Monday, January 5, 2015

Road Block - Week 1 of 52round2

Today is turning out to be a truly fine day.  It not only began headed in the right direction, but it is going to end up as one of the best, at least, in my book.  It is a day for ridding myself of unwanted baggage and suffocating dead weight and embracing an unencumbered fresh new beginning chapter in my life.

My day had begun, as so many had recently, wondering where I had gone wrong.  My lady love and I, with the assistance of her supposedly long-lost younger brother, with whom she had been recently reunited, had planned to pull off our sweetest heist ever.  It wouldn't take a lot of planning beforehand since it wasn’t exactly Fort Knox.  It was a rinky-dink bank in a rinky-dink town with one rinky-dink manager, and his daughter as the only teller.  The security guard, if you want to call him that, was the manager’s older brother - and I do mean older, who napped more than he guarded.

You’re probably thinking to yourself, why bother with a losing proposition like that.  What could the take in a heap like that amount to?  Well, you really cannot judge a book by its cover.  In the hills surrounding that nowhere burg were mines of something or other.  Now, that, in and of itself, matters not a hoot.  What does matter a hoot and a half is the fact that loads of miners work those holes and some big-name corporation pays each and every one of them in cold hard cash.  None of them are dumb enough to live in the area, but the company sets up camps for them to stay in for the couple of months they work.  I heard those camps are set up to give the workers a decent place to sleep, food, doctors and nurses, entertainment, and whatever else they might need.

The kicker comes in where their pay day is concerned.  The money is sent in by armored truck to the local bank, and it is locked up and held until one crew is done with their part and a new crew is brought in.  The ones who have completed their time collect their cash and go home.  Then, another crew is brought in and a couple of months later, their pay is delivered, and so on.  I never did find out why they can’t work more than a couple of months at a time, but it’s probably because it’s illegal or hazardous to their health or something like that.  It makes no difference to me.  All I cared about was snatching one bundle of pay, and that’s where Savannah and Buster come in.

I first met Savannah, her real name is Beatrice, in one of those Dime-A-Dance joints out East.  I don’t want you to think I’ve ever been desperate for a date, because that never happened, but sometimes you just get tired of all the phony flash and sparkle and you look for something real.  Yeah, okay, that does sound like a load of crap and that’s because it is.  I was hard-up for company and I thought, how bad can those dames be anyway.  Well, let me tell you, most of them can be really hard on the eyes, but there was this one gal sitting by herself in a corner.  It was dark in there, but even so, she didn’t look as old and used up as the rest, so I went over and asked her if she wanted to cha-cha with me.  She told me she wasn’t a very good dancer, and that’s when I fell head-over-heels.

Here she was, putting up a false front, working in a dance place and she couldn’t dance to save her life.  I knew we’d make beautiful music together.  I asked her if she wanted to join me in a life of crime and she smiled that crooked little smile of hers and said yes.  The reason she had a crooked little smile was because her mama, after having one too many shots of Crown Royal, had dropped her on her face and cracked her jaw.  Mom never took her to the doctor because she didn’t want to get accused of anything and end up losing her state assistance, so Beatrice’s jaw never healed right.  One of her eyes was slightly lower on her face than the other too - I think that came from another fall, but it made her look kind of dim, if you know what I mean.  She was actually kind of smart, but to look at her, you’d never know, and I really liked that about her.  I told her I was going to call her Savannah because I liked that name better and she said okay, and that’s how it all began.

We pulled jobs here and there, mostly small-time stuff, and everything was going swell until one day I came back to our rooming house after getting a haircut and found Savannah in our room, sitting on our bed, with a young guy.  To say I was surprised would be putting it mildly.  I was, in fact, extremely pissed.  Sure, it was only one room with a double bed, a toilet and a hot plate, but it was mine and so was she.  I immediately went for my .38 in the dresser and that’s when they both jumped up and started to explain.

I should clarify something here for you.  While it’s true that I did have a gun in my possession, I never used it on a job.  That’s not totally true, I did bring it with me and wave it around, but it was never loaded, and I would never shoot anybody.  I’m no killer; well, at least not before today.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  As I raised the gun, which wasn’t loaded at that time either, toward the two of them, Savannah rushed me and threw her arms around me.

“No, no, you don’t understand, Wade.  It’s not what you’re thinking.  This is my brother, my younger brother.  We haven’t seen each other in years and he saw me at the market this morning and followed me here and knocked on the door.  When I opened it and we looked into each other’s eyes, we both knew.  He’s my brother and his name is Buster.  Put the gun away, honey.”

Buster was standing there, nodding himself silly with every one of her words.  I put the gun back in the dresser drawer and put out my hand to him and he reciprocated.  Savannah proceeded to tell me that Buster was all for joining us in taking scores and he was up for anything we could offer.  I went along, for her sake, but something stuck in my craw about this whole deal.  She had told me all about her sot of a mother and her vanishing daddy, but she had never mentioned a brother or a sister or a cousin or an aunt…you get the picture.  But, what could I do?  I asked our new partner if he had any cash on him for a sandwich or two since we were almost tapped and he said sure, he’d cover lunch.

Over burgers, fries and shakes that he sprang for, I went over the plan to liberate the miners’ payload.  As I have already explained, all we pretty much had to do was walk in, wave my gun, stroll over to the open safe, and take the money.  I had already done a run-through on my own when I first heard talk of how this operation went.  One of the miners from an old crew was shooting off his mouth in a bar in the next town over from where we were temporarily staying, and I was all ears.  He rattled off the timetable of their work schedule, the specifics of their camp, the delivery of their pay and when, and how, they picked it up.  I couldn’t believe my luck.  I must have done something grand in a past life to have the heist of a lifetime dropped in my lap like that.  I decided to act on it right away though in case anyone else who got an earful got the same idea I had.

I went to the bank to talk to the manager, pretending to consider opening an account, when the truck pulled up.  Two guards came in, carrying two huge bags of money each, which they dropped at the door to the open safe, which was a bit bigger than our rooming house bathroom, tipped their hats to the manager, and left.  I kid you not.  The bags had dollar signs on them and the manager’s daughter, who was 16 if she was a day, pulled the drawstrings and opened both bags and began to giggle.  I, on the other hand, almost swallowed my tongue.

I had never seen so many packets of 20’s in my entire life, and those were real too.  I mean, they weren’t like the fake ransom packs you see in the movies.  You know, the ones where there’s real money on the top and bottom and cut up newspaper in the middle.  These were true green through and through.  I knew the workers would be in the next Friday afternoon to pick up their pay, so I decided we would hit the bank Friday morning and relieve them of all that lovely clutter.

Everything went like clockwork.  Me, Savannah and Buster walked in right after the bank opened.  There was nobody in there yet, and I pulled out my gun and girly-girly behind the counter passed out cold and her daddy told us to take whatever we wanted, just not to hurt anybody.  Buster tied him up onto his desk chair, Savannah tied up his daughter, who still hadn’t come around, and I grabbed two of the bags and took them out to the car.  When I came back in to get the other two, I got the surprise of my life.

Dear brother, Buster, punched me smack in the middle of my face right when I walked in, and I hit the deck.  It wasn’t hard enough to knock me out, but I was definitely not firing all cylinders at the time, if you get my drift.  He grabbed my hands and put them behind my back and my dear lady tied them together.  She then tied my feet together as well.  I got the impression a double cross was well on its way.  They propped me up against the wall by the door and Buster grabbed the other two bags and carried them out to the car.  Savannah knelt down beside me, put my unloaded .38 in my pocket, and delivered the final cut.

“Sorry to have to cross you up like this, sugar, but I found me a younger man and I’m going to take up with him from now on.”

“What are you talking about?”  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  “Younger man?  You said he was your…”

“Brother?”  She smiled that crooked little smile of hers - the one I always hated because it made her look stupid.  “He’s not my brother, he’s my new boyfriend.  You are so dumb.”

Her new boyfriend beeped the car horn.  Nothing but class.

“Gotta go,” she said, heading for the door.  “See you around.”

I saw her get in the car and give Buster a less than sisterly smooch, and they drove away.  Oh, you’ll see me around alright.  You most definitely will see me around.

Fast forward to this morning, and I won’t bore you with the details, but I was able to get out from under that caper in the blink of an eye.  I left the manager and his kid where they were and slid out of my so-called bindings.  That babe never could learn to tie a decent knot.  It didn't take too long before I found them both.  All it took was a little bit of cash in the right palms and I was practically delivered right to their front door.  They didn’t go far, even with all that haul, and they were staying in a dump across the county line.  I never did understand why she did it.  She could have been staying in a dump with me.  What did this so-called younger guy have to offer her that I didn’t already give her?  Doesn’t matter.  Not anymore.  I wish I had a camera to have a permanent record of the look on their faces when I knocked on their door.  She opened it and her bottom jaw dropped a foot and a half. I raised my gun, which was loaded for this special occasion, and pointed it at her forehead.

“Hi, sugar,” I said.  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?  Where’s your child groom, by the way?”

I decided not wait for her to welcome me with open arms, so I barged right in and closed the door behind me, and locked it.

“Oh, Buster, where are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

I waited for him to come to me.  Knowing Beatrice, she was no longer a Savannah to me, she’d probably hit me over the head with a pot or a pan or something as soon as I turned my back on her.

“I’ve got a bullet for you and a bullet for my lady fair.  Do you want it first or do you want to watch me do her and save you for last?  Let’s go, Buster.  I don’t have all day.”

The moron lunged at me through the bathroom door waving a straight razor.  I shot him dead center in the chest and he dropped like a stone.  Beatrice gasped and I let her have it right between her lying eyes.  I left them where they fell.  I wasn’t in the mood to get all schmaltzy about it and put them together on the bed.  I had already had enough of those images in my head while I was hunting them down.  I looked under the mattress on a whim and sure enough, I found pack after pack of 20 dollar bills.  I took a peek just to be sure and there were no cut newspapers in any of them.  One of the bags was in the closet, so I stuffed it and put a couple of extra packs in my pocket.  They must have stashed the rest of the cash somewhere else since I couldn’t see how they would have spent all that so quickly, but you never know.  One bag’s worth would be enough to stake me for quite awhile.

I walked out just as smug as you please, right past the desk clerk, who was sipping his lunch from a bottle inside a brown paper bag.  He nodded to me and prepared to take another sip.  I felt secure that he wouldn’t be making any 911 calls any time soon.  I put the bag in my trunk and drove off to pick up the interstate, and that brings me right back around to what a wonderful day this is turning out to be.  No witnesses, no one’s coming after me, and I wasn’t even angry anymore.  Funny how getting even calms me right down.

So, I’m heading down the only road out of this no-name dump of a town toward the highway that will take me across the state line.  I considered going the other way since there were lots of trees and I figured it would be easy to disappear in there.  Before I paid my call on Beatrice and Buster, I had stopped in a diner for breakfast since I knew once I had finished with them, there probably wouldn’t be an opportunity to grab a bite any time soon.  I was talking to the waitress about that rough looking road going the other way out of town and she told me I’d be much better off going to I-94.  That’s all woods, she told me, for miles and miles and miles.  At the end of the forest, there’s a mountain, she thought.  She wasn’t altogether certain of all the terrain, but one thing she knew for sure, and that was that some folk had gone in there to see what was what and never came back.  That was good enough for me; I-94 it would be.

I’m sipping on my coffee-to-go with vanilla creamer - you don’t often find that available in small-town diners, when I find myself coming up to the on-ramp of my made-to-order escape route.  What the Hell?  There’s a squad car sitting sideways across the ramp, lights and sirens off, with a cop leaning against the side of the car, smoking.  I looked up at the sky and it was clear and sunny.  So, why is mine the only parade being rained on today?  I decide to slow down a bit to get my bearings and happen to look in the rear view mirror.  No way.  Coming up slowly behind me, no lights or sirens either, is the only police car with the only cop that nothing town I just left has.  I say again, what the Hell?

How could they know and radio ahead so quickly?  I just left minutes ago, and that clerk was so lit on Crown Royal, he couldn’t have identified me with a Mr. Potato game kit.  A cop ahead of me and a cop behind me and no other cars on the road.  What did they do, seal off the town too?  All I did was rid the world of a couple of low-down two-timing double-crossers and they plan such a formal reception for me.  It isn’t like I’m some big shot gangster or international spy.  I’m nobody.  I’m Wade Schupp, originally from somewhere down in Florida, who’s just trying to get by.  I had to take them both down; anybody would have.  You can’t just let people do you like that and walk away from it.  Reputation matters.  Whether anyone else knew they crossed me doesn’t matter.  I knew and I would always know.  What choice did I have?

I’m getting closer and closer to the ramp and the end of the road for me.  Come to think of it, this is a death penalty state.  There aren’t too many of those left, you know, but this one still delivers the deadly cocktail with a dull needle.  There is no way I’m going out that way.  Since I can’t get by and I can’t turn around, I guess I’ll just have to make my last stand right here and now.  If I’m going out, I’m taking the money with me.  No way am I going to let them get their hands on one penny of it.  Cops never turn all the stuff in they find at crime scenes, I’m sure of it.  Whatever they can pocket, I’m sure gets stuffed down deep.  Who’s going to check that all the evidence is there anyway, their partner?  They’re all in it together - Blue Wall and all that.  Well, you’re not going to get a Miami condo on Wade Schupp’s dime, guys.  I’m taking it all with me.  I’m going out of this world like I came into it - with a bang.

***

The officer from Millsford stopped his car when the sedan ahead of him slammed on his brakes and the driver got out of the car.  The State Police officer at the ramp was wondering what that idiot was doing, stopping in the middle of the street, getting out of his car, mumbling to himself.  They both reached for their weapons when they saw the man pull a gun out from his pocket.  But, he didn’t point his gun at either of their locations; he fired at his gas tank and blew up his car, along with himself.  What in the world…

Patrolman Ross, from town, ran over to the car at the ramp to check on the officer who had flung himself behind his car for cover.

“Are you okay?”  he asked, worried the officer might have been injured in the blast.  He’d been on the force 18 years and had never seen the likes of what he just witnessed.

Officer Henley, from the State, stood up and looked around at the burning pieces of metal strewn on the road and far into the fields on each side.

“Good God, did you see that?  What was that all about?  Yeah, I’m okay.  You?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Ross said.  “When he jammed his brakes with nothing in front of him, I knew something was up, so I stopped where I was.  I had no idea he was a nutcase though.  Why in the Hell would he pick this spot to take himself out like that?  Makes no sense.  Plus, look at this mess.  If this was some kind of twisted joke on his part, from where I sit, there’s nothing funny about it.  We’ve got people from town that work in the next county.  Once we get you out of the way, how are they going to get to the highway now?  Do you think you could radio for some help to clean this all up?”

“No problem,” said Henley.  “I’ll get on it.  I don’t even know how to write this one up though.  I mean, all this guy had to do was let you get around him so you could help me out with my car.  Like I told you on the radio, I hate taking number 802 because the battery always runs down and it figures it would die right in front of a highway ramp.  I couldn’t even get it to run long enough to pull over and ended up having to block the ramp.  These new batteries for our call cars are such a pain.  They can only be jumped by the same model, which is why I’m glad you were so close and were able to get out here so quickly.”

“Any time,” said Ross.  “I’m with you on what just happened here too.  What do we put down?  The way he acted and what he ended up doing, it's just too crazy.  Whatever was going through his mind?  Did he think we were setting up a road block?”

A road block.  They both had to laugh.  Now, that was funny.

Monday, August 18, 2014

GHOST IN THE MACHINE by ED JAMES - A REVIEW




This is the author's first novel in the series about DC Scott Cullen. He has been a full detective for only a short period of time, and has a very strong ambition to move higher within the Department. He is assigned a missing persons case, which turns out to be that of a young and recently-divorced mother. Friends relate she had a date with a new man in her life, but she never returns to pick up her son and is never seen again - alive.

When DC Cullen investigates her case, which has now become her murder after her brutalized body is found, he discovers a tangled web of deception, and as the body count rises, finds his own life caught up in this twisted scenario. Someone is using an Internet social media site, Schoolbook, to manipulate the victims' lives and set them up for the kill. Who is the Ghost in the Machine?

I couldn't put this one down. The storyline is a very well crafted mystery and the characters are believable and engaging. The police procedural aspect of this novel never becomes routine or stale and it clearly illustrates how a police investigation can never be done in a straight line. Around every corner is a new twist and clue. At times, the police can continue to move forward; however, most times, they are thrown ten steps back and need to regroup and begin again at square one.

What brought an especially fascinating sense to this story was the inclusion of current technology. The Internet, with all its promise and available knowledge, can also be used to obscure and confuse and harbor dark secrets. The police use technology to aid in their investigations, but killers use it too for their own evil purposes. Is there a balance between the two? Does one serve to counter the other? Who can say...

I recommend Ghost in the Machine to anyone who loves a classic mystery and enjoys tagging along with the police (via the printed page, of course) as they investigate a series of murders. There are others in the series, and information can be found on the author's website here.  Check it out for all his work and sign up for his newsletter to get word on his new releases.  I did!

Friday, June 27, 2014

A TASTE OF OLD REVENGE - A REVIEW




When you have the owner of an auto restoration garage with a bullet in the back of his head, an unidentified nude dead man in an empty lot, and a convenience store robbery with a dead clerk, who do you call?  Turner Hahn and Frank Morales, of course; two homicide detectives from the South Side Precinct.

Turner and Frank are long-time partners, as well as close personal friends.  They are that rare kind of team, each of them possessing dogged determination to solve their assigned cases, yet each without the destructive ego factor that would fragment and undermine their investigations.  They think as one and they function as one, and with their latest, they will need to draw heavily on their collective strength, instincts and experience.

During their investigations, doors long closed will be opened and secrets revealed, including some from their personal lives.  Victims' painful memories will touch their lives, and they will discover yet again that evil wears many faces.

Join Turner and Frank on this 24/7 ride-along, but keep your eyes open and make sure you stay sharp.  These two never hitch a ride on the safe train.  They go wherever a case leads them, and dark and dangerous surprises await them with their latest.  Will they be able to untangle the web of lies and deceit that waits for them at the end of the line, or will they become victims themselves as conspiring and powerful forces converge?

B. R. Stateham takes you inside the mind of both cop and killer, and doesn't set you free until you've had the grand tour of both.  Don't start this one until your calendar's free because you can't put this one down until it's done.  You can get your copy here.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

STALK ME: A REVIEW



That evening began much like any other.  Luc and Beth Jordan on holiday, not only recuperating from an attack on Beth by a mugger, but taking a break from the stresses of purchasing their new home.  They were on their way to have dinner at a favorite restaurant, Beth at the wheel, and Luc amused at something on his cell.  The road ahead was clear, and all was well.  Beth looked away from the road for a brief moment, her gaze meeting Luc’s, and in that split second, her life would be changed forever.

After striking the camper, their car flipped upside-down.   She smelled gasoline, and knew she had to get them both away from the vehicle.  Severely injured and confused, she made her way out of the car and onto the road.  She crawled toward the sound of footsteps on gravel.  Was it another driver who had come upon the scene and stopped to assist them?

Lying face down on the roadway, as she turned, she could see a pair of feet and tried to cry out.  She was weak and it was more and more difficult to keep her head up, all the while fighting to remain conscious.  She must tell whoever is there that Luc is still in the car, suspended over the airbag.  She raised her head and saw someone standing in front of her.  As soon as she tried to speak, a foot swung back and kicked her square in her face.  Before she sunk into total darkness, she heard the crack of her teeth and jaw as they shattered.

When she next awoke, she turned and saw Luc on a gurnee next to her.  Paramedics and emergency vehicles had arrived.  She also saw a crowd nearby, kept back by yellow police tape, all leaning in to get a closer look at her and Luc.  She turned back to her husband again, and in the midst of his pain and confusion, she heard him mumble “Sorry…”.

Beth could now see the crowd holding up their phones to film the grisly scene.  Rage gave her the strength to stagger to her feet and head straight for the ghouls who were recording the most horrific day in hers and Luc’s lives.  She lunged at them, prepared to strike, and they retreated, yet continued to record.  She heard the med-evac helicopter arriving as she was restrained and returned to her gurnee by paramedics.  Mercifully, she lost consciousness.

Weeks later, on awakening from coma, she learned her husband did not survive the crash.  On discharge from the hospital, she would be staying at her brother’s place, and it was from her brother that she learned film clips of the scene of hers and Luc’s accident had been uploaded to the Internet.  It was traumatic and heartbreaking for her, but she knew she had to see them.  It was then her real nightmare began.

Something in the clips is all wrong.  Beth’s questions do not bring answers--only more questions.  Those she seeks the truth from disappear or are murdered, and she soon finds herself the target of a stalker.  The closer she gets to uncovering the details and reasons behind the events of that night, the closer she gets to crossing paths with a brutal and unrelenting killer.  Still, she must solve this puzzle--for the sake of her husband’s memory, and to save her own life.

Stalk Me is a dark peek into the dangerous side of technology.  We all have phones, we all have the Internet.  These are wonderful tools for accessing and sharing information.  However, given the depraved curiosity some humans possess to record and share with the world the pain, humiliation, suffering and death of their fellow creatures under the guise of entertainment, these tools can prove deadly in their own right.

You witness a shocking event, you record it, and you post it so your friends can view it and you can sit back and regale them with tales of what a precarious position filming that occurrence put you in.  What you fail to remember is that once your ‘work’ is out there, viewing it is not restricted to you and your buddies.  Anyone and everyone can see it--even those involved in the event, and it can be traced back right to your front door…

Richard Parker thrilled us with Stop Me and Scare Me, and he has hit the heights yet again with this, his third stand-alone novel.  Stalk Me will draw you in, it will excite you, it will upset you, and it will terrify you.  Most definitely another must-read from Richard Parker.

Available today from Amazon here.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

TERRIBLE MINDS FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE: 200 WORDS, PART FOUR

Well, here we are at Part Four of this incredible writing challenge.  I chose an untitled piece, and I sure can't think of what to call it, so I'll leave that for whoever finishes this up in Part 5.  I really hope someone does too--lots of ways this could end.  So, here is one started by Adrienne, continued by j, continued by Smoph, and lastly, by me.  It comes in now at 803 words.  Please enjoy.

UNTITLED

Part 1 of 5 (Adrienne)

The trio looked at the fence in front of them.  It was a simple chain link, but it had to be about ten feet high, and the razor wire on top added another two feet.  He was expecting this, but he was not expecting to have two girls on his coat tails.  He could take care of himself, now he was pretty sure they would all die.

Except for his heavy breathing and the muffled sobs from the girls, it was silent.  The setting sun was hidden by an ominous sky, promising rain at any moment.  He knew what happened when the rain came, so he needed to move fast.  He surveyed the barrier one more time, but froze as the wind brought an all too familiar smell.  He turned to face the direction they were running from.  The trees edging the clearing began to sway as the wind picked up.  He could hear the soft pattering of rain on the leaves.  The air rushed out of his lungs as the storm descended upon them, bringing with it more than just wind and rain.  The three had to move now or accept certain death.

They were coming.

Part 2 of 5 (j)

He picked up one of the girls and hung her on the fence as high as he could reach.  Then he did the same with the other.  Knowing what was coming, he had to take a steadying breath before he started up.  A lost moment was better than panic.

At the top, he threw his coat over the razor wire.  It would help, a little.

He flipped himself over the fence.  He’d taken some damage but it wouldn’t kill him.  For a moment, he thought about leaving the girls.  The things coming out of the woods would find the girls first, give him a bigger head start.

Shit.  When had he gone soft?

He hung himself back over the fence.  The wind tore into him but it was that or what was left of his soul.

He stayed as still as possible while the girls climbed over him.  They were slow.  The sun was probably already down but it was hard to tell with the storm moving in.

Where were they?  Shouldn’t the damn things be on top of them already?

Finally, the girls were over the top.

He pulled himself off, ignoring what he left behind.  Then he dropped down and pulled the girls off the fence.

Part 3 of 5 (Smoph)

What they had to do was find shelter, and fast.  He didn’t fancy being out in inclement weather with these young girls and they were better off hidden from their pursuers.  He could see a barn, edges blurred in the falling dark.  Shelter and a hayloft to hide in were too appealing to pass up.

He set off at a slow jog, the girls struggling to keep pace, their tired feet dragging in the dirt.  He made them go around the barn, through a stand of trees behind, and in through a smaller back entrance with a door that squeaked traitorously.

They waited until it was dark before slowly edging the huge barn doors closed.  With a penlight that grew ever weaker, he showed them the way up to the hayloft, tucked them into some canvas and took watch.  He would wake one to take his place so he could catch a few hours later.  As a precaution, he pulled up the ladder.

An urgent tug on his arm and he was sitting bolt upright, straight from sleep.  Wide blue eyes looked to him out of a terrified face.  Beyond her, there was the squeal of a door on its hinges.  Their hiding place had been discovered.

Part 4 of 5 (me)

“Show yourself.”  The rancher’s voice was deep and menacing.  “I know you’re in here.  I can smell you.”

“Please,” the man said quietly, as he slid the ladder down.  “I have children with me.  We only seek shelter.”

He sent the girls down the ladder; both were crying.  Once he climbed down, he pushed the girls behind him.  He hoped he would be killed first.  He could not bear to witness the murder of innocents.

“I know who you are,” the rancher said.  “You are the ones being hunted.  Do you know what would be done to me if it became known I harbored such as you?”

The man knew all too well.

“I know they’re close,” the man began.  “But, if we move quickly, we can distance ourselves from you.  Or, let the young ones go and I will remain.  When they come, they will decorate you as a hero.”

Both girls wrapped their arms around the man’s legs tightly, tears streaming down their faces.

The rancher stepped back out of the doorway, motioning for them all to go.  The death of these humans would not be on his conscience.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

TERRIBLE MINDS FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE: 200 WORDS, PART THREE

For Part Three, I picked up an untitled starter from Shane Vaughan, which was added to by Paul Them. Part Three comes in at a total of 594 words.  I'm going to give this a working title of Going Home to make it easier to follow.  I hope someone picks this up to continue.  I can see this one going lots of different ways. Please enjoy.

GOING HOME

He is cold. It's always cold around this time of year. The sun decides it's had enough and pops off for a quick solstice nap. Not that he minds. He's used to the cold by now. 

He props his collar up, puffs his scarf to cover all exposed skin; all that dead, gray skin. He tucks his gloves down over the wrists and sucks on the butt of his last cigarette. Damn things never last. His wife used to say it'd give him cancer, not that it matters now. He lowers his woolen packer hat over his brow and stares at his reflection in a shopfront window. He used to recognize himself, now what is he?

It had all happened so fast; the heart attack; cracking his head on the tile floor; the ethereal sensation that he was losing life, as though it were seeping out of a hole somewhere. And then the doctors. The nurses. The scalpel. He saw it all, from outside his body. He watched as they operated, trying so heroically to save his life, but in the end the line went dead.


So what the hell is he doing back on Winthrop street in high Winter, and how did he return?

- - - - -

The door to the shop swung open and closed to a chime of bells. Instinctively, the man flicked his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out. He turned from the window to face a young woman.

“Hello, John,” she called.

John stared at her awhile. He had lived in this town for most of his life and frequented Winthrop Street, but he did not know this woman.

“I didn’t think you’d recognize me,” she continued, beckoning him to join her.

John stumbled forward, his legs stiff and robotic. With each painful step he took, he stared at the red-haired woman before him. She gazed at him with warm eyes and her thin lips formed a half-smile.

When at last he reached her, she took his hand and led him off Winthrop onto Northup Lane. They walked silently past farmlands with overgrown pastures but no horses there to graze; past a lake where a fisher had cast his nets but no fish there to be caught.

They ascended a hill and reached a wooden bench overlooking those vast, empty acres. “Why did you lead me back here?” John ventured.

The woman dropped his hand. “This,” she cautioned, “is your last chance.”


- - - - -

John was confused. Why was he feeling pain and being led through the town he grew up in by this woman? How did she know his name? Would there be no resting in peace for him?

“What’s going on?” John asked, frightened, knowing he didn’t really want an answer.

“Look out into that field, John, and remember. It was a cold November night. You were 17 and out with two of your friends for one last good time before graduation. Do I look familiar now?”

John wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he began to feel sick to his stomach.

“You’re the one we…, I mean the girl they…, I only…” He had blocked out the memory of that night which was now forcing its way back in with a vengeance.

“I know,” she said with a deep sigh. “You only watched what they did. Then, you left town and never looked back. I didn‘t pull through.”

The sudden onslaught of sleet was stinging his face.

“I didn’t…, I’m so…, am I forever damned?” John began to cry.

“Not yet,” she said quietly. “Not quite yet.”

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

TERRIBLE MINDS FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE: 200 WORDS, PART TWO

This is Part Two of the Terrible Minds challenge.  I chose a dark little scene created by Simon B and added my spin to it.  This now brings this little tale to 396 words.  I'm calling it Jesper, simply so it has a title; although, it can, and most likely will, be changed every step of the way, if it's picked up for Part Three, etc.  I really hope someone does continue this, and I'm sure Simon does too.  I've placed his original starter in bold type and my continuation follows.  Please enjoy.

JESPER
WHUM
Jesper was lying on a floor somewhere. He was certain of that.
He managed to open his eyes for a brief moment before they overruled his decision and squeezed themselves shut again. It was bright. He shifted position with a grunt. Body parts were beginning to form an orderly queue to complain about their recent treatment.
WHUM
Jesper spent a few moments panning for gold in the murk of recent memory. Not even a glimmer. The floor was oddly warm. Under different circumstances it might’ve been quite nice.
After some trial and error, Jesper found a way of squinting that allowed him to survey his surroundings without blinding him. He peered tentatively through his lashes, trying to discern shapes from the resulting fuzz.
WHUM
He was in a room maybe eight feet by five. The walls, floors and ceiling were brilliant, stinging gloss white. A solitary bulb set crudely into the ceiling was the only fixture Jesper could make out – no windows, no furniture.
A sudden sneeze forced Jesper’s eyes shut again. He lifted an aching arm to wipe his nose with his sleeve and was only momentarily surprised to find there wasn’t a sleeve there at all.
WHUM
As he brought his right arm closer to his face, the ache became a steadily intensifying pain.  He shut his eyes tightly, then forced them open as wide as he was able.  For a brief moment, he believed a second glance would reveal a more favorable result.  It did not.

From his right shoulder down, his arm was wrapped in several layers of gauze, secured with small metal clips and encased in a clear plastic sheath.  His eyes continued on past the small stump at the end, as if his will alone would cause his obviously absent hand to appear.

WHUM

Jesper screamed.  He sat up and quickly took inventory.  His other arm remained intact, as did both his legs.  To his great relief, both feet were still attached.  His head felt as if it had been placed in a vice, and the pain in his right arm was so severe that tears were beginning to sneak into the corners of his eyes.

“Please,” he gasped.  “Why?”

“Mr. Riley…Jesper if I may,” the voice was deep and menacing.  “Do not concern yourself about the minor procedure performed.  A mere trifle, Jesper.  A mere trifle.

WHUM