and an auto parts store. Well, the auto parts store was permanently closed even though they still had the sign up. Alice stumbled out the front door, still with enough presence of mind to lock up before she bowled into a group of six teenagers. The girls had on a rainbow of different color lipstick with flecks of gold or silver, the boys all had Converse sneakers with no shoelaces and the tongues lolling out.
They all yelled and one girl’s ice cream spilled out of her hands after Alice fell into her, knocking her back. “Hey!” the girl dressed in what looked like a shiny, fitted banana peel said. “Look what you did, you old bat!” The girl was taller than her by half a head and wore her blonde hair in a high ponytail. Alice craned her head back to look up at her and something about the teenagers’ attitudes changed.
“Nawl,” a boy said. He had on a pair of herringbone necklaces with medallions hanging off them and a red jogging suit complete with matching red round bucket Kangol hat. “Iss cool, Chrissy. I’ll buy you another one.” The girl opened her mouth to protest, but he was already dragging her along back into the Dairy Queen. The others followed behind, glancing Alice’s way as they passed.
Maybe she wanted Dairy Queen too. She had to do something to settle this nausea. She’d meant to apologize but was afraid to open her mouth to speak. Hadn’t she heard something about milk calming nausea? Alice wasn’t sure, but she was so hungry too. She had never felt anything like this before.
She stumbled inside, the pungent smell of soft-serve ice cream and cones filling her nose. The scents were momentarily overwhelming, giving Alice a tinny sensation in the middle of her brain like the onset of a headache. She put a hand to her head, not watching where she was going as she bumped into the same group of teens standing in line. They all looked at her and took a step back.
They smelled sweet too and the dull knife in her brain abated.
“Look, grandma, what is your problem?” The girl she’d crashed into a moment earlier stepped forward. She shoved Alice’s shoulder, her manicured fingernails shaped like pink claws. Alice wasn’t conscious of snapping at her hand until the girl reared back, a shocked expression on her face.
“Ow. You bit me! Brad, she bit me!” The girl’s eyes went wide and she pushed back into Brad.
Alice didn’t think she had, but she tasted something tangy rolling around on her tongue. There was something else hard and semi sharp agitating the roof of her mouth and Alice spat out one of the girl’s press-on fingernails.
“See! I told you so, Brad. She bit me. Brad, she bit me.” Every time the girl spoke his name she sounded more whiny and nasal. The girl flashed her hand in front of her like she was telling Alice to halt. “My nails!” Brad rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Okay, Chrissy, but what you want meta do about it? I cain’t beat up a girl.”
“She is not a girl and yes, you can.” Chrissy sounded offended. “She’s like thirty. She’s older than you, you can fight her. Punch her, Brad. Knock her teeth in. Do it.”
“Uh, how ‘bout I get you a Band-Aid or somethin’? You don’t wanna get that infected or anything, do you?
The girl’s eyes went wider. “Rabies? You don’t think she has rabies, do you, Brad?” She turned and huddled into his body even more.
“Ahownknow.” Brad’s shoulders hunches as his eyes flicked up and down the length of Alice’s body. He simultaneously curled a protective arm around his girlfriend. Alice knew the look even if it was tinged with a bit of wariness. “But she does look kind of sick. Right, guys?”
The other teens nodded and grumbled in agreement. Brad held a hand up and snapped his fingers and they all shuffled out of line, giving Alice as wide of a berth as possible in the small area. Once they were gone a small bald man in black-and-white plaid shorts up to his nipples and a shirt with palm trees on it was getting his ice cream ahead of her. It was in a cup and had red syrup drizzled all over it with a healthy sprinkling of peanuts.
He nodded at Alice, giving her the up and down too with eyes behind fishbowl glasses. Then the old man shuffled past and pushed outside.
“I’ll have what he had but with no nuts,” Alice said to the teen behind the counter. The girl nodded, her sweet smell wafting over to Alice as she proceeded to ring up her order. She had braces and her fire-engine red hair twisted up in two scrunchies like knobs to either side of the back of her head. Alice handed her the first bill she dug out of her wallet and accepted her change blindly, disturbed at how the girl incessantly chomped away at a piece of gum.
A moment later Alice had her own cup of ice cream with syrupy red drizzled over it.
Alice carried it like a weight as she walked back outside, the teens studying her. She was certain there was no way she could eat this, her nausea had increased to the point she was seeing everything under a full haze of red and knew any moment she’d be curled over, yakking her lungs out.
But she was so hungry.
That tinny feeling returned, spreading behind her ears as her mouth filled with saliva. Any minute now, she thought. But before she could be gripped by horrid release a giant fist crashed into the side of her head.
Ice cream and syrupy red drizzle were both forgotten. Alice hadn’t seen the blow coming that she could recall but she had somehow gotten a hand up, attempting to block. She’d only succeeded in getting her ice cream smashed into her face before she went tumbling to the concrete.
Alice was upside down and knew her skirt had flipped over her face. Sunlight transluced through her skirt, giving everything a soft dark glow. That of course meant that anyone looking was getting a good view of her panties. Alice kicked her legs until she had changed the position of her body, which had apparently had flipped upside down and had become semi lodged between the walkway and façade of the building.
“Crap, I think Big Sandy just killed her!” somebody yelled. Alice was still blinking the clouds out of her eyes as teenagers laughed and retreating feet beat against the concrete.
“No, she ain’t dead.” The voice was deep and feminine. Alice looked up from her prone position at a figure that at first appeared to be a hairy mountain with neon pink hair. She went on staring at it until her eyes focused enough to make out that the mountain was actually another teenager. At least Alice assumed she was a teenager. The girl’s mustache hadn’t completely filled in. “Get up.”
Alice rose, upset about the ice cream spilled all over her, but more frightened of the giant child standing over and glowering at her. “Now wait a minute—”
Big Sandy punched her again. It had to have been somewhere in her torso but it felt like she had punched her entire chest and stomach all at once. Alice flew back and bounced off the wall. She felt as though her bones had dissolved and was mid-crumple when Big Sandy grabbed her by the throat.
“This is for spilling Chrissy’s ice cream,” the girl said and punched Alice in the stomach again. Alice felt a hot something with a thousand needles in it crawling up her esophagus. “This is for following us into the Dairy Queen like a weirdo-stalker.” She hit her again and the needles turned into barbs. “And this is for… this is for just being old!” Big Sandy punched her in the stomach one last time and everything in Alice’s allegedly empty stomach came out.
To the casual passerby it might have looked like someone might have had too much ice cream and threw up on someone else. Or maybe someone had had a mouthful of ice cream and had sneezed at an inopportune moment.
What actually happened was just so… gross.
Big Sandy stumbled backward, a melting expression of horror on what was left of her face. There was the smell and sound of sizzling meat that set Alice’s mouth to watering, the nausea finally lifted. A whistling sound came from the expanding hole in the teen’s throat which she tried to cover with a missing hand.
Big Sandy turned and with a stilted gait, walked into the parking lot. No sooner had she made it past the first row of parked cars when a Geo Metro came around a corner five miles faster than the posted limit of fifteen and ran her down.
The girl hit the asphalt, the remnants of her upper body practically disintegrating upon contact. Her upper half and shirt continued melting along with the top three inches of asphalt beneath her.
Alice, still shaky, shuffled over to what was left of the girl. She looked up and locked eyes with the driver of the Metro who looked as frightened by what had just happened as of the dead body no more than fifteen feet away.
“No way,” the man said, clapping his hands over his lush head of jet black hair. “I didn’t do that.” He looked down at the girl’s soupy remains. “I-I didn’t.” He’d been shouting over a blaring radio inside the car, playing Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me”. He pointed to what was left of the girl and opened his mouth as if to say something else. Then he looked around and apparently saw that other than a woman who appeared to be in shock, no one had seen what had just happened. He glanced nervously at Alice, turned, then got back in the smoky din of the Metro. The tires chirped as the car lurched forward and jerked to a stop like a teenager who had scared himself by applying too much pressure on the gas then too much on the brake. Then the car accelerated again, whipping around the end of the row of cars and pulling out of the lot, cutting off a car headed south as it turned in the opposite direction.
Alice felt somewhat better, although the hunger seemed to be hanging back. She looked at the legs on the ground, splayed someone trying to show what a figure-four leglock looked like without the benefit of a second pair of legs. Red gore poked out of the top of those legs, including the thick trunk of what looked like a vertebral column that seemed to be dissolving before her eyes. She took a step forward, not knowing if her intent was hunger or morbid curiosity and hooked the tip of one shoe on the heel of the other and face planting in the girl’s remains like red chowder. Then she blacked out.
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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #21
The material (chapter) in this post is copyrighted by the author and may not be used or copied in any way without the author’s permission.
Chapter 1
Troy Jones, Grace Hanson, Alex Keeler, and Nick O’Hara were sitting in a small, family cemetery in the woods behind the Hanson’s farm. The full moon was slowly rising on the horizon, the landscape growing darker and darker with each passing minute. It was the perfect time and place for what the group had planned. What better place and time to try and raise the dead . . .
Of course, everyone except Alex thought it was a joke. Waiting to get started, they sat drinking the beer Nick had taken out of his old man’s fridge and smoking the weed Grace had provided.
“You know what we should do after we’re done with this sh–” Troy stopped in mid-sentence when Alex’s elbow made contact with his stomach. “Hey, what was that for?”
“You were about to say shit, weren’t you?” she asked with her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you’re being such a dick.”
“Sorry, babe,” Troy said, trying to placate his girlfriend. “You know I don’t believe in all this supernatural, voodoo stuff.”
“It’s not voodoo,” Alex said, huffing and crossing her arms.
Troy leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’m really sorry.”
Grace held a joint out to Alex. “Here, this will make you feel better and get you in the mindset for the ritual.”
Nick laughed and almost spit beer on them all, but covered his mouth at the last moment.
“Anyway, as I was saying,” Troy said. “I think after we get done with the ritual we should go to the carnival in Dresden.”
Grace grimaced with disgust. “We aren’t babies anymore. Why would we want to go to some stupid carnival?”
“Yeah,” Nick threw in for good measure as he finished off his third beer.
“Because, we’ll be all messed up,” Troy said, grabbing a bottle for himself before Nick drank it all. “Everything will be awesome!”
Grace took the joint back from Alex and took a long drag.
“Sounds fine to me,” Alex said with a giggle. “I love cotton candy. I haven’t had any of that for a long time.”
Nick nodded eagerly. “You think they’ll have nachos? I could go for a big bowl of nachos right now. All covered with cheese.”
Troy laughed and took his turn with the weed. “They’ll have all kinds of food. We can eat ‘til we puke and then go on some rides or something.”
Nick stood up and made his way over to the edge of the woods, weaving back and forth the entire time. When he reached the tree line, he unzipped his pants and relieved his bladder with a moan.
Grace giggled. “If we are going to go to the carnival, I guess we’d better get this thing started. I’ve got the munchies bad!”
Alex laughed, dug through her bag and retrieved a bottle of what she said was a “potion” that would bring the dead back to life. She also pulled out the book with the incantation, which was supposed to give the potion its “power.”
Troy rolled his eyes and winked at Grace. She covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a giggle.
They’d been to various cemeteries and done the same ritual many times before. It never worked. But, for some reason, Alex was obsessed with the occult and raising people from the dead. She said she wouldn’t give up until she’d done it. So being the supportive friends that they were, they went along with it. Besides, they always had a great time partying out in the middle of nowhere.
“You guys ready?” Alex asked as Nick sat back down. “Everyone join hands . . .”
The ritual had begun. They said what they were told to say, chanted when they were supposed to chant, and lit the candles Alex had set up in front of each one of them, around their chosen grave. After all that was done, Alex poured the “potion” on the grave, starting at the head, straight down the center, to the feet.
They waited, watching. Nothing happened, as usual.
“Okay,” Alex said with a sigh. “I guess it didn’t work, again. We did everything right. I don’t know what went wrong.”
Troy leaned over and gave Alex a one-armed hug, kissing the top of her head when she let it fall on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, babe,” he said gently. “We’ll try again another time. I’ll buy you the biggest bag of cotton candy we can find. Will that make you feel better?”
Alex giggled, rose up on her knees, wrapped her arms around Troy’s neck, and kissed him.
“I guess that was a yes,” Troy said with a grin, as she pulled away.
“Let’s get going,” Grace said, standing and brushing dirt and dry leaves from her butt. “I’m starved! I hope they have hotdogs. A hotdog with all the fixin’s sounds really good.”
Nick stood and grinned. “I’ve got a hotdog for you, if you want to eat one.”
Grace rolled her eyes and shoved Nick playfully. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Quit trying to pimp yourself off on me.”
They were all standing now, and turned to walk back to Troy’s car that was parked behind a corn field where no one could see it.
“Hold on a sec,” Nick said, turning back. “I gotta leak the lizard again.”
Troy, Alex, and Grace shook their heads and kept walking.
“We’ll meet you at the car,” Troy yelled back over his shoulder.
Nick waved an acknowledgment as he unzipped and peed on the grave they’d just been sitting around. He started singing and watched the lightning bugs that were flitting around him.
When he looked down again, he saw that one of the candles had fallen over and there was something white sticking out of the ground beside it. Zipping up, he knelt down to see what it was, thinking they might have dropped something.
Just looking at it, he couldn’t figure out what it was, so he touched it. It was hard and kind of smooth. Tugging gently, he extracted it from the hard-packed dirt. It was a human finger bone.
With a yelp, he dropped it and stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. His eyes scanned back and forth over the grave to see if there was anything else weird. As he watched, the earth shifted.
He turned to yell to the others as the hand the finger had come from shot up out of the ground and grabbed his ankle.
Nick screamed.
Kicking and trying to dislodge his leg from the vice-like grip, he was shocked to see a head and a torso break through the ground. Bugs and dirt clung to the skull. The eyes were nothing more than hollow voids, staring out at nothing.
Nick was too paralyzed with fear to scream again. He just stood there in shock, watching the body pull itself out of the grave.
Holy shit, he thought, it worked!
As he came back to his senses, Nick tried again to kick free, but the grip was too strong.
The person they’d brought back to life gave his leg a sudden jerk and a twist, throwing Nick to the ground.
“Maaaaaa,” it moaned, as it sank its teeth into the exposed skin of his ankle.
Nick cried out with pain, groping at the ground around him, trying to get away or at least find something to beat the thing off of him with.
He screamed as he felt his flesh tearing, and looked back to see the zombie happily munching on what it had torn off. He started to cry, instantly sobered by what was happening to him.
He tried more frantically to get away and his hand landed on a rock. He grabbed it, turned on the ghoul, and slammed it down on its head. It took five hard whacks before the creature stopped moving. Its bug-filled skull lay shattered around it on the ground. Insects swarmed and ran in every direction, trying to figure out where their home had gone.
Nick dragged himself away, out of the zombie’s grip, and fell back onto the ground panting and sobbing. After a moment, he sat up and looked at his ankle. The wound wasn’t as bad as he’d expected – only a small piece of skin was missing.
He glanced over at the skull, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. The ghoul was missing quite a few teeth and he figured that was why he hadn’t sustained a more serious injury.
Hurriedly, Nick stood and ran toward the path where the others had disappeared on their way to the car. He hobbled awkwardly because of the wound, but he wanted to get away from the cursed place as fast as he could.
***
Troy, Alex, and Grace were sitting in the car, waiting for Nick. They had the radio blaring and were rocking out to their favorite band while smoking another joint. The passing of time hadn’t registered to them.
They all jumped when Nick tore open the rear, passenger door and started ranting.
“We did it!” Nick yelled to be heard over the music. “We brought that bastard back from the dead and he bit me! It was a zombie! The damn thing bit my leg! Look!”
He pulled up his pant leg and showed them all the two inch by one inch bloody wound where a patch of skin was missing.
Alex frowned, turning down the radio. “Are you making fun of me? Because I don’t like it. Is this some kind of a sick joke?”
“No, no,” Nick said, shaking. “I’m telling the truth! Come look, the body is still there.”
Grace said nothing, just watched as Alex bowed her head and stared at her hands.
Troy noticed Alex’s dejected posture as well. “Get in the car, Nick, before I decide to get out and kick your ass.”
“I’m serious, you guys,” Nick pleaded. “Listen to me! There was a zombie, a real zombie, and it bit me!”
Troy slammed his fist down on the back of the front seat. “This is your last chance. Shut your hole and get in the car or I’m leaving you here.”
Nick swallowed hard, glanced over his shoulder, and decided the safest idea would be to get in the car. He didn’t like that they didn’t believe him, but he could convince them, over time, he supposed.
Nodding silently, Nick slid into the back seat with Grace, looking at the floor board, shutting the door securely behind him.
Alex was sniffling in the front seat and Troy was trying to calm her down, throwing dirty looks at Nick every now and again. Finally Troy got her to stop crying and they departed for the carnival.
Grace leaned over to Nick and snarled. “Nice one, jackass. You shouldn’t make fun of Alex and tease her like that – you know she’s sensitive. Why do you have to be such a dick?”
Nick didn’t answer. He just looked out the window. Maybe they were right, maybe nothing had happened; it could have been his imagination. He’d been drunk and high, after all.
The rocking of the car made Nick tired. He knew they had an hour drive to where the carnival was, and since no one was talking to him, he decided he might as well get some rest. His ankle was burning and he felt lethargic. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep.
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February 13, 2020
Blind Date A Book 2020 – Valentine’s Day – Find Your Book Soul Mate
I hope you’ve been following along with the Blind Date A Book Event! There are currently 20 book posts for the 2020 event. 20 books for you to fall in love with and possibly find your book soul mate!
In case you haven’t been following the event and this is the first post you’ve seen, or you have and you’ve missed a couple book posts…
Here are all the books, listed by number, that have been posted throughout this year’s event so far! And…there will be more posted between now and the end of the month, so keep following along.
Read the book’s first chapter.
Click on that link at the bottom of the post.
Fall in love with a book.
And find your book soul mate!
February 12, 2020
Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #20
The material (chapter) in this post is copyrighted by the author and may not be used or copied in any way without the author’s permission.
Chapter 1
The Devil never does his own dirty work. He relies on the cruelty of others who come in the dark of night, carrying death in their pocket.
***
A wicked, dreadful storm pounded the entire Annapolis metropolitan area. Some dwellers in the area wondered if it was an omen of what was to come.
Rain drenched both the wicked and the innocent. Humidity fogged up windows and windshields. The air weighed heavy with the makings of a potential tornado.
Fat rats scurried along the waterfront, driven out of their shadowy niches by the pouring rains. Even the fish swam into the depths of the ocean, hibernating until the worst of the storm had passed.
The citizens of Annapolis burrowed into the warmth of their homes, occasionally daring to snatch a peek at the storm’s progress.
The wisest among them knew it was a night best spent indoors.
However, Caleb Hunter found himself in the midst of a most desperate crisis. One that couldn’t wait for a starry night or dry weather. Clearly having no other option, he started his evening with a glib lie to his wife.
***
Caleb leaned against the archway of the powder room and watched his wife shave her slender legs. As her deft fingers slid the razor over one silky calf, his pulse quickened. This, the shaving of her legs, had always been one of his guilty pleasures. He wanted to rush over and run his tongue over the smooth, warm skin of her legs, but tonight wasn’t the night. Something crucial had to be resolved first. Caleb had no choice, he shoved his hands in his pockets, resisting an urge to reach out and let Sara know the ways she inspired him to pleasure her.
It was a shame, he ruefully admitted to himself, that Sara seldom shaved those legs for him. No matter. It didn’t mean he couldn’t watch and dream of those long, luscious legs wrapped around his neck, did it? No, it did not.
He knew that most likely she was meeting him tonight, the man who treated her the way her own husband didn’t right now. He wondered if the man appreciated how unique and special she was or if she inspired him in those deliciously, wicked ways he had once enjoyed.
After a few moments of self-indulgence, he reminded himself to focus on his immediate crisis. He had no time and was in no position to question Sara’s indulgences. He made up his mind that once he had taken care of the crisis, he wouldn’t give her another reason to share her sexy body with any other man. He would let her know she was his, and his alone, and he’d make damn sure her lust was reserved for him.
The oddest thought popped into Caleb’s mind. He wasn’t angry, not even miffed. He wasn’t even bothered that the man for whom she shaved her legs might be his law partner. Sure, he might want to smash the jerk’s face later, but right now, at this moment, he had an immediate need to use his competition’s interloping one last time. He needed that lover, whoever he was, to distract Sara so he might be free to carry out his own deception.
Caleb chastised himself again for wasting precious time on his carnal desires.
It’s time to get this show on the road before the road disappears, he thought.
“Since you won’t be home, I’m taking Brandon out for a bite to eat. After dinner, we’ll drop by Macy’s and pick up that teddy bear I promised him,” Caleb said.
“Have you even looked outside? It’s a monsoon out there. It would be better for you to wait for nicer weather for your little excursion. Why don’t you take him out for lunch on Saturday before his birthday party and give it to him then?”
Sara slipped with the razor blade and nicked the meaty flesh just above her ankle. A trickle of blood rolled down the side of her foot, threatening to stain the commode’s white cashmere seat cover. She reached for a Kleenex to staunch the blood.
“I checked on the The Weather Channel. The storm will be letting up soon. Don’t worry, I won’t expose Brandon to the rain. I’ll park in the mall’s garage. Besides, I promised him a new teddy bear as a reward if he beat cancer, not for his second birthday. Sweetheart, Brandon’s been home a month. It’s time we got it for him.” Caleb slid his eyes over to snatch a peek at her face. Since it didn’t look as if she was buying it, he thought he’d pull a different string.
“Here’s a thought. I’ll call your sister to babysit Brandon. Then the two of us can pick up the teddy bear together and have a romantic dinner downtown. It’s been a long time since we have had a date night.” Caleb glanced away to give his wife the opportunity to lie.
He wanted her to lie. If Sara lied to him tonight, he might be able to keep the number of his own lies to a minimum. He waited, sure she was thinking of her lover’s sexy demands.
“What? No. I’ve got my meeting. All right, I guess you can take him. Please, promise me you’ll keep him dry, will you?”
Caleb sidled up behind her and rubbed her shoulders as Sara arranged her hair in the mirror. The aroma of her perfume aroused him. He moved closer, unable to stop himself. He hoped the other man appreciated his wife.
“Have I told you today how much I love you?” Caleb whispered against his wife’s earlobe.
Sara glanced at her husband’s reflection in the mirror and blushed. Avoiding eye contact, she patted his hand. “Brandon’s illness has been difficult for all of us. We’ll be back to normal as soon as the doctor confirms his remission’s permanent.”
“Darling, you must be careful driving tonight. I would be unhappy if anything happened to you just when Brandon was winning his battle,” Caleb said, nuzzling Sara’s shoulder, careful not to mess her hair.
“You know I’m always careful when I drive. Oh, and before I forget, I might be back late so when you tuck Brandon in give him a kiss for me. Remember… bedtime is at eight sharp. And please, don’t feed our son pizza. Get him something healthy.” Sara got busy painting her face.
Caleb liked to tease his wife that she was a wizard with her eyeshadows and mascara. In seconds, Sara went from a clean faced lovely to an exotic seductress with lashes, thick and velvety. Her mastery of her lipstick wand was impressive. Caleb enjoyed watching her select lip liner and gloss, matching the colors with perfection.
For a few last seconds, Caleb watched her work her magic, rueful that Sara never wore lipstick for him anymore either. He resolved once again that after tonight, he would show Sara more romance and hope she would want to put on sexy red lipstick and shave those slender legs for him. That bastard lover of hers could move on to someone else’s wife.
Unable to put off the inevitable, Caleb sighed and left Sara to her preparations. He had his own plans to make.
***
It was after nine when Caleb carried his son through the Westfield Annapolis Mall parking garage. After their pizza dinner, he had taken Brandon to the movies knowing it didn’t get out until well after Sara’s instructed bedtime.
Well, too bad, he thought. You aren’t at home waiting for us, so what does it matter if I keep him up a few extra hours, Sara? It makes the boy happy, and that’s all that counts right now.
As Caleb hoofed it across the garage carrying his son, he admitted to himself he had gone against Sara’s wishes more for himself than for Brandon. In fact, he had behaved just as selfishly the afternoon Sara brought Brandon home from the hospital. He had reassured Sara he would be there, but he had lied. Caleb had planned all along to go sailing on his friend’s luxury yacht, Eternal Pleasure. The truth was he didn’t want the hassle of the whole paperwork ordeal at the hospital.
Yes, selfishness had always been his nemesis.
But nothing reminded him more of his selfishness and that cursed deal he made than his frigging Beemer. Even now, the closer Caleb got to the cherry red BMW temptress, the heavier his thoughts of the contract became. While he would never regret the part involving his son’s recovery, he yearned to take back the piece that had met his own insatiable demands.
Back when he had made his pact, he hadn’t considered himself greedy as he snatched up the Beemer and other man-boy toys. He had convinced himself they were status symbols that endowed him with the sexiness and the power standing required in his profession. Of course, by doing so, he had screwed himself. Every penny of debt led him closer to a horrible death because there was no way he would be able to pay it all back, let alone fulfill his pact obligations.
Now, the new car smell gave him a hard-on, while simultaneously reminding him he was a weak man who lied to everyone. The damn Beemer had become his scarlet letter, and those demands of his black contract haunted him every day.
Enough, he chastised, I’m wasting time again when I should be actively seeking resolution. If I don’t get ahead of this, they will sure as hell come looking for me.
Caleb opened the back door of the BMW and slipped Brandon into his car seat. His son allowed him to fasten the straps without a word. Caleb sighed as he gazed at Brandon, wishing he could climb in next to him and spend the night playing whatever game made his boy laugh. Brandon was a good son. Caleb knew he didn’t deserve him.
“Are you ready for your surprise?” Caleb kissed his son’s head.
Brandon’s cherub face shined with excitement. He bounced in his seat, squealing and clapping his hands.
“Cover your eyes and no peeking.” As Caleb waited until Brandon had both hands over his eyes, he soaked in the vision of Brandon’s pudgy cheeks and silky blond hair. When it came to saving his son, that part of the pact was worth every demand they made of him and more. No, he had no regrets when it came to saving Brandon’s life.
Caleb tiptoed to the rear of the car and retrieved the bear from the trunk. Standing in front of the open passenger door, he held the bear out as if it were dancing in his hands.
“Hey Brandon, look what I found.”
“Teddy!” Brandon grabbed the bear and clutched it to his heart.
The grin on his son’s face tore at his heartstrings. It was hard to believe this was the same child who had screamed during every prodding of his insides, and whimpered every time the nurse had to test his blood when he had been in the hospital, a mere month ago.
“Daddy has to call somebody, sweetie. I’m going to go right over there to make a call. Okay?” Caleb pointed to a nearby corner close to an open window to the street. But Brandon was busy smoothing every inch of the bear and kissing the bear’s nose like his mother kissed his when she tucked him in at night. He figured Brandon wouldn’t even miss him, but Caleb watched a second more before closing the door and leaving Brandon alone with his new best friend.
It was time to place the call. Caleb walked over to the corner, pulled out his cell phone and punched in the dreaded digits. The phone rang and rang. Caleb was close to hanging up when he heard a voice on the other end.
It hadn’t been an easy call at all. Begging had never come easy for him. Not at home. Not in court. Not ever. But he had no choice if he wanted a chance at surviving this fiasco so Caleb threw old habits to the wind, mustered up his courage, and charged in with his most persuasive promises. Even though he got the impression he might be wasting his time, he was able to secure a meeting. He hoped the meeting might give him a chance to be done with this part of his hell even though his intuition told him it wasn’t going to get easier, not for a long time.
After he had expressed appreciation for the appointment, he hung up and headed back to his car. He had hoped Brandon might still be awake and want to play for a few minutes but he was disappointed to find his son had fallen fast asleep. So he climbed in the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirrors and made the long drive to downtown Annapolis.
As he drove, the rain deluge began in earnest.
***
As Caleb maneuvered the BMW through the bar and pub district of historic Annapolis, he noticed the streets were void of cars. It appeared that even the heartiest of pub-crawlers had the good sense to find shelter from the pouring rain and ear-splitting thunderbolts. He regretted he had been unable to afford some of that good sense.
The sky lit up with a series of lightning strikes as he steered the Beemer down a side street overlooking the water. When he reached the agreed upon meeting spot, he slipped the car into park and left it idling. For a few minutes, he listened to the awnings of the nearby storefronts shuddering against the strain of the howling, fierce winds. He hoped the meeting didn’t take too long. Sara was right. He should not have taken Brandon out in this monsoon.
When he had set out for the meeting in Annapolis, Caleb believed the faithful bar hoppers and tourists would be meandering through the streets in spite of the weather. But now there was not a soul on the streets, not even a single drunk. It was, instead, quiet and deserted.
Where is everyone? I didn’t think we’d be the only ones on the street.
To be sure, Caleb fretted over the possibility that his decision to ask for the meeting was ill-fated. But for a brief moment, he allowed himself to muse over leaving even though he perceived the potential repercussions would be harsh, if not disastrous, in the long run.
Caleb glanced at his Rolex. Uneasiness began to poke holes in his decision to meet like this. Influential people all over the country touted him as one of the most thrilling, game-changing defense attorneys on the East Coast, but this was a different role for him. More was at stake since it was his life he was defending, not some client who was guilty anyway.
Caleb agonized over whether he might be able to make a convincing case for redemption. In his mind, he ran through his list of options, looking for the most plausible ways to express his remorse. He knew it was critical he keep in mind the importance of the words he might choose. It was critical he present himself as expressive and sincere, and not get caught in the act of faking his contriteness. Caleb asked himself the burning question.
Even if I orchestrated the perfect performance, realistically, was there any possibility of a second chance? He wasn’t sure.
He practiced his rational in his head. Yes, I have not fulfilled my contract, but I am amenable to any path to rectify that failure. Of course, I am more than willing to make whatever offering is required to show my commitment. I am very apologetic that it is because of my failures that I am in my current position, requiring we meet under such horrendous conditions. I appreciate any opportunity to prove I am going to change.
Yes, that sounded convincing. He would be sincere and contrite.
If Caleb was successful, he hoped to be forgiven or at the most, chastised for his failures. He could deal with any punishment given if it bought him more time with his son and wife.
***
Consumed with creating the perfect performance, Caleb failed to notice the dark figure that materialized from a recessed alleyway a block away. Nor did he see the individual creep closer, masked by the shadows. He wasn’t even aware of the being as it snuck right up to the rear of his Beemer.
A lightning bolt knifed through the swollen sky, briefly illuminating the street. Caleb was so consumed with practicing his speech that he still didn’t see the entity was a man who was now staring into the back seat window of the BMW.
***
Inside the car, Caleb took a break from rehearsing his speech to reach over into the back seat and double-check that Brandon’s car seat straps were secure. He wasn’t surprised to see the boy was sound asleep. He hoped Brandon would stay that way until they returned home. Caleb reached over and held the back of his hand against his son’s forehead to check his temperature. Satisfied that all was still well, he picked the new teddy bear off the car floor and tucked it under Brandon’s arm.
As Caleb turned back, a rustling sound on the driver’s side of the car caught his attention. Unable to see through the fogged-up windows, he pressed the automatic window button on his door until the glass slid inside. Cupping his hand over his eyes, he squinted, but the rain prevented him from seeing much beyond a foot or so. Once he realized he would never be able to see through the downpour, he put his finger back on the button, intending to close the window.
Without warning, the mystery man’s head filled his window.
Caleb yelped and scrambled away from the window as far as he could get until his seatbelt stopped him.
Shoving his thick finger against Caleb’s lips, the mystery man shushed him.
Wide-eyed, Caleb couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s head, it was enormous. His eyelids were thick and hooded. Pockmarks smudged his cheeks. A series of names flashed through Caleb’s mind. He refused each one.
Who is he?
To his horror, a familiar smirk twisted the man’s lips.
Oh no. Why did it have to be him? Caleb lamented, grim recognition darkening the irises of his eyes.
Against hope, he attempted to feign surprise and not let on how terrified he had become.
“I… I… I wasn’t expecting you. I thought Ivanovitch would come.” Caleb jutted his chin out as if he was confident but his voice betrayed him, it cracked.
“Nobody expects me.” Rain snaked down the crevices of the man’s face as if they were rivers dark with doom.
“I wanted to discuss my options—”
Without muttering a single word, the man reached inside the car and yanked Caleb’s left arm out the window. With his free hand, the stranger produced a steel pruner with razor sharp blades from out of thin air. In what was surely an out-of-body experience, Caleb was drawn to the raindrops dancing on the shiny steel blades.
It looks so surreal… like one of those illusionist paintings, he thought.
With a surgeon’s skill, in one incisive movement, the man snapped Caleb’s left thumb off with the pruner and slipped both into his coat pocket. He shoved Caleb’s bleeding hand back at him.
“What are you doing? I wanted to make things right. How will I explain that to my wife?” Caleb blubbered, gawking at the hole in his hand as the blood spurted.
“Let me solve that problem for you.” With a symphonic elegance, the man swiped a scarlet splash of gel across Caleb’s cheek.
“You don’t understand. My boy… he nearly died last month. He can’t lose his father now.”
“Don’t whine to me about your son. You shouldn’t have brought the kid here. You never take him anywhere. I know you chose to go sailing over his needs. Yes, Mr. Hunter… I know everything about you. The only reason you brought him tonight was that you thought Mr. Ivanovitch would have to have sympathy for you in front of the kid.”
How much did they really know? Were they watching him all the time? Could he have underestimated them that significantly? He asked himself, trembling.
But the time for questions evaporated just like that. Caleb’s limbs became useless pieces of flesh with joints locked into place. A millisecond later, barely below the surface of his skin near the fatty part of his cheek, he felt a squirming sensation before something else near his lower lip bit him – from inside his face.
He fought the paralysis, attempting to swipe at his cheek with his hands, but it was useless. He felt himself being eaten, from the inside out. His eyes dilated with fear and darted from one thing to another in the car, looking for a solution, anything that might end the unbearable pain and stop the inevitable outcome.
The center console… it has to contain something!
Caleb ripped it open, throwing sunglasses, maps, and change to the passenger seat’s floor. At the bottom, he grabbed an unopened package of Pampers baby wipes. He wrenched the cellophane open, ripping it apart with his teeth.
Caleb glanced up at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He could see his face distorting, his flesh moving unnaturally. Massive lumps of squirming things jabbed against his skin as if to rip his flesh from his bones. Yellow globs of something dripped from his nose. He swatted at the globs, flinging them at the Beemer’s stereo.
Frantic to end his agony, he scrubbed at his face with the baby wipes, tearing off chunks of skin. The moving lumps migrated to the torn openings in his flesh. A scraggy, squirming thing popped out of the corner of his eye and slithered across his cheek.
Caleb struggled to mute his screams. In a final effort to protect his son, he glanced one last time at his sleeping child and threw his car door open. He tried to put a leg out the door but his leg wasn’t a leg anymore. It was something limp and boneless, oozing onto the street pavement. Jamming his fist into his mouth to muffle his screams, he slid onto the concrete.
Caleb attempted to reach up to close the door, but the bones of his arm separated and crashed to the pavement before his eyes. Sinew hung from his shoulder by shimmering bubbles of fat.
In the back seat of the Beemer, Brandon stirred. He rubbed his eyes with his tiny fists and yawned.
“Daddy?”
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February 11, 2020
Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #19
The material (chapter) in this post is copyrighted by the author and may not be used or copied in any way without the author’s permission.
Chapter 1
Sandra and I have been friends since kindergarten. Back then we used to have tea parties with our stuffed animals and dollies, or pretend we were princesses waiting for our princes to ride up on white horses and take us away. By the time we were in middle school, we were calling one another “sister” because we felt closer than any blood relation.
We always asked for the same gifts for Christmas, but since my family had considerably less money than hers, that meant she kept her requests much more reasonable than need be. If her parents surprised her with something extravagant, she would refuse to play with it or even break it on purpose just so we would stay on even ground.
Sandra was always smarter than me, and in our senior year she got into Northwestern University. She chose not to go because the only school I’d been accepted to was a small college the next town over. We went together, took teaching jobs at the same elementary school after graduation. We were so close we earned the collective nickname “the Siamese Sisters” since we seemed to be conjoined.
We even got married within the same year, Sandra in early April to Bob and me mid-October to Frank. I found out shortly thereafter that I couldn’t have children, and Sandra made the choice not to have any herself. She didn’t want to take the journey of motherhood if I couldn’t take the same journey.
I recognized just how much Sandra sacrificed for me, so that we could be together and that our lives would stay on the same path. It was incredibly selfless of her, but she didn’t seem to see it that way. She said it was just what sisters did for one another. They shared everything, both the joy and the pain. I repeatedly vowed to repay her someday though she said it wasn’t necessary.
And then Sandra’s husband died a month ago. I have tried to be there for her, to comfort her, but for the first time in our lives, she has pulled away from me, withdrawing into her own sense of grief and loss. That grief built a wall between us I couldn’t seem to breach, and it was lonely on my side of that wall all alone.
I have come to realize that the reason I can’t help Sandra through this is because for the first time since we met, there is something we can’t share. I can sympathize but I can’t really understand the loss she feels because it is a pain I’ve never actually experienced. The only way I can comfort her is to turn my sympathy into actual understanding.
It’s a sacrifice, I realize, but after all Sandra has sacrificed for me, it’s the least I can do. And that’s why I’ve tied you to the bed, Frank, and that’s why I have this knife. I want you to understand why I’m doing this. It’s nothing personal against you, but Sandra is my sister and I have to do this for her. Once you are gone, I’ll be able to share her loss.
And sisters share everything.
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February 10, 2020
Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #18
The material (chapters) in this post is copyrighted by the author and may not be used or copied in any way without the author’s permission.
Prologue
In the beginning it was dark, but then again, it’s always dark in the beginning. It was a time of God and angels. Then came the light, the creation, and finally life itself was born. Next came sin, and with the sin came decay and ultimately death.
That’s not the whole story though. You are missing an important part. You are missing the story of the angels that stood next to God, in his light and glory. As the world began and the humans covered the earth, some of the angels grew jealous of God’s care and keeping of the world and its humans. They grew tired and lonely next to God, whose sights were forever upon the people of earth and not upon them, his angels. They set their own sights upon the world and found the women full of beauty and more importantly, the women were the creators of new life. Angry with God, they turned from his light. They tumbled and fell to earth to create their own light within the dark new world. They found love, and created with the women, some with consent, and then some without it. It was dark times, indeed, for the world and its occupants.
But, that’s just the beginning. Time passed. Hundreds and thousands of years have gone by since the angels fell from heaven. What has become of them? Where are they now?
Chapter One
I have been asked if I remember what event started my journey. What one thing set it all into motion? I wish I could say it was something fun or at least dramatic, like a bolt of lightning, or a dip in a vat of toxic waste, but I can’t. It all began with something as simple as being a girl. I reached puberty, of all things. Why that one thing? I don’t know, but that is the one thing that I can pinpoint as the very beginning. It changed me from my DNA out. That one moment during my sixteenth year, almost seventeenth, started the ball rolling. I have wondered if maybe that is why I was a late bloomer. I mean who starts puberty at sixteen? Maybe there was a reason for it to wait so long to come to me. Then when it did, my life changed. In fact, the whole world changed for me. I can’t change it back, even if I wanted to. There is nothing to do now but move forward.
Chapter Two
I sat with my head resting on my hand, in Geometry class. I was half asleep, because of the droning on and on of my teacher, Mr. Miller, when I felt a warm liquid gush. Late bloomer. That is what I’d been called for a few years by then. At sixteen and three months old, I still hadn’t had my first period. I sat up quickly, suddenly alert, and looked around as if anyone would know just by looking at me that something was not quite right. My hand shot up into the air. “Uh…Mr. Miller? Can I have the pass?”
He sighed. Why did he sigh? I never ask for the pass. He’d better not have said no. I would have flipped out, I’m sure.
“Fine. You have two minutes, Grace.”
Two minutes? What the hell? I didn’t respond. Instead, I bolted out of my seat, purse in hand, grabbed the short piece of two-by-four that had HALL PASS written in black permanent marker on it, and made a dash for the bathroom.
Yep. There it was. I found it funny. Not ha ha funny, but strange funny. I had been waiting, desperately wanting, praying even, for that day to hurry up and come. All my peers had hit the period milestone at, like, twelve years old. I was the only one that hadn’t, and it was embarrassing. Now, that it finally arrived, I was inexplicably sad. I stared at the stained red material of my panties and felt like crying. It wasn’t really fear. Not really. It was a mixture of relief and a bit of fear of what now.
Since I had been waiting forever for my period, I was thankfully prepared. I grabbed what I needed out of my purse, finished up in the stall and went to wash my hands. The girl in the mirror that stared back at me didn’t look any different than the one I had seen that morning. I felt different though. Not older or wiser or anything really tangible, just different. Same shoulder length, straight as an arrow dirty blond, kind of brownish hair. Same big light blue eyes and prominent cheeks. Same everything, from my nose to my feet. What did I really expect?
I washed my hands, smoothed down my hair, and went back to class.
“That was longer than two minutes, Grace,” Mr. Miller said, the moment I walked in. He was such a jerk. Did he watch the clock the whole time I was gone? Weirdo.
Not looking at anyone at all, I returned the hall pass, took my seat, and didn’t say a word. I pretended to concentrate on my geo book, when the whole time I was silently fuming. I wanted so badly to say, I started my period and it takes longer than two minutes to deal with. He wouldn’t get embarrassed though. I would.
The bell finally rang. I sprang up quickly, grabbed my stuff and bolted to my locker. Geo was my last class of the day. I had to get back to The Home, change my clothes, and get to work by three. I needed to hustle.
I grabbed what I needed, slammed my locker shut, and headed for the doors.
“Grace! Gracie, wait a second.”
I silently groaned. It was Sara, a perky, popular, and annoying as hell sophomore. She was racing right at me, her long curly brown ponytail swung happily behind her.
“I can’t talk right now, Sara. I’ve got to get to work,” I said, hardly slowing my steps.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s a second-hand clothes store, Gracie. I think they’ll wait.”
Sara was also rich and wouldn’t ever need to get a job if she didn’t want to. Unlike the other ninety percent of the world, that did. Me, especially. “No, actually they won’t. What do you want?”
A small frown marred her otherwise lovely face, probably because of my obvious annoyance. “I am trying to recruit for cheer. Try-outs start next week and I think you would be awesome.” The awesome was drawn out and breathy sounding.
Lord! Not hardly. No way. Cheer was so, not my thing. Besides, the only reason they were recruiting was because there was so much animosity between all the current cheerleaders that each ‘side’ of the cheer war, was trying to recruit out the other. “No. Thanks.”
“Wait!” she said and grabbed my arm when I tried to leave her behind.
I stopped mid-stride, turned to her, and said as emphatically as I could, “Sara. I’m not cheer material. I don’t do any type of gymnastics. I don’t dance, and most of all, I have a job that takes up all my time. I can’t.” After a moment I added, “I’m sorry.”
Undaunted she flashed a wide, bright toothed smile at me and said, “Well. At least think about it. Yeah?”
I held in the sigh that I wanted to breathe. I finally shook my head, more at myself than her and said, “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Then I again took off as fast as I could without actually running to get home. I immediately forgot all about the cheer discussion with Sara, because frankly, I didn’t care about cheer. At all. I wasn’t your standard issue popular girl, but I wasn’t at the other end of the spectrum either. I was right in the middle. A little bit tom boy, a little bit geek, and a little bit just average. I had plenty of friends, but very few good ones. That was all I really needed, so I didn’t care about the number.
Two blocks later, I raced inside The Home. Yes, I said ‘The Home’. It wasn’t my home. It wasn’t even my house. It was a state run home for, well, for orphans. Kids like me, that didn’t have any family. It was called the Trenton House after some dude that donated all his money to keep it running. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy the guy did it, but other than his name and that he was quite well set off when he died, I didn’t know anything else about him.
The Home was a plain white, ten bedroom, five bathroom, two story type house. Not as big as you would imagine, but big enough to house the eight to ten kids that regularly lived there at any given time. Currently though, there were only three of us. Me, the resident teenager, and I had been there since I was an infant. Then there was Sadie, age six, and Michael age nine.
“You’re going to be late,” Mrs. Brown said, as I ran passed her to my room. Mrs. Brown never changed. She was the same stout woman with dark brown hair tied back in a messy bun. The messy part was unintended; it was simply how she always ended up at the end of a day. Not overly heavy, but not thin either. She was actually very average.
“I’m hurrying!” I shouted over my shoulder as I dropped my school stuff, changed my shoes from flip-flops to my no-skid athletic support shoes. Ugly, would be the word I used. Serviceable would be what all the adults called them. I raced back down the hallway and shouted again, “Bye!” I don’t know if Mrs. Brown replied.
I made it to the Once Loved, Used, and Consignment Store with barely two minutes to spare. “I’m not late,” I said to Kara, the manager as I pushed through the door.
She smiled and said, “I’m not worried about a minute or two here and there, Grace. I know you’re reliable.”
I smiled her way, thankful to have a great boss. “Okay.”
“We got a load of new stuff in today. You want to tag and hang, or do you want to man the front?” she asked me.
“I’ll tag and hang for a bit,” I said and headed toward the storeroom in the back. “I’m sure you could use the break.” …and it got me out of having to deal with customers. That was a huge bonus to my way of thinking.
“Hey,” Kara said, before I could push through the door.
I turned to look at her. “Yeah?”
“You, all right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“No reason really. You just seem…funny today. Something happen at school?” Kara said.
Could people tell when you finally hit puberty? Do we put off a glow or something? I pursed my lips and shook my head. “No. Nothing.”
Kara regarded me for a few more seconds. “Okay, but you do know you can talk to me, right?”
Yeah right! I wasn’t going to share my period with my boss. Oh, I liked her and all. She was great to work for. She paid well, gave me all the hours I could handle, and didn’t care that I was a state baby, but that didn’t mean I wanted her in my period life. “Yes. I know. Thanks, Kara.” Before she could say anything else, I quickly vanished into the storage room.
Wow. She wasn’t kidding when she said, a load. There were at least twenty boxes full of clothes that needed up. “Okay. Let’s get started then.”
I got busy and soon the time was flying away from me. Around six Kara poked her head in and said, “Hey. It’s really slow today. I think I’m going to head out. You sure you’re okay to man the store alone?”
I had to smile. She asked me that every time she left me alone. “Yes, I got this.”
I grabbed a basket full of clothes that I had been tagging and hauled it out to the front where I could both finish putting price tags on them, as well as watch for customers.
“Great!” Kara didn’t argue a second more. She grabbed her bag and headed straight for the door. “It’s so wonderful having you here.”
I smiled, urging her to leave.
“Call if you need anything. Make sure to lock up and drop the money in the safe from the register before you leave.”
I nodded, again still smiling. Every time…same discussion. “I will.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow.” Then she was gone.
I reached under the counter and turned on a little portable radio that sat on a shelf out of sight. The store got a little too quiet some days. Kara wasn’t kidding. It was slow. I worked for another hour without one single customer coming in. I was bored.
I hung the tagged clothes that I had finished and decided to work my way around the store, straightening here, re-hanging there. As I worked in the front window putting things in order, I felt a chill zip down my spine. I immediately stopped what I was doing, lowered my arms that were half raised in the process of grabbing a hanger. I turned just my head, to look out the window.
There was nothing out there, nothing that I could see anyway. Afternoon had turned to evening. The streetlights were on, but they only illuminated the sidewalks. The rest of the street was bathed in darkness. I squinted and tried to see within the black. Nothing.
I shook my head and tried to ignore it. Even so, I did stop what I was doing and headed back to the counter. Once behind it, I couldn’t help, but feel safer. Not that the pressed wood counter would save me from anything, all the same, I felt better behind it.
I tried to ignore the funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, but the chill wouldn’t go away. I felt like someone was watching me. The heavy weight of their stare made my skin crawl. I looked at the clock. It was almost eight thirty. The store closed at nine.
I glanced anxiously around the store. Nothing, but racks of used clothes, stared back at me. When the doorbell dinged, I jumped about a foot into the air and had to squash the screech of fear that tried to burst from my mouth. Then I saw that it was simply an older woman come to do a bit of shopping.
“Geez, Gracie,” I whispered to myself. “Get a grip.” It was a store after all. People were supposed to come in. I couldn’t suppress a relieved giggle though.
I stepped away from the counter and toward the customer, a big smile on my face. “Good evening. Is there anything I can help you with?” If I did my job right, I could make her visit last until it was closing time and maybe make a bit of money for the shop. Even though I was telling myself I was freaking out over nothing, the heavy chill stayed with me all through the last half hour of store hours.
At nine o’clock on the dot, I bid goodnight to my customer and locked the door behind her as she left. I glanced once more into the night, but still, there was nothing to see. I was dreading the walk home. Several blocks or not, I was afraid.
“There’s nothing out there!” I tried to tell myself, but my brain said, “Nothing that you can see.”
I cleared out the register and dumped the cash into the safe that was housed securely in the back room. I took a deep breath, turned off the lights, and left the relative safety of the store. After locking the door behind me, I turned to face the street. I looked carefully around. I thought briefly about calling someone to come get me, but then I decided I was being a baby. I’d be fine.
With firm determination, I headed home. The weighty feeling never once wavered. It followed me all the way to the house. It took every ounce of self-control not to run as fast as I could all the way home. Instead, I pretended a calm I certainly didn’t feel, and walked slow and steady the whole way.
I did really well with the walking thing, until I saw the house come into view. Then I picked up the pace until I was sprinting up the walk and slamming into the house.
“Whoa, whoa. What’s the matter?” Mrs. Brown asked as she hurried into the entryway.
I laughed as I leaned up against the closed and bolted door. “I’m sorry. Nothing’s wrong. Just a little freak out. I’m good now.”
She lifted an eyebrow at me but didn’t ask anything else. “I saved a plate for you. It’s in the oven,” she said. She turned and went back to whatever it was she’d been doing, before I landed full speed and loudly at the door.
“Thanks!” I yelled after her retreating back.
~ * ~
I saw them, my mother and father. She stood tall and slim. Her short brown hair only hung to her chin, a chin remarkably like my own. Her eyes, green that time, sparkled with mischief. Her tiny arm wound within the confines of his bigger one. He stood taller than her, but there was a bulk to him the woman would never have. He had blond hair, but it was sprinkled with grey along the roots. On that day he sported a mustache, thick, and refined.
My mother waved to me, and said, “Well? Come along.”
I hurried toward them as I always did in the dream. My feet were suddenly and strangely bogged down in thick goopy mud. I struggled forward, as I tried to reach them.
Their smiles faded and turned to frowns of annoyance. My father snapped. “That means now, Grace Ann!”
My legs felt heavy and sore from the suctioning mud. I tried to quicken my pace, but my parents seemed to only grow further and further away the faster I went. The muscles in my legs burned with my exertions, but I pushed myself on. I was almost there. They were just about within my reach.
“Wait!” I screamed, when I saw them turn away. “Don’t leave me!”
Just one more step. Just one more. I reached out a desperate hand to grab the sleeve of my father’s jacket. They vanished. Poof. Gone. Just like every time I had that dream. Sometimes I could get a grip on them. Sometimes I reached for my mother, sometimes my father, but they always disappeared.
I dropped down to the now mud free sidewalk and cried. I cried for the parents I had never met. For the made-up appearances my brain created, when I was defenseless in dreams.
“I see you,” a voice whispered over my skin.
I quickly looked around. Well, that part of the dream was new. Usually I just awoke after my parents vanished to find myself crying in my sleep. There was never any voice.
“I’m coming for you.”
Goosebumps rose over my skin. “Who’s there?” I asked.
Deep dark laughter met my question. The moment I felt the gentlest touch around my throat, I sat straight up in bed and screamed. When I realized I was awake and yelling loud enough to wake the whole house, I snapped my mouth quickly shut. The damage was already done though.
“What is going on!” Mrs. Brown yelled as she bolted into my room. Her unbelted and open dingy white robe, trailed behind her as she rushed forward.
I was gasping for breath, both from my screaming and from the fear within the dream. What the hell was that? I saw Michael’s small head pop around the corner. His young brown eyes wide with fear. Sadie’s head soon followed. Oops.
“I’m sorry. I had a nightmare. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You’ve been so weird today. What’s wrong?” Mrs. Brown asked.
I rubbed my face with my hands before I replied. “I don’t know.” I glanced at Michael and Sadie and said, “Really, it’s all right. You can go back to bed. It was only a dream.”
Finally, noticing the children, Mrs. Brown shooed them off as well. “Off with you two. Back to bed. Give me a minute, and Then she turned her sights back to me and said, “And you. Back to sleep. This time peacefully, all right?”
I smiled. “Night, Mrs. Brown.”
She turned, to make sure the little ones were gone, I assumed, before she asked once again, “Are you sure nothing’s wrong, Grace?”
That was my chance to tell her about my day. My period, the weird feeling at the store, the dreams, but I didn’t. I never did. For no real reason either. Mrs. Brown was the closest thing to a mother I had, but she would always be just, Mrs. Brown. I was part of her job. Oh, I’m sure she loved me and cared for me in her own way, but it wasn’t the same as having a mom or a dad. “No. I’m fine. It was only a dream.”
I heard her sigh, but she only softly closed the door. I lay back down and tried to go back to sleep. Stupid parent dream. It always made me feel sad. Why did I dream about them anyway?
I had a copy of my birth certificate. It says under mother, unknown. It says under father, unknown. I was dropped off at a hospital only a few hours old, wrapped in a dirty blanket, that once washed was still the color of mud. That was the extent of my family history and knowledge.
I tried to tell myself that I was lucky. That at least someone had dropped me off where I would be found, instead of just dumping me in the trash to die. Even though they didn’t want me, at least they didn’t want me dead. Sometimes, even knowing that much, didn’t really help.
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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #17
The material (chapter) in this post is copyrighted by the author and may not be used or copied in any way without the author’s permission.
Chapter 1
People kept going in and coming out of the red brick building that housed the lawyer’s offices. People who didn’t know they were getting screwed, trusting a stranger with their lives. It was such a stupid choice since the outcome was hanging in the balance of an unjust system. What a joke the entire law system was. They didn’t help anyone. They let killers go free. Lawyers, judges, courts, laws – it was all a load of crap!
Hoping that no one would notice a middle-aged man entering through the glass doors with the embossed letters saying, ‘Mathis Attorney at Law,’ Charles Gross strode into the waiting area.
His business man’s appearance was fooling them. Smiling politely and opening the door for a woman that was leaving, he looked around. No one even gave him a second glance. His average height, medium build, and short greying-brown hair made him invisible. Either that, or people were all self-absorbed and didn’t care about anyone else. The woman didn’t even say thank you to him for holding the door. All the people in the building seemed to be full of themselves.
Standing by the door for a moment, he let his eyes adjust to the dimmer interior of the bustling law office. Two people were sitting in the waiting area.
Two people’s lives dangling in the balance of justice; today he planned to help the balance even out.
Charles took a seat on a swank couch, waiting until everyone left except for the receptionists. . .legal assistants, whatever they called themselves.
Busy, behind a massive half-moon shaped polished wood desk, they passed papers to each other and shared jokes. They didn’t even notice he was there.
Their absorption in each other and their joking annoyed him intensely.
He couldn’t help the inner rant tearing through his brain: Wasn’t he a person? Didn’t they realize that he had feelings too? Who the heck did they think they were? The giggling self-absorbed twits didn’t care about anyone but themselves, it seemed to him. In his mind they couldn’t be more obvious about how little he mattered to them.
Standing, Charles walked calmly over to the desk, waiting patiently to be noticed by the three young women. He studied them while he stood there.
One was a young petite blonde, with ringlet curls that reflected the light every time she moved her head. She had deep blue eyes that twinkled like she was continually laughing at you. The woman to her right had dark red hair that danced like fire. She was tall and had jade-green eyes that looked misty and secretive. To her right sat a short, slightly plumb girl with long dark brown hair that was pulled up in a ponytail. Her eyes were as dark as coal, and looked like they hid many secrets.
Which one was it? he wondered, as he watched them. Which one made the mistake?
He stood there, observing them for a minute or more. Finally, the petite blonde glanced up and saw him standing there.
“Oh, hi,” she chirped happily. “Can I help you? Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I don’t have an appointment,” Charles said, smiling broadly. “I think you can help me.”
He let his eyes flick from her to the other two women, typing on their keyboards, and then returned his attention to her. Reaching inside his dark gray suit jacket, as if to retrieve a letter or a business card, he held her gaze. Instead of paper Charles pulled out a cool length of steel. In his hand he held a .45 caliber revolver. Cocking the hammer, he slid his finger onto the trigger, leveling the barrel at the blonde’s head.
The smile vanished from her pixie face. Fear shone from her deep blue eyes and her bottom lip quivered.
Aw, the satisfaction of revenge, he thought, forcing himself to keep a straight face.
“Actually, I think you can all help me,” he announced, raising his voice so all three receptionist could hear him. “First, I want you all to unplug the phone lines from the back of your phones. Slowly now, no one wants to get hurt.”
They did as they were told. He couldn’t help but laugh at their ignorance and fear. Little robots, he thought, they have turned from nitwit giggling women into robots in an instant.
“Is there anyone in the offices?” he asked the redhead.
“N. . .no,” she stuttered. “They’re out to lunch.”
“Well, that’s fine with me,” he said with a mocking grin. “I came to see you ladies.”
Charles’ heart danced happily in his chest as they gripped each other’s hands and whimpered. He wanted them to suffer, to feel how terrifying it was for a woman to be at the mercy of a deranged man. . .to have to do whatever they were told. He wanted them to fear for their very lives.
“Now, I want you all to clear your computer screens. We’re gonna play a little game.”
They glanced at each other, their eyes brimming with fear.
Was that how she’d looked in the end? he wondered fleetingly, swallowing hard against a lump in his throat. My beautiful wife, my August.
He almost lost his nerve to go on, as their hands shook while they obeyed his orders. He couldn’t hear anything but his own heart beating; it seemed to be pounding ten times faster than normal. There was a strange roaring in his ears, and the room began to spin around him. Closing his eyes, he fought for control. My wife wasn’t given any mercy and neither will they, he resolved.
Looking at them through his unshed tears he knew he had to do this. . .for her. She needed to be vindicated. She deserved so much more. She deserved to be here with him, still living their happy life. Not abused, and dead, left in some dirty alley.
“Now, I want you to open whatever program you use to type up letters. Here are the rules of the game.”
Charles’ voice was husky with the struggle to contain his emotions. His pain and anger warred. He wanted to end this right now, to not even give them a sliver of a chance. But that would have been sinking to his level. That evil man. . .he would never be anything like him. Relaxing his grip on the gun, and taking a deep breath, he calmed his violent urges.
Pausing, he took an envelope out of his jacket, handing it to the blonde.
“What’s your name, blondie?” he asked with overly polite sarcasm that dripped with his blatant disgust of her.
“Wendy,” she whimpered, taking the envelope with a trembling hand.
“Wendy, there are three copies of a letter in that envelope,” he continued with the same mock politeness. “Please hand one to each of the other ladies and keep one for yourself.”
Wendy did as she was told – fear kept her obedient.
Amazing how that works, he thought to himself smugly.
“It’s time to tell you more about the fun game we’re going to play,” Charles announced, swinging the gun at each woman, just to show he meant business. “You will each type the letter into your computer. If you make any mistakes, you will die. It’s as simple as that. If you can type the whole letter without typos, you live.”
He laughed at the confused looks on their faces; even to his own ears it sounded harsh, and mirthless.
“Do you have any questions before we start?” he asked. “I would hate for you to die because you didn’t understand the game.”
Charles’ voice dripped with sarcasm and he really just wanted to end it all. He wanted to end them, and end his own pain. He just wanted to be with his precious August again, to be happy. He wanted to see her smile. He wanted to feel her beside him in bed when the darkness fell on the world. He wanted to know that she would be there when he awoke in the morning. God help him, but he missed her more than he ever thought was possible.
The redhead raised her hand slightly.
He gestured to her with the gun, his hand shaking slightly. He hoped they didn’t notice.
“You! What’s your name?” he asked.
“Summer,” she said softly.
“What’s your question, Summer?” He practically screamed at her, and was rewarded with a cringe.
“Why. . .why are you doing this to us?” she asked.
“Good question. Good question, Summer,” he said, as he laughed mockingly. “Let me explain. Three months ago this firm was involved in the prosecution of a man named, Maxwell Allen. You remember. . .the one who killed that family while they slept. Killed them all in cold blood. Well, to make a long story short, he was set free because of some typo, on some document. An important document apparently! The typo originated from this office, and one of you typed it! Which one of you, and which document, I don’t know! So, I thought up this game to give you each a chance. Any more questions?”
Glancing at each other, the third woman raised her hand.
“Yes. You! Who might you be?”
He didn’t even recognize the voice that was speaking. It was so harsh and hateful that it scared even him. How could I become someone that would do something like this? he wondered inside. He decided it didn’t matter now; it was too late to turn back.
“Rachel,” she said, her voice quivering.
“What’s your question, Rachel?”
Charles sneered at her, pointing the gun at her head, leaning against the desk to intimidate her. He was surprised she had the nerve to continue.
“But. . .but why are you doing this?” Rachel asked. “Were the people who were killed related to you?”
He thought he saw a flicker in her eyes, something akin to sadness or sympathy. No, he decided, I must be imagining it. These women didn’t care about people. They let people get hurt, because they’re careless!
“Let’s see,” he said, tapping the barrel of the gun against his lips in a thoughtful gesture. “Yes, and no. No, I wasn’t related to the family that was murdered in their sleep.”
“I was,” he shouted, shaking the gun at them, “married to the woman Maxwell Allen raped and killed last month. Fortunately for him, he was shot when he pulled a gun on an officer that was trying to arrest him! But my wife is still dead, because one of you stupid, self-centered, excuses for women, can’t type! He was on the streets and attacked my wife, because of your mistake with the family murder case!”
The room was completely silent. All three of the women’s eyes were pools of terror. They knew he was going to do what he said. Any small shred of hope they might have been holding onto was now gone.
“Okay, it’s time to start,” he announced in a falsely calm voice. “You will all start at the same time, so it’s all fair. When the second hand reaches the twelve, you will begin.” He motioned to the clock with the barrel of the gun.
All eyes turned to the huge clock that hung on the wall, to the left of the desk. Its massive hands ticked by the seconds, reaching the eleven.
Tick, five. Tick, four. Tick, three. Tick, two. Tick, one.
“Begin!” Charles yelled.
The only sound that could be heard was the clicking of keys as the women’s fingers typed rapidly. Their eyes were trained on the papers in front of each of them, occasionally looking up at their screens.
He moved behind the desk, glancing from screen to screen, watching for mistakes.
BANG!
The two girls jumped as Wendy’s head fell forward onto the desk. She was dead. Blood ran from the hole in her temple, onto its polished wood surface. Brain matter was splattered all over the desk and her computer. Her deep blue eyes no longer sparkled, but stared sightlessly at the other two women.
“One down,” he said.
Charles’ voice no longer carried even a shred of emotion. He was frozen inside. He thought it would feel better than this. Maybe, after this is over, he hoped, I’ll feel some satisfaction.
“Keep typing,” he commanded.
They turned back to the letter and their computers with tears streaming down their faces. Fingers flew over keyboards, and the clicking of keys echoed in the quiet room.
BANG!
Rachel screamed. She glanced up as Summer’s body slid to the floor with a thud. Blood ran freely from the hole in her head out onto the carpet.
“It’s just you now, Rachel,” Charles stated calmly. “Keep typing.”
Rachel was shaking as she turned her attention back to her task. Every few key strokes a sob escaped her throat.
“If you make it through with no mistakes, you’ll live.”
Time passed slowly as Rachel sobbed and typed.
He stood over her, watching the screen like a hawk watches a mouse before it strikes.
She finished the letter and lowered her shaking hands into her lap.
BANG!
Thump. The body hit the floor. Rachel opened my eyes to see the man’s body lying beside Summer’s.
She felt instantly sick, throwing up in the closest trash can.
After reattaching the phone line with numb fingers, she dialed 9-1-1.
“9-1-1 emergency, how can we assist you?”
The sound of the dispatcher’s voice made her grip the phone with relief. Help was coming now, but it was a little too late.
“I need police.”
“What is the nature of you emergency, ma’am?”
Taking deep breaths, Rachel found her voice to reply.
“A man… A man came into the office, and killed them. Summer and Wendy – they’re dead,” she stammered into the phone.
“I need you to calm down and speak clearly into the mouth piece. What is your name, and where are you? I’m showing the Mathis Law Office. Is that your location?”
“Yes, that’s where I am,” she said, speaking slowly. The room was spinning and she felt light headed.
“Ma’am? MA’AM!”
The dispatcher’s urgent voice brought her back to the present.
“Yes. . .” Rachel replied weakly.
“What’s your name? We have officers on the way. Talk to me while you wait. I need to know if there is anyone there, anyone threatening you. You need to try to calm down and tell me what is going on.”
“My, my name is Rachel. I, I work as a receptionist at the Mathis Law Office.” She paused, swallowed hard, and closed her eyes. She couldn’t think straight, looking at all the pain and death around her. “A man came into the office. He had a gun. He made us, made us play a game. He made us type a letter. If we made any mistakes, he said he would kill us.”
“Okay,” the dispatcher sounded sympathetic, but urgent now. “Is the man with the gun where you can see him? Is he still threatening you?”
“No. No, he’s dead. He shot. . .” her voice cracked, and tears started running down her face again. “He shot the two girls that work with me, and then he shot himself. I’m the only one here. The only one here, alive.”
Slowly the room got dark, and the dispatcher’s voice became more and more distant. Rachel’s lips felt stiff and numb, and her hands started to shake.
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February 8, 2020
Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #16
The material (chapter) in this post is copyrighted by the author and may not be used or copied in any way without the author’s permission.
Chapter 1
The sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon. It tossed reds, oranges and even a smattering of yellows high into the sky where it tried to push back the darkness of the night. The wet air began to settle in droplets on the dark green grass, where it then soaked into my skin and clothes. Sadly, it didn’t cool my over-warm body; instead it seemed to make me feel even more sticky and hot. The day, once it fully arrived, would be another scorcher, and if the dew around me was any indication, it would be just as humid as the day before.
“What are you doing out here?”
I turned just my head away from the glorious dawn and focused my eyes on the tall, dark, and half-clothed man standing right up next to where I lay in the damp grass. My eyes traveled from his bare feet, up his long and muscled torso, to his face, that was shadowed just enough I couldn’t read his expression. “Derek,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I came out to watch the sunrise.”
“By yourself?”
As the answer was evidently yes, I didn’t respond. Instead, I took a deep breath and sat up.
I heard him sigh. He dropped down to sit next to me. He pressed against my arm. His skin was warm, and I leaned into it. Not that I was cold, as it was hot as hell, but it was comforting and warm and I wanted to soak it up. “Okay, how about, why are you out here at the buttcrack of dawn, by yourself?”
I huffed a quiet laugh at his press of humor. “I couldn’t sleep. All I kept thinking about was the boy. I feel…guilty over the whole thing. What will happen to him, Derek?”
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in against his chest. It felt comfortable, and right then I needed the comfort.
“Abby, you don’t have anything to feel guilty about. You did what you had to do. You protected your family,” Derek said.
“It doesn’t feel that way. My dad just grabbed him and hauled him away. It’s not right. His family doesn’t know what happened to him or his brother.”
I dropped my head into my hands, covered my eyes and wailed, “I killed his brother. I’m an awful person. That family probably doesn’t know what happened to two of their babies! They are just missing and the not knowing has to be awful.”
Derek gave me a firm shake. I lifted my head and looked into his dark eyes. He ran his thumb over my cheek and wiped away the wetness trailing down my face. “You aren’t an awful person. You are one of the greatest gifts, I’ve ever found. You did nothing wrong.”
“I killed…”
“Stop it,” Derek interrupted. “You protected.”
I shook my head and tried to make him understand. “It’s eating me alive. I killed him. I have his blood on my hands.”
I held up the palms of my hands for Derek to see. I know the blood had been washed away months ago, but I could still see the red of it. I could still feel the sticky of it. It felt heavy and thick.
“I took him away from a little brother who needs him. I took the very same little brother and helped kidnap him. He’s locked away somewhere. I can’t even go and see him. I want to try to explain. I want him to understand I did what I had to do, but…”
“Abby, stop. Stop.” He took my hands into his and pushed them down against our legs and held them there. He pressed his forehead against mine and looked directly into my eyes, holding my gaze to him. I could feel him trying to make me listen, this time. Where I hadn’t before.
“You were a part in the death of his brother, yes. Remember, you had no choice. That was clear self-defense. You didn’t seek him out and just murder him. He attacked and would have killed you. This is the truth and you know it. Burn it into your mind and heart. You had to protect yourself and your family. Period.”
“But…”
Derek shook his head and cut me off. “I’m not finished. The boy, he’s half wolf. He’s got a lot of the wolf in him and he will change. He will be a shifter. The Hunterz will destroy him for it. It won’t matter if he’s from them, too. All they will see is he is a shifter and they will kill him. We are going to help him. We are going to try to teach him the ways of the wolf.”
“How? What will become of him?”
“That will be up to him. He’s still angry. Combative. Silent. Once he gets through some of his emotions, we will be able to educate him. Teach him the ways of the wolf. Bring him into our world. He won’t be alone forever. He just has to look, and he will see a whole clan is waiting to embrace him.”
I wondered if he had one clan or two? Would the Grey clan embrace the boy as well? He was from the Hunterz. Would being a wolf taint him in their eyes?
“How long will he be secluded? When can I see him?”
I felt Derek hesitate to answer me. Why? I saw him struggle with an answer. He finally gave me the truth, even though he knew I wouldn’t like it.
“I don’t know. It will depend on him as much as the elders. He’s angry right now. Unreasonable and destructive.”
I would have been, too. Ripped from my world. Taken from my mom and my family. My brother killed right before my eyes. Yes, I’d be angry too.
“I don’t blame him for his anger.”
“No. I don’t either.”
We sat together and watched the rest of the sunrise together. When the sun was up in the sky and the light of the day lit the world around us, Derek stood and helped me to my feet. “Come back to bed. At least try to get a few hours in. It’s a full moon tonight.”
“Yeah,” I said. I couldn’t forget. It had been one month since that night. “I’m heading out to Lilly’s.”
Derek stopped walking. I halted as well and looked up at him. “Don’t go this moon. Stay with me,” he finally asked.
I wanted to, but there was also a part of me that didn’t. “It’s the first moon since Aunt Lilly balanced. I feel like I need to be with her.”
After he didn’t reply, I said, “Come with me, instead. You don’t have to stay here. Make an excuse. Say it’s to keep me safe. Say whatever you want, just come with me.”
He laughed, more a deprecating laugh than one of enjoyment. “Look at us. Both wanting to go with the other and neither being able to. Too many obligations.”
“But there’s not. Come with me, Derek.”
“I can’t. I’m one of the adults and I have clan obligations on the full moon. You know this. You just don’t like it,” he said.
No, I didn’t like it at all. They were stupid obligations in my opinion. As always, though, in the clan of males, my opinion and wants didn’t count for shit. We reached the back door of my grandfather’s home. Before Derek opened the door, I stopped him one last time. “Will it always be like this?”
“Like what?”
“Neither of us getting what we want? The clan always coming first? What I want or what you want not mattering at all to anyone but us? Putting the clan over our needs?”
I watched his face fall, “Don’t do this, Abby.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I replied, but I was.
I wasn’t born into the clan like he was. My motto wasn’t clan first above all else. I didn’t want to live the rest of my life having to be second.
He sighed then opened the door for us to go inside. “Let’s go to sleep. Everything will look better once we’ve rested a bit.”
I let him lead us up the stairs and I even allowed him to tuck me into my bed. I had a feeling nothing would look better, nothing would change. The question circling around in my head though was, what was I going to do about it?
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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #15
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Chapter 1
Perhaps the day would have been different if they had just given him his meds. Reuben’s headaches had gotten progressively and severely worse.
“All out,” the man had said behind the counter. He had little tubes behind his ears and Reuben wasn’t about to fall for his trap. He had learned, been reforged, made into another man entirely. He would not be bad like before.
More than anything else in the world, Reuben wanted to see his wife again. Even though it hurt to try to remember her he knew he’d been married. He’d been in love. His doctors had told him he wasn’t ready for a relationship again. Maybe never. They had said his memories might gradually return, but now they all seemed to be coming at once, painful, like his brain had been submerged in broken glass. But the doctors had also told him he’d been making good progress, that he was being a ‘good boy’. And Reuben had been a good boy and he didn’t want to complain. He didn’t read too well and he was slow to learn, but he attacked knowledge with a tenacity that allowed him to keep pace with his doctors’ expectations.
He studied the pharmacy man’s—pharmacist’s—face. His pursed lips, semi-lidded eyes, glasses slid midway to the bridge of his nose. Everything about his face and crossed arms said ‘disapproval’, though Reuben didn’t know why. He turned away from the pharmacy counter, intent on finding something to keep the pain away. It hurt not to keep the routines the doctors had given him. He was not the man he once was, not that monster, and the pharmacist would not force him into being one again.
Reuben turned back and asked the man where they got their drugs. He kept his eyes down like the behavioral specialist had taught him. Reuben had a tendency to display an ‘aggressive stare’ as one doctor had put it. Reuben didn’t understand how looking at someone could be aggressive. The man behind the counter told him his meds came from Bentonville, Arkansas if he felt like a drive, then laughed for some reason. Reuben couldn’t drive, but he could walk, and asked him which direction that was. That was even funnier to the man and Reuben stood there, the pain in his head cresting again. He waited until the red had faded out of everything and the man had left.
He left too and went to the nearest gas station and asked the man behind the glass where their maps were. The man looked at him, puzzled, and said he didn’t even know if they even had any maps. He asked Reuben why he would even want one. Didn’t he know about MapQuest? Why didn’t he just look for whatever he needed on his iPhone? Reuben didn’t know what either of those things were. But he didn’t like how the clerk was speaking to him and disliked even more how he was looking at him.
Reuben fled the gas station, the pain in his head doubling and still he didn’t have his medication. It wouldn’t be too long before he couldn’t take it anymore and something happened. He passed by another one of those coffee places, the fifth or sixth one he’d seen today, and turned his head away. Reuben hated coffee. Couldn’t stand the smell and the taste was even worse—like cigarette ash and acid. The intense memory of his brother tricking him into drinking coffee flooded his mind. He’d downed the whole thing and become violently ill, Ronald laughing at him the entire time as he’d heaved his guts out into the sink.
He had been bigger than his older brother since he was five years old, partly because of the disease that hadn’t stunted Ronald’s growth, but had made him rail thin. Reuben had always been careful around him, but Ronald had pushed him too far and he gave his older brother a beating. Of course when their mother had seen the vomit in the sink and a bruised, unconscious, and broken Ronald on the floor, Reuben had been blamed for it all. She had whipped him mercilessly with a phone cord until she’d left bloody crescents in her palm from her fingernails.
Reuben needed to get somewhere he could think. Home would have been best, but it was too far a walk for his aching head. He’d assumed he would have had his drugs by now and wouldn’t have minded the trek on foot, but even the thought of walking now made his head hurt. The doctors had told him it would take days of him not taking his medication for him to feel any ill effects, but Reuben knew better. One day, even one hour passing without him taking a pill when he was supposed to, he would feel it. He didn’t need any more evidence than the razored ache in his head right now. He knew he would eventually do things, terrible things. He couldn’t remember what he’d done in the past beyond brief snatches—shadows of images of people he’d hurt—but understood if he didn’t get his medication soon he might hurt people again. The doctors had all told him how he was changed, but if that were true, why did he need pills still? And why couldn’t he be with his wife?
Reuben didn’t want that. He was better now—different. He would show anyone looking. Reuben crowbarred a smile across his face. If anyone looked at him right now, they would only see a happy, normal person, just like them. People were supposed to be happy, even if they didn’t look like they were happy. He would be perfectly happy-unhappy too. Before he’d killed himself, Reuben’s court-appointed therapist had explained perfectly happy-unhappy to him over many, many sessions.
People walking by didn’t seem to be smiling and they didn’t smile when they saw him. But every time he thought he was on the verge of all his senses going white with agony, he just kept the smile glued on his face and forced it back. A lot of people walked around him and they didn’t look perfectly happy-unhappy. They just looked plain. And that was sad. And sadness reminded him he was alone.
He needed his wife just as much as he needed his medication. He could nearly remember her name and if anyone could make him better it should be her. She could make him better than perfectly happy-unhappy or maybe even just happy. Reuben decided right then he would go to her. But he didn’t remember where she lived.
A man was yelling somewhere. Reuben turned to look. He must have been walking without paying attention because he didn’t recognize where he was. But then again, he didn’t know where he was most times. The man was standing in the doorway of a brightly lit building, waving furiously, but Reuben didn’t know who he was talking to. Reuben thought it was odd for that building to have so many lights on in the middle of the day. The man was yelling for someone named Tree to come over. Or maybe he was talking to a tree.
But then he began pointing at Reuben. He realized the man had been talking to him and must have been trying to be ironical or somesuch. The man had on a tie and Reuben’s daddy (before he stole his mama’s false teeth and all her money) had told him never to trust a man in a tie.
He took Reuben’s hand and did his best to shake it. But his fingers were too small to fit right and he settled for pinching Reuben’s fingers in a soft, balloon-handed grip. The man gave a no-lip smile beneath a pencil-thin mustache, revealing a gap between his front teeth. A tube rests perfectly between those two spaced teeth and his eyes glisten like they are made of glass. Several men rushed another man almost as big as Reuben through the door behind the little man. He spoke really fast which agitated Reuben and he found his attention drifting to the big man currently being kicked over and over again while he lay prone between two cars parked at the curb.
The man in the tie took Reuben by the hand and led him inside, talking rapid-fire the whole time. Reuben’s brains felt like they were sizzling in his skull and he tried to focus on something other than right now. All those words were making his head hurt even more, but he could smile just as hard.
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Blind Date A Book 2020 – Book #14
The material (chapter) in this post is copyrighted by the author and may not be used or copied in any way without the author’s permission.
Chapter 1
Death… when it darkens a door, those inside are never prepared to face the end. At those times, when someone is taken for no other reason than to quench another’s hunger, it becomes a sordid event to be feared. And when the Devil is involved, it is indeed, a Death Most Wicked.
***
Right out of high school, Davey Lewis had snagged himself a cushy job working night guard duty at The Chateau gated community. He thought it was cushy at that time. It turned out he got snookered. It was nothing but a rent-a-cop job. It was too late now, but he figured he should’ve gone for the mall cop gig instead. At least with that job he would have gotten free lunch and discounts at The Gap.
But since Davey was stuck with the night guard job until he paid off a few bills, he took his father’s advice and worked hard so that maybe he’d get a raise. He took pride in his job for a while, but eventually, Davey had grown to hate the rich snobs who lived there. He protected their homes, but did they care? No. Minimum wage and he couldn’t even get a smile of appreciation from most of those stuffed shirts.
At The Chateau, Davey had one responsibility ─ keep the riffraff of the outside world away from the sleeping millionaires. It was not the worst job to have but after midnight, time dragged. Truth be told, he was glad that most of those bastards were asleep by nine p.m. because that allowed Davey a few tasty perks. The tastiest was the horny Mrs. Cooper in the first cul-de-sac.
Every Thursday night at eleven sharp she’d call, begging Davey to check out a suspicious knocking she heard near her home. He’d investigate, looking for a burglar who didn’t exist. Ten minutes in, he’d end up in the bushes under her bedroom window, and she’d flash her lady parts until he crawled through the window and banged the bitch. But even that got boring, and he was beginning to not be able to stand the way she screamed when she got off. He didn’t think it was much of a perk anymore. Now he was back to feeling like he couldn’t wait for the end of his shift.
Like tonight, standing outside his post, Davy gazed up at the sky and thought, Holy Moly, look at that rainstorm coming. Damn, I wish I was anywhere but here. Not only was the sky all crapped up but the acrid odor of an impending storm in the air was making his nostrils itch.
He hated when it rained. The little gatehouse became humid during even the lightest of rains. Shoot, the paperwork got so wet that the ink smeared. He wanted to call headquarters and say he was sick and needed to go home, but he already knew what they’d say. He was no dummy to corporate rules, nope, he knew they would just tell him to suck it up and wait for his relief. So that was exactly what he was going to do.
As he sat in the gatehouse, twiddling his thumbs, knowing he’d be miserable in a couple of hours, he thought about something a man who came by to visit that Patrick dude had mentioned. A few months back, the guy had mentioned he had a much better job for him. The man had bragged he could get Davey all the discounts he wanted.
Yeah, tomorrow I’m gonna check into that offer. This job is for suckers.
But for this shift, he’d have to wait until six a.m. when he could hand the mess over to the day guard and go home to a nice warm bed. In the meantime, he had to find something to keep himself awake. He guessed it was time to fire up his Gameboy and snatch himself some fun until his relief arrived.
Lewis was engaged in a heated battle on his Gameboy when a flaming red Ferrari roared up to his station at the gate. He immediately recognized it as belonging to Buzz King, a resident. Deep in his game, he didn’t bother giving the driver a glance of acknowledgment.
It’s only that asshole Buzz King, he thought. The jerk will just shoot me one of his condescending snooty looks. I ain’t losing my game over him.
***
Buzz King, former Rookie of the Year and current resident of The Chateau, glanced expectantly at the side of the guard’s face. He mumbled a few choice words under his breath as the guard buzzed him in without checking his credentials.
Damn lazy prick, Buzz thought.
“It’s after midnight, mister. You can kiss this gig goodbye once I chew your boss a new one tomorrow,” Buzz snarled as he rocketed through the gate, not waiting for, or even wanting a response. He was quite happy to leave Davey in the dust.
His anger was forgotten by the first turn in the road. He had a quick temper but hated to waste it on a nobody like that guard.
Before long, his sprawling mansion came into view. Like most former athletes, his home represented many things to him. It was a visual throwback to the days when they called Buzz the golden boy of football. Of course, that was back when he had been anointed Rookie of the Year by Sports Illustrated magazine, and his team owner had given him a hefty bonus after the announcement.
Yeah, I was the guy men envied, and women chased after.
Back in those days he had a rocket arm and could run like no other quarterback in the league. He even made it to the Super Bowl his first season, but like the man said on ESPN recently when Buzz’s name came up during his morning show, those days were long gone. Two concussions and he was done. No team wanted an injury-prone quarterback. All he had now, were memories and a few trinkets in addition to the house.
And thank God he still had it. At the time, he hadn’t realized that using that money to buy the estate would end up being so important. Fool that he was at the time, Buzz had looked at the mansion as a potential playpen for the models he planned on snagging instead of a wise investment. Now, it was his biggest asset.
As he rolled up his street, Buzz again cursed the money he had squandered on gambling over the years. He had picked up the habit when he was playing ball. He had to admit that the worst part of his gambling was that he loved betting on himself, mostly because he was a sure bet at the time. It was a secret that only he and a favored bookie knew about. He loved winning on the field and in his bank account. He felt he was a god who could do no wrong.
But after his forced retirement, he no longer had sure bets. Once he was no longer playing, gambling became a love/hate thing for him. It wasn’t long before he began to joke that it was like meth, try it once just for fun, and you’re hooked. Everything revolved around gambling now. He found himself betting on everything, even when his gut said no. It had become a curse that was so exhilarating that he couldn’t live without it.
Buzz knew… just knew… a single bet could put him on easy street, and his gut told him that bet was right around the corner. His bones agreed. Or did they? He was beginning not to trust himself anymore and feared he’d never get his life out of the crapper. One wrong wager and he’d have to auction off the house. And once the house was gone? Well, he wouldn’t be living in a box. Not right away, anyway, but his savings was nil so he’d be forced to sell his Super Bowl rings. He didn’t want to think about what would have to happen after that.
There was one obstacle standing in the way of him and his buddy, Caleb, pulling off the biggest deal of their lives… Mr. Ivanovitch and his demands. If they weren’t able to shake the old guy off their backs, they were both screwed no matter what they did. Buzz hoped that Caleb had come up with a good excuse for Mr. Ivanovitch that would buy them some more time, but he hadn’t heard from Caleb for a few days. He had already decided that if he didn’t hear from him by tomorrow at the latest, he’d have to call Caleb’s old lady and see if she could get a message to him. He couldn’t wait much longer than that because he knew that Royce dude didn’t mess around and he had already warned them once.
As Buzz rounded the bend, he glanced at the silhouette of his house. He didn’t see signs of any intruders tonight. However, Caleb had warned him many times that Mr. Ivanovitch might decide to send someone after him just to prove he was the one in control over them. Since Buzz wasn’t stupid, he knew that vigilance was critical to his survival.
Satisfied he had no unexpected guests, Buzz drove up the driveway and into the garage. Fatigue hit him as he parked the car. He decided to squeeze a soak in his hot tub in before crawling into bed. Standing over a craps table for eight hours was grueling. Having lost his mojo was even more tiring.
***
After Buzz parked in the garage, he reset the alarm system there, entered the mansion, and reset the second one. He figured a man couldn’t have enough security when he had dangerous characters in his world.
Walking into the kitchen, he opened the fridge to grab a chilled beer. As Buzz popped the cap on the beer, the howling wind outside rattled the sliding glass door. He walked over and checked the lock. He was about to turn back when a smudge of black dirt on the tiles caught his eye. He bent to touch it. The soil felt fresh, it was in the shape of a footprint. He looked up and saw there were more dirty footprints and they led across the floor.
Goddamn Patrick. How many times have I told him not to drag shit into the house? Damn slob. Buzz griped to himself.
It was a good thing his roommate had left for a two-week vacation before he got home or he’d have to beat the little twerp’s ass. Furious, Buzz made a mental note to jack Patrick up when he got back in town. Grabbing a broom, he swept the dirt into the dustpan, muttering a stream of obscenities under his breath.
***
Later on…
With the light turned low, Buzz slid into the swirling waters of the hot tub. He leaned back with his head resting on a folded towel wedged against one edge. Closing his eyes, he let the jet streams soothe his aches and pains. It wasn’t long before he dozed off.
A scraping noise, like a chair being dragged, jerked Buzz awake. He sat up and waited. No more noise, no one jumped out. It must have been a dream, he thought.
Buzz toyed with the idea of grabbing another beer and settling back in the hot tub to continue his soak. And he would have, but it occurred to him that he better be honest with himself for once. His gut was telling him that something was about to go down.
He began to think again about Caleb and his disappearance. Either Caleb had been able to finagle a deal with Mr. Ivanovitch and had gone sailing with him to seal the deal, or Caleb was dead, and one of Mr. Ivanovitch’s goons would be coming soon to hunt him down. If the second thing happened, well, he’d have to kill himself because he sure as hell wasn’t going to let them put any of that red shit on him. Either way, he needed to be ready with a clear head and steady hands, so he better get his ass moving.
No longer interested in soaking, Buzz climbed out of the tub and dried himself. As he did, he noticed the taste of stale beer on his tongue. Another pet peeve of his, the level of irritation was right up there with crap left on his kitchen floor. Now he’d have to brush his teeth before curling up between the sheets.
Buzz padded his way into his master bathroom. As he flipped the light switch, he knew something wasn’t right.
But what?
He scanned the room. There was a slight smudge of mud on the floor in front of the vanity. Opening the medicine cabinet, he thought, the bastard has been snooping again.
But for what? His friends and business associates all knew he gave up the pills a long time ago, and he kept what little money he had in his safe. The only jewelry he owned, he wore, except for his Super Bowl ring which he kept in a safe deposit box at the bank.
Okay, that’s it, he decided. First thing in the morning, I’m calling around and getting myself a new roommate. I’ll find a chick who cooks. Yeah, one with a sweet tight ass, too.
Buzz picked up his toothbrush and toothpaste. While he squirted toothpaste on the brush, he scrutinized his face in the mirror.
Jesus, another a wrinkle? Christ, both eyes have bags under them. I better get Stephanie to squeeze me in. She’ll fix me up with a couple pricks of Botox.
He put the toothbrush in his mouth. The toothpaste had a strange, offensive texture to it. With the brush tucked in his cheek, Buzz picked up the toothpaste tube. Wait a minute. This shit is red, but the description says white paste. What the hell?
Buzz threw the toothbrush in the sink and spit into the porcelain bowl. He rummaged through the cabinet until he found a bottle of mouth disinfectant. Frantic, he screwed it open and gargled a mouthful. Swishing it around, he tried to get it into every crevice, but he still didn’t feel clean. He spit it out, took another swig and repeated.
Damn, Patrick. He’s trying to poison me. But why? Did one of those Russian guys from last month hire him? They were sure as hell pissed when they lost. But who wouldn’t be with a hundred Gs on the line?
And then he felt it… a twitching, squiggly sensation under his eyelid. Buzz leaned closer to the mirror to inspect the twitch. He could see the black hairs of a tiny black, squirming thing peeking out. He fumbled through the vanity drawers, grasping for anything that could grab hold of it. His fingers latched onto a pair of needle nose tweezers.
Jesus, let them do the job.
Buzz pried his eyelid open and jammed the needle nose tweezers around the thing’s tail. He yanked hard, sweat rolling down his forehead, blinding him. He wrenched and twisted until the thing released its pincers.
He held the tweezers up to the light to inspect it. The hideous mutation squirmed and snapped at him.
Buzz threw the monstrosity in the toilet and flushed, watching it swirl around the drain.
Then a weird sensation on his tongue grabbed his attention. He opened his mouth wide and tried to examine his teeth and tongue.
Oh shit, oh shit ─
Buzz felt a crawling tickle. Something was caught in the membranes of his throat. Jamming two fingers down his throat, he forced himself to vomit. He puked until his insides felt like they might come up through his chest.
Grabbing the edges of the vanity with both hands, Buzz tried his best to keep himself from spewing any more of himself into the sink.
But when he looked down, several of his teeth stared back at him from the sink basin.
What the ─?
The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Was he being watched? His eyes jerked up to the mirror. Something in the shadows behind him caught his eye.
Is that Patrick behind me, cowering in the shadows?
It was too late for Buzz. His head exploded.
***
Blood, pus, and bone fragments embedded themselves into the mirror as the former Rookie of the Year’s body dropped to the Italian marble tiles.
Patrick hovered in the doorway. He watched as what remained of Buzz King dissolved into a bloody blob.
When it was over, he made a phone call.
“Sir, I took care of James. How soon will be my father be released? I will. Thank you, sir.”
Patrick walked to the sink and snapped a few pictures on his cell phone. When he finished, he turned to leave.
He didn’t make it far before he had to make a dash to the commode, barely getting there in time. Falling to his knees, he puked into the porcelain bowl.
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