"for now you'll learn the hard way"

I'm grateful for...Pride and Prejudice

2011-11-02T17:27:00.003-05:00

I wanted to go with a YA book for my "I'm grateful for..." post, but I had to be honest with myself: there are lots of YA books that I absolutely love and keep in pride of place on my favourite book shelf, but there is one book that trumps all of them.

My favourite book of all time has got to be Pride and Prejudice. I don't remember when I first read it (late in high school, early on in college, it's all fuzzy to me) though I am pretty sure I read it before I ever saw the BBC/A&E Masterpiece miniseries (oh, Colin Firth, you will always be my Mr. Darcy). Though the language is sometimes dense and antiquated enough that I don't necessarily always understand everything, I love the story and the characters and the social commentary and even the slight disparity in how the romance is portrayed (when does Elizabeth Bennet claim to have really falling in love with Darcy? Why after she's seen Pemberly, of course. Though this is put forward as a joke by Elizabeth, it does really seem that seeing just how weathly Darcy really is as well as how well he handles the responsibility of his wealth--treating his servants and tennants well, taking care of his properties, etc.--she comes to like him a great deal more than she did even despite his letter addressing her accusations. And thank you, my good friend Jacque Hutzell for pointing that out in her paper on P&P for our Romantics class. Very insightful and had me reading the story with a whole new set of eyes. But I digress...a lot). I just love this book. I try and reread my Austen collection every year or so just to find new insights or simply to enjoy the story again, and this and Persuasion are always my favourites to go back through. I even bought a very pretty old-fashioned looking copy for my little sister for her birthday one year, but alas she couldn't get past the language and writing style. Maybe when she's a little older.

Anyways, thank you Pride and Prejudice for being that book that taught me about romance (other than the romance novel kind...sheesh) that could be chaste and yet ratchet up the sexual tension just waiting for two characters to kiss (the movie also does a good job of this. Even after having watched it several times, I still find myself yelling at the screen, "Oh, just kiss him already, Elizabeth!") and also contains a heady helping of humour and silliness, especially in regards to the Bennet family. I promise there will never come a day when I get tired of frowning at Darcy's initial rudeness and then smiling when he turns on the charm.

And now to the extra cool part: I did this post as part of a contest from Beth Revis (author of Across the Universe and A Million Suns) to win a huge prize pack of books and swag. If you'd like to enter to win all this awesomeness as well, just click the link, read the instructions, and then post your own "I'm grateful for..." about your favourite book (or even your not so favourite, as long as it's one you're grateful for).

-JLF

http://bethrevis.blogspot.com/2011/10/show-gratitude-for-booksand-win-19.html

NaNoWriMo 2011-Coming Soon to a Blog Near You!

2011-10-24T18:04:00.000-05:00

It's almost NaNoWriMo time again. Still not sure exactly what I'm going to write this year. Currently I'm tinkering with a story I originally came up with back in college but I'm not sure it would actually add up to 50,000 words (though with me and how I go on and on and off on tangents and so on and so forth, I could probably make it work *wink*). Or I could go with the noirish story that popped into my head last night (really don't know where it came from, but it sounds cool so far), but I'm not sure if it will hold my attention long enough (I know it's only a month, but in a normal month I sometimes go through working on 5-8 different stories so) and I really need to have something that I can stick with and finish (because I'd really like to finish this time and not just hit the word count mark but not have a complete story in my hands/computer). I only have a little over a week to figure this all out, so let's get moving brain!

Also, I will probably start a new blog just for my NaNoWriMo project rather than posting it all on here. So if you were one of the people reading my story via facebook last year, this year you might actually to have hunt around for it and *gasp* read it directly on my blog and comment there (please do, my blog gets very lonely without comments to keep it warm at night). Peace out, readers!

2011-03-24T14:51:00.000-05:00

mem'ries

c'est la même
and coup de grâce
pete's piano bar
the ever-present eagles
and 674-5309
your first live-action encounter with snow
my 21st birthday not-so-surprising surprise party
matching pink corsetry
my prospective tattoo
so much reminds me of you
so much hurts in the missing of you
ci n'est pas la même

--wrote this a while back on my phone but never got around to writing it down. now it's digitzed. how modern of me--

randomness

2010-12-28T20:54:00.000-06:00

not sure where this came from or what it's actually about. I was just feeling poetical and didn't have actual paper to right one. enjoy...or don't

standing at the edge of the ocean
cold water tickling my toes
hair blowing dizzily in the breeze
wondering when you'll look back at me

sitting next to you on a makeshift pew
laughing in anticipation of tears
is that smile really just for me
or for anyone who hears

in anticipation of what might happen next
I lose myself in an evening-dream
surrepitously looking around
to see if you're looking for me

but the spoils of war don't come cheap
in the end you lay your head
on my pillow, rest yourself
where I sleep
but only for a little while
and not next to me

a whole realm of shoulda, coulda, wouldas
bounce around in my head
in time to the wheels and road signs and water
wondering what I might have missed out on
while you were asleep

Clockwork Angel Countdown

2010-12-15T16:48:00.001-06:00

Ruins in stasis

2010-12-08T14:57:00.000-06:00

I know I've been a bit of a plonker lately (brit slang, look it up) for not putting up the rest of the chapters, but I still haven't finished tying them together. How horrible of me, I know! Hopefully I'll regain the motivation I lost when I met my 50,000 word goal and get it completed before too long. But since I haven't heard anyone commenting on it (AT ALL!) then I supposed you're still all reading through what's currently posted. If not, then start bombarding me on facebook with demands for the rest of the chapters and maybe that'll light a fight under me. 'Till then...ttfn gentle readers.

Chapter 13-Lucky

2010-12-01T14:57:00.023-06:00

Chapter Thirteen

Lucky

Saff was waiting out in the hall when Peter came out, looking tired and not at all happy. The knuckles on his right hand were cracked and bleeding. Saff cradled his hand in hers, dabbing at his cuts with the edge of her shirt.

“Don’t do that. You’ll ruin it.”

“I think we’ve all gone past the point of worrying about ruining our clothes with stains. I’m not even sure when the last time I washed this shirt was. How bad is he?”

“Not bad. I only hit him a couple of times, and only when he got in a lucky shot and kicked me. He doesn’t believe our story. Not surprising though considering what he saw.”

“Yeah, but it’s altogether too strange to not be true. Maybe he’ll come around. Did he say anything else about the raiders?”

“Just that they made me and the crew I ran with look like Sunday school teachers.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely. Well, we can try to find out more tomorrow. Maybe I can reason with him. You hungry? The kids have already eaten and are in bed, so it’s just you and me to fend ourselves.”

“I could eat,” he said, taking her hand in his and leading her back down to the fourth floor. After they’d retrieved some bread and a few apples to tide them over, they retired to their room, settling in front of the fire to eat in silence. Saff could tell that Daren’s charges had brought up some very painful memories for Peter, things he would’ve preferred to forget. Even though he had done his best to protect her all those years ago and every year since, he still couldn’t quite forgive himself for what had almost happened to her because of him.

His face had so many storm-clouds rolling across it that she feared she would never see the sun there again. She nudged him to move in front of her, resting against her knees as she sat in their armchair.

“You’ll never get any sleep like this. Try and relax a bit, luv.”

She began massaging his neck and shoulders, trying to work out the tension from the past few days, the past thirteen years. She knew she couldn’t get rid of it completely, but lessening it would be better than nothing.

Peter closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the fire and her small but strong hands as they worked against the kinks in his shoulders. As soon as he seemed as relaxed as he could ever get, she rested her head in the curve of his shoulder, kissing him lightly when she could no longer help herself. When he didn’t flinch or move away from her, she kissed him again, moving slowly up his throat to his jaw, his mouth. But then he woke up, pulling away from her searching lips, towering over her as he stood.

“Saff, you know we can’t.”

“I—I’m sorry. Guess I just got carried away. I’m going to go change for bed.” She stood, brushing by him as she headed for the closet. She kept her eyes down, whether from embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t tell. He wished she would just give up on him, give up waiting for him to feel something for her that he couldn’t. It would be better for the both of them if she did.

When she came back into the room, approaching the bed without a glance towards him, she was wearing a long pair of men’s flannel pajamas pants that had been rolled up several times and a long-sleeved T-shirt. She climbed under the covers, curling in on herself, turned away from Peter’s side of the bed even though he wasn’t lying there. After a moment, Peter ambled over to the bed, climbing in beside her. He refrained from touching her however; it seemed obvious that she didn’t particularly wish for him to hold her.

“Are those my pants?”

“Yeah, but we’ve yet to find any flannel pajamas in my size so I have to make due with yours. Besides you don’t even like wearing them; you always say they make you too hot even on the coldest nights. Well I’m not so hot-natured as you, so…finders keepers.”

“Are you mad at me, Saff?”

“Why, because you won’t kiss me? Course not; that’d be stupid. I’m just tired. So very tired.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Look at us, sorry gits we are. Apologizing for things we don’t really have any control over. How ‘bout…we both stop saying how sorry we are, hmm? I’m really tired of it. Good night, Peter.”

“Good night.”

He stared at her prostrate form for a moment as he sat up in their bed, leaning against the wall behind him, but she did not move, did not turn back to him as she was wont to do. It wasn’t long before she was breathing deeply, asleep beside him and yet miles away. Despite her efforts to help him relax earlier, he found sleep eluding him, almost as if he were unable to look away from her. Eventually she uncoiled herself, turning over on her back, one arm stretched above her head as her face turned towards him. He was afraid for a moment that she would catch him watching her, but she was still asleep, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

Her hair had fallen into her face, the hair she always complained was too long, too straight. He was glad she hadn’t cut it as she often threatened to do; he enjoyed brushing it away from her face too much to bear if she cut it as short as she wanted. Peter wished he could let himself be what she wanted him to be, but he’d done too many awful things to people he cared about, to people he didn’t even know. He wasn’t worthy of anyone loving him, caring about him the way she did. If she knew everything about him, she wouldn’t be able to look at him the way she did when she didn’t think he was looking, wouldn’t be able to touch him, to sleep next to him every night. And he didn’t think he could bear losing what little of her he allowed himself to have, even if it was a kind of torture for both of them to be so close and yet so far in the ways that really mattered.

He resisted the urge to pull her close to him, knowing it would hurt her, or at least make her angry enough to hit him. The anger would be better; it’s not like he didn’t deserve a couple of punches from her most of the time. But he couldn’t bear it if he hurt her out of selfishness. So he laid down in their bed, pulling the sheet up past his waist but ignoring the rest of the blankets. She was right: he was too hot-natured for flannel pajamas, even on the coldest nights. He’d only commented on the pants because it always gave him a little thrill when she recycled his own clothes into her wardrobe, the same thrill he got every time he brushed her hair aside. The same thrill he got when he allowed himself to pretend that there was more between them than there truly was.

* * *

The next morning before everyone else had woken up, Saff went up to the fifth floor, planning to talk Daren into compliance. Hopefully, she could at least talk him into telling her what they were up against before it was too late.

“Good morning,” she said cheerily as she walked into the room. Daren startled awake, wincing at the pain from his arms being lashed behind his back and lying on them awkwardly all night. “Sleep well?”

“What do you think?”

“No need to be snappy. You wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t attacked us. Now, you willing to tell me something about the badness bearing down on us?”

“What use would it do? You’ll still be brainwashed by that monster.”

She sighed, walking over to stand in front of him, staring down at him with her head cocked to the side. She lowered herself into a crouch, meeting his accusatory gaze without the shame or fear he obviously expected.

“I haven’t been brainwashed. I don’t know what I could possibly say to make you believe me, but it’s true. And if you don’t tell me the extent of what’s coming for us, it won’t matter if I’m brainwashed or not, because I’ll be dead and so will Peter and all the kids downstairs. There are eight of them, by the way. Eight kids, ranging in ages from seventeen to five. Just think, most of them were born not knowing what the world was like before, and even the ones who were born before were too young when the world went to shit to remember any of it. This is the only life they’ve ever known. And if you don’t help me, help us, then even the good parts we’ve shown them will be erased. Please, Daren, just tell me how many raiders are coming, when they’re coming. Just tell me that much.”

“They’re monsters…but so is that bastard you’re shaking up with now. I can’t—“

“—Would you like to know their names? There’s Tess, David, Josiah, Camryn, Andy, Sully, Teryn, and Cary. They’re all brilliant kids, beautiful. Most of them were orphans that we found and brought here for some kind of safety, some kind of life. A few of them had parents when we found them, a few of the parents even made it here, but none of them stuck around. We brought them here, Daren. Not me by myself. If Peter was really the kind of monster you think he is, why would he work so hard to protect a bunch of kids? Those men coming after us, would they protect kids like that? Or would they do…unspeakable things to them? The kinds of things you think Peter did to me. But he didn’t. He lied and pretended to do those things so no one else would hurt me. He left the safety he had found to—to go out into the unknown with some young girl who couldn’t fight and couldn’t survive. Why would he do that? Why would a monster do that?”

“I—I don’t… He had an ulterior motive. He had to keep you happy, compliant, so he took in a bunch of kids to act as slaves and—“

“—God, you’re such an idiot. If he is what you think he is, why would he waste so much effort keeping me happy? If he’s just an abusive rapist, why wouldn’t he just beat me into submission? Why would he train me to fight, to handle weapons I could kill him with? Please, Daren, just think about what you’re saying. It’s daft, ridiculously daft. Please, see reason. Tell me how many are coming.”

“I…I… There are seventeen of them altogether. I don’t know that they’ll send everyone. They usually don’t; they usually leave a few behind to guard the place. I’d guess they’ll bring around twelve or thirteen. Not your friend Seth though. He was too badly beaten and injured when he made it back. Nearly starved.”

“Pity he didn’t. You didn’t happen to hear how he made it out of the tunnels, did you?”

“No, I just saw him as he stumbled in. I was on guard duty. I nearly shot him, thought he was a Ruin. Now I wish I would’ve. It was only later that I overhead a couple of the other guys talking about the setup he’d found. When they mentioned that it was mostly kids well…I decided to come and warn you.”

“So you were all right with them stealing from other people as long as there weren’t a bunch of kids getting hurt?”

“I only went on the straight supply runs. Just going to old stores and finding things that hadn’t expired yet. I refused to go on the…the other runs.”

“How very noble of you.”

“I’m sorry, but wasn’t your dear Peter in the same line of work?”

“Only until I met Saff, and then I gave that all up. You shouldn’t have come up here by yourself.”

“Yes, well, he wouldn’t have listened to any reason if I hadn’t. He’s told me there will be probably be twelve or thirteen of them coming, but there could be as many as seventeen.”

“Well, that’s a start. Anything else to share with the class?”

“I still don’t believe that everything that happened all those years ago was completely fake. I still remember the bruises on your neck from where he choked you. The other guys told me about what he did to you in the barn.”

“And I’m sure they exaggerated a lot of it. That’s why we left. Peter couldn’t do that anymore, couldn’t hurt me for show. But look at me now. No bruises, no marks, no anything," she said, pulling up the sleeves of her shirt as if she were a magician showing him she didn’t have any tricks hidden up her sleeves. "Because he’s not abusive, he’s not cruel. Sometimes he’s a bit of an idiot and hot-headed, but the worst he’s ever done is punch a wall, and then not even hard enough to punch all the way all through. Do you believe me?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Well, when you do know, we’ll let you go. Until then, you’ll have to stay up here. Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll feel generous and bring up some food for you in a few hours. Sit tight.”

She patted his arm, rising from her crouched position to stand next to Peter by the door. He brushed some hair out of her face, tucking it behind her left ear absently. She smiled, though it wasn’t the brightest of smiles. She left the room, Peter following after her after a moment.

Later, after they had all gathered for breakfast, the children steadfastly ignoring the topic of their guest upstairs, Saff went back up to Daren’s room with a plate of bread. She could spare that since Peter had found a large cache of grain during his run; however, she didn’t bring him any fruit. They would have to preserve what was left of it soon for the coming winter, especially if they needed to run away.

She didn’t untie his hands. Instead she simply offered the bread for him to eat, warning him with a look not to try to take a bite out of her hands. He ate the bread dutifully, careful not to catch her fingers. After he’d eaten, she talked to him again, convincing him to tell her a little bit more about their would-be attackers. She now knew what kind of weapons they were likely to have and the methods they would most likely employ, though he was somewhat fuzzy on that having never gone on one of those kinds of runs with the raiders. But it was better than nothing. Daren also seemed more willing to believe that the relationship between herself and Peter was not what he had initially thought.

“So you guys are just…married?”

“We’re um…we’re not really married. We just tell the kids that to make them feel better. We’re more like…friends.”

“So…you’re not…”

“No, we’re not having sex. God, I really hate going through this again.”

“Who’d you go through this with before?”

“Our oldest, Tess. She’s seventeen, and she overheard you ranting and raving when you first showed up, so she wanted answers. I told her Peter and I’s long drawn-out story, including the part where we just share a room but nothing else. It’s a bit…embarrassing.”

“Why would that be embarrassing?”

“Well…wouldn’t you feel a bit odd about things if you had lived with a man for ten years, and he didn’t seem to find you attractive enough to ever make a move?”

“Not really. I’m not into guys.”

“Ah, well, your loss.”

“And if he doesn’t find you attractive then…he’s crazy.”

“Well…aren’t you all sweet and flattering then. Sorry, that’s not gonna get you untied though. Not until we’re good and sure you’re not going to try and take Peter’s head off again.”

“What if I promise to be good?”

“Yeah, Seth promised the same thing and then tried to rape Tess. That’s why he was so beat up.”

“You knocked him around?”

“Hell, yes I did. Would’ve killed him if Tess hadn’t called me off. Too bad I didn’t. I’ve got to head back downstairs, do some work. We’ll be up later to talk again, see how you’re behaving.”

“I’ll just sit tight then.”

“I like a man who can find humour in an unpleasant situation. Rest up. Maybe if you’re lucky, we’ll retie you so your hands are in the front.”

“I can only hope.”

Chapter 12-What I Did For Love

2010-12-01T14:56:00.001-06:00

Chapter Twelve

What I Did For Love

Out in the hall, Saff was met by Tess who stared at the door Saff had just come through.

“Tess, what are you doing? I told you to wait downstairs.”

“I—I couldn’t. I had to see what was going on.”

“Well you should be downstairs, getting the kids some supper before bed. Now—“

“—What is that guy talking about, Saff?”

“It’s nothing, Tess. He’s misinformed. And please call me—“

“—No! Let’s face facts, Saff: You’re not my mother. It made sense to call you that at first, but I’m not a little kid anymore, so please stop treating me like one. Tell me what’s going on. Treat me like an adult!”

“Fine, I’ll treat you like an adult. But that means a whole new level of responsibility. It means when I ask you to do something, no pouting, no arguing, no stubbornness. You’ll be a soldier now, not a child. Do you really want that? You really ready for that?”

“Yes, Saff. Yes I am. Now tell me: Is what that guy said true about you and Peter?”

“What exactly did you hear?”

“He…he said Peter raped you.”

“Yes, he did say that.”

“But…but that can’t be true…can it?”

“Do you really want the truth?”

“Oh…oh my God. He—“

“—Calm down, Tess. Peter never hurt me, never raped me, never…anything’d me for that matter. But he certainly made everyone believe he’d done the very worse by me.”

“But why? Why would he make people think he’d beaten and raped you?”

“To save me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How could him pretending to rape you save you?”

“You really want the whole story? It’s a long and not always pleasant one.”

“Tell me.”

“All right. Come on. We’d best make ourselves cozy, then,” Saff said, leading Tess into one of the other empty apartments nearby. There was an old long couch cushion lying on the floor, torn and ragged with stuffing leaking out of it. Saff figured it was as good a place as any to begin her story. “Now then, my origin story,” she said laughing without much mirth. “I was a kid when everything went wrong. We had just moved here to the States because of my mom’s job before…anyway, the world went to hell and I lost everyone but my older brother. He looked after me, getting us away from the east coast; they said it was safe out here, out west. Like John Wayne would be waiting to guard our retreat with a six-shooter in each hand. We joined up with a group of people and travelled with them for a couple of years but…my brother made sure I was safe with another family and then disappeared one night. I don’t know if he just couldn’t bear to be all grown-up and responsible because of me. He was only eighteen after all. But he left, struck out on his own, I guess. Everything was fine for a few weeks. Then…they attacked. I hid inside the trunk of a car, listening as everyone around me screamed and died.

“After a few minutes of near quiet, I thought everything was over, that they’d moved on. But then things started bumping into the car, sending it rocking. They could smell me despite all the blood and carnage outside and the metal incasing me. You wouldn’t think they could tear through metal, but they’re voracious and wholly without fear. One of them managed to rip a hole through the lid big enough to get a hand through, reaching in to get at me. Screaming echoed through that tiny space as I wound myself into the tiniest ball possible to keep that hand away from me.

“Then there was an explosion and the thing just collapsed against the hole it’d made. More shots sounded out, vaguely muffled by the trunk and my continued screaming. The shots died down and someone rolled the body off the trunk, letting rays of murky, dust-littered sunshine into my dark. Then there was a face…Peter’s face.

“He calmed me down, asked if I was okay, told me how to find the trunk release button. He pulled me out of the trunk, holding me up when my legs wouldn’t on the dusty, bloody ground. Didn’t comment on the tears rolling down my face or the moisture darkening my jeans. If I had been expecting John Wayne, I very nearly got him. Peter held me up with one hand while holding a sawed-off shotgun in the other. He was…glorious…like a god. I fell in love with him then.

“Once I regained the use of my legs, he helped me over to their convoy. Two other men had been saved as well, but they had just recently joined our group and I didn’t know them. They loaded us up and set out back to their safe-house which was a two day’s drive north of where we’d been camping.

“The whole time we traveled, I stayed close to Peter. Though I was only sixteen, the other men in his group kept their eyes on me, like hyenas circling a wounded deer, waiting for the lion to grow full and wander off. But none of them dared to cross Peter. He, on the other hand, barely seemed to notice me; didn’t even notice that I’d soiled myself during the attack until we were two hours down the road, and then he only noticed because I was sitting very close to him and kept fidgeting because of my wet pants. He gave me a pair of sweats I had to roll up four times before they were short enough to not trip me with every step, and a shirt when he noticed all of the holes in mine. He made sure I ate something every time we stopped and that I drank a little from his canteen while he drove, but other than that I might as well have been invisible.

“When we reached their safe-house, an old Southern ranch house with a barn they’d converted into extra sleeping spaces, one of the other men came up to me, pulling me aside while Peter was distracted with unloading the supplies they’d brought back. He said that the time had come for me to pay for my rescue. I might’ve been pretty sheltered all my life, but I knew what he meant.

“He trapped me against the side of a truck, pawing at me while I tried to get away. And then he was gone, sprawled across the yard quicker than I could process, and Peter was in front of me, asking if I was all right. The other men were riled up; obviously they’d all planned to have a go and didn’t like their plans being so easily thwarted.

“Peter told them to stay away from me, but the man who’d grabbed me had gotten back on his feet. He said that as Peter didn’t seem to want me, one of them might as well accept my payment. Peter’s face darkened, but he didn’t have a ready argument for the man; apparently this sort of thing happened pretty regularly. There didn’t seem to be any way out of this mess, and Peter obviously saw that.

“He turned ‘round to me, grabbing my arm and hauling me toward the house. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I don’t normally like ‘em this young, but if anyone exacts payment, it’ll be me.’

“I could barely walk, I was so frightened. The man who had saved me from more than one kind of monster was now a stony-faced monster himself, dragging me off to my doom. I vaguely remember trying to fight him off, but you can imagine how well that worked.

“He pulled me inside, the rest of the men cheering him on as they followed us in. He shoved me into a room with a dirty mattress on the floor, throwing the door shut in the eager men’s faces. I was screaming, tears funneling down onto the shirt he had lent me. I hated that shirt right then. Peter grabbed me, throwing me up against the door, yelling for me to shut up as he slammed a fist into the heavy wood. But I couldn’t stop screaming.

“Peter threw me down onto the mattress, pinning my struggling body down while his hand clamped itself over my screaming mouth.

“I thought that was it. All I could hope for was that he’d kill me after it was over, instead of handing me off to the others. But then he started whispering.

“’Shh, shh! It’s all right. I’m not gonna hurt you. Please, please, just…be quiet. They need to buy this if we want to keep you safe.’

“I was so stunned, I stopped screaming, stopped crying, stopped struggling. Peter let me go, motioning for me to keep quiet. Then we went back over to the door and started yelling again, telling me to keep my mouth shut if I knew what was good for me, throwing himself around, grunting and hitting things like he was going at me with a vengeance. I would’ve laughed if I hadn’t been so confused and scared.

“Eventually all the noise from outside died out; the rest of the men had apparently wandered off to drink or sleep. And then it was just Peter and me.

“He sat down next to me on the mattress, pulled off the jacket he was wearing and laid it down onto the bed behind me. ‘Get some sleep,’ he told me. ‘You’ll have to put in a convincing performance tomorrow for them to believe all that violence was real.’

“The next morning when we left the room, we were only met with mild interest from the men sprawled around outside; they were all too drunk or tired to notice that I wasn’t as cowed or bruised as I should’ve been. But over the next few days, they kept their eyes on us, watching to see if Peter was growing tired of me, ready to throw me out to the waiting piranhas.

“But Peter kept me close, all the while making it seem like he was a horrible tyrant in front of the others. Most of the men cheered his tyranny; a few seemed to object but they were too cowardly to make any overtures to stop Peter.

“Then at night…Peter would lock me away, acting out a horror scene when it was necessary to assuage suspicion while urging me to sleep. Finally, he’d had enough.

“One day we were out in the barn looking over the supplies (apparently Peter was in charge of that). We were talking, or, more accurately, I was asking questions. A couple of men came in just as I was giving Peter a hard time with one of his answers, joking with him. When he saw them…he grabbed me by the throat, pinning me against a stall door, choking me. He told me to shut up, that I should use my mouth for more important things than talking. When the men left, Peter let me go.

“God, I was so shaken. I started crying, crumpling to the floor. Peter followed me to the floor, trying to hold me as I cried. He kept apologizing, touching my throat tentatively: I was already starting to bruise.

“’I can’t do this anymore,’ he said.

“If I had been frightened before, it was nothing to how I felt after he said that.

“’Oh, okay. Think you could give me a gun or a knife so I can make sure all those guys don’t get what they’ve been wishing for since I showed up?”

“’What? No! I meant…we can’t do this anymore. We need to get away from here.’

“’We? Both of us…together?’

“’Yeah. I’m not gonna leave you here. We should be able to leave in two days if we start gathering supplies now. You’ll need to start layering clothes so we can have extras for the trip. We’ll be heading north, so we’ll need something warm for when it turns winter.’

“He started laying out his plan for our escape. We started stocking a truck with whatever supplies would go unnoticed in the two days it would take before we could make our escape. After our careful hoarding, we had enough gas for at least a week’s worth of travel plus plenty food and clothing. On that second night, after we’d put in our usual performance until everyone else had passed out, we rolled our truck far enough from the house that no one would be likely to hear its engine. Then we left.

“We travelled around for a while, scavenging gas when we could, holing up someplace safe when we found it. We stayed on the move for about four years before we found a place safe enough to stay for a while. We were there about a year before it…became unsafe. Two years later we found this place. We also found David. You know the rest.”

“So…you and Peter have been together ten years?”

“Yeah, I suppose we have.”

“And he never raped you.”

“No, no he definitely didn’t.”

“Are you guys actually married?”

“Let me answer that with a question: How many ministers do you reckon we’ve run into over the years? No, we’re not actually married. We just figured it would be better for the kids if we were as close to normal parents as we could be: a cohesive unit to look after them rather than two random people that just travel together for safety and companionship. It’s sort of David’s fault. When we found him, he assumed we were married given how we worked together. He idolized the relationship we appeared to have, so we just…kept pretending for his sake, and then later for all the rest of you as well.”

“So you’re pretending? But you two sleep together…every night.”

“Yes, we do. I feel safe with him near. But, to answer your inferred question, we’ve never had sex. Peter doesn’t think of me that way. He still sees me as the sixteen-year old girl he rescued from a bunch of monsters more than once…and no amount of growing up on my part has been able to change that.” She said it quietly, but Tess heard her despite her mumbling.

“So we just need to tell Daren he’s wrong and then we can get back to him helping us set up defenses against the bad guys Seth was spying for.”

“I tried that. Daren won’t listen; he’s so convinced that Peter’s brainwashed me over the years into falling in love with him. Classic Stockholm Syndrome. I’m not sure anything we do will convince him that he’s wrong. No, I think we’ll just have to use the minimal warning he gave us to our best advantage without any additional assistance from him, unless Peter can convince him to talk.”

“Are we planning to run or fight?”

“I don’t know. It would help if we knew how many men were coming after us. And when.”

“Maybe I could talk to him.”

Saff laughed before answering. “Please, Peter will barely leave me alone with that idiot and I’m pretty skilled at defending myself. He won’t leave sweet, naïve you alone with him, no matter how well Daren’s tied up.”

“Hey!”

“Take that as a compliment. If anything I think you remind him of me when he first met me. Before he turned me from a kid into a survivor. And you wonder why he hates the training sessions with the other kids so much. No, you’re better off getting some supper and then going to bed while we see what other information we can get from our new friend.”

“Peter’s not…not gonna torture him, is he?”

“You really wanna know?”

“Um…yes?”

“Only if he absolutely has to. Now go on, sweetie.”

Tess was very unsettled at Saff’s declaration that torture was still an option, but she was either too befuddled by all that she had learned or too smart to question it further.

“All right. Good night, Saff.”

“G’night. Sweet dreams.”

“Ha! After that story, fat chance.”

“Well, can’t hurt to hope.”

Chapter 11-A Little Less Conversation

2010-12-01T14:55:00.002-06:00

Chapter Eleven

A Little Less Conversation

Once they’d gotten Daren upstairs and tied up in one of the empty fifth-floor apartments, Saff and Peter went downstairs for a break. All the kids were anxious to know what was going on, if Seth had somehow come back, and neither Saff nor Peter weren’t quite sure what to tell them. Saff decided to simply jump in the deep end and get it over with.

“No, it wasn’t Seth. It was someone else, come to warn us that the men Seth was spying for are planning to come and try to steal our home and supplies. But…well, he doesn’t seem quite right in the head. Tried to hurt Peter. So we had to…restrain him. He’s fine though. We’re gonna go back up and have a chat with him in a bit, try to make him see reason.”

“Is he a bad man?” Sully asked, tugging on Peter’s shirt as he stared up at the slight cut on Peter’s lip from where Daren had hit him.

“I don’t know, kiddo. Hopefully not. Hopefully he’s just…confused. But don’t worry. Whatever he is, he won’t hurt any of you. Saff and I will make sure of that.”

“Saff…I mean, Mom, do you need help?”

“No, Tess, your dad and I have got it under control. Just stay down here…no matter what you hear from up there. You got that?”

“Sure. We’ll stay down here.”

“Good. You ready, Peter?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said, tousling Sully’s hair before he and Saff headed back for the stairwell and for what was likely to be an unpleasant confrontation with Daren. When they reached the door of the apartment they’d stashed Daren in, they heard sounds of someone scuffling around. Daren was awake.

“Maybe he is just crazy. Maybe that’s all this is.”

“You really think so with how our luck’s been going lately, Saff?”

“Aren’t you the one who always says we make our own luck?”

“Yeah, but we haven’t been making very good luck lately. Here goes nothing.”

Peter swung the door open, revealing the slightly bruised and tied up Daren writhing on the floor as he tried to find a way to untie himself. He hadn’t landed well when he’d fallen off the chair they’d sat him on and looked as if he might have hurt his arm on the way down.

“Huh, maybe we should’ve tied him to the chair,” Saff said, staring at the now still man who glared up at Peter.

“Then he would’ve just broken it. All right, buddy, you ready to talk about that lunacy downstairs?”

“You got what you deserved. I only wish I could’ve done more to that ugly ass face of yours!” Daren spat.

“Is my face really that bad?”

“No, don’t be daft, sweetheart. You’ve got a lovely face.”

“Well, after your little joke downstairs and now this guy, I’m starting to get a complex.”

“Really, Peter, I love your face,” Saff said, putting a hand to his cheek as she looked at him. Daren renewed his struggling, cursing at them so violently that neither Saff nor Peter could quite understand what he was saying.

“Calm down, man! If you’re nice we might sit you back up so you’re not so uncomfortable for our little interview.”

“If that bastard touches me I’ll—“

“—You’ll what? Wiggle about a bit more? Let’s not be stupid, all right. We’ll set you back up and then you can explain why exactly you’re so angry at us for no good reason.”

“I’m not angry with you, you can’t help it. I’m pissed at him!”

“Fair enough. Can I help you sit up then?”

Though he kept glaring at Peter as best he could from his prone position on the floor, he finally nodded.

“Saff, don’t—“

Peter started to move between Saff and Daren, which set Daren to struggling again trying to get at Peter somehow despite his cuffed hands and tied up legs.

“Peter, maybe you should just stand back. He obviously doesn’t like you very much. Now stop your wiggling so I can pull you up,” she barked at Daren, who looked more confused than ever at her snappish tone with Peter and the way he complied with a slight smile. Daren stopped struggling on the floor, breathing quickly as she came over and hauled him upright by the lapels of his jacket, bringing him back to rest against the wall behind them. “I would put you back in the chair but I can’t haul you up there by myself so here will have to do for now. Comfortable?”

“No. I’ll be comfortable when I’m pounding his face off.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try, small fry,” Peter said, obviously amused at Daren’s invectives.

“Not helping!” Saff said as she pushed Daren back against the wall. “Stop your squirming right now or I’m gonna clock you one. Good boy. Now, what is the bloody problem here? One minute you’re talking about how you wanna help us and the next you’re attacking my husband.”

“Ha! He really does have you messed up. I know he’s not your husband. He’s your rapist.”

“Peter’s never raped anybody, have you, dear?”

“No, I definitely haven’t.”

“But I—I remember you. Both of you. You were…just a girl, a teenager. And this—“

“—How many years ago was that?”

“Around ten. I was with the group that was attacked, just like you,” he said, looking up at Saff, willing her to believe him. “I had only been with them for a few weeks, so I didn’t know you. But then…there was the attack and these men swoop in to save the few of us that were left. But when they took us back to their house, this bastard! He grabbed you and pulled you inside. You were screaming for the longest time. We could hear you even from behind the door. I can’t believe you’re still with him. I thought you’d run away and he’d gone after you, but…I always hoped that you got away from him. But here you both are. God, it makes me sick.”

“Well, it shouldn’t. I never raped her.”

Peter was angry now. He never liked to think about how they had met, what had almost happened.

“Yeah, right. I’m sure you thought her screaming and crying was all just foreplay, you sick piece of—“

“—Shut it, you!” Saff yelled, punching him in the jaw. Daren looked even more stunned than before. “I know what you think you saw, what you think happened, but you’re wrong. None of that was real. That’s not who he is, who we are.”

“I don’t believe you. He’s got you brainwashed. I’ve seen it before. My dad was a shrink. He worked with lots of abused women who always said things weren’t how they seemed, their men really loved them, blah blah blah. It’s all crap. A man who hurts you doesn’t love for shit. I can help you, if you let me.”

“Yeah, you said that before but you haven’t been much help so far. More trouble than you’re worth actually. I’m not one of those women. Peter’s never hurt me. He takes care of me, of our kids; he protects us.”

“God, he’s got you in deep.”

“Are you gonna tell us about the raiders coming or not?” Peter asked, coming to join Saff as she stood in front of Daren.

“I won’t tell you shit.”

“Maybe you should leave us alone, Saff.”

“Peter, no, that isn’t gonna help anything.”

“When reason doesn’t work, try violence.”

“Peter—“

“—Go on, Saff. Leave the boys alone to have a nice long chat.”

Saff stared at Peter’s face, trying to decide just how much danger Daren would be in if she left. But though Peter’s face was dark and foreboding, he was still in control; he wouldn’t hurt Daren if he didn’t have to.

“All right, luv. I’ll go check on the kids. They’re probably worried sick. Don’t stay too long,” she said, raising up on her tiptoes to kiss Peter’s cheek. Maybe it had been a bad idea, considering how Daren took to trying to free himself again. She shook her head at the man, and then left the two men alone.

Chapter 10-Peaceful Easy Feeling

2010-12-01T14:53:00.002-06:00

Chapter Ten

Peaceful Easy Feeling

Three nights later, Peter and Saff were woken up by the sound of a motorcycle engine prowling the streets around their building. Saff had mentioned the anomaly before, but they had simply made sure all the window covers were tight so as not to give away their home. But there it was again, slowly revving its way around the building. Instead of heading for the balcony this time, they both headed up to the roof where they would be ensured of better cover. They got there just in time to see the black bike round the corner away from them, heading east.

“That’s what he did before: rode around us once, then came back for a second pass, stopping to check out the building with binoculars. He couldn’t have seen anything. The children all know better than to uncover the windows if there’s noise. You don’t think…”

“That your friend Seth got out of the tunnels already? No, he couldn’t have. Even if Tess told him all the markers, he wouldn’t have had a light to guide him through.”

“Unless he was hiding a flashlight on him the whole time.”

“But where would he have gotten batteries?”

“I don’t know. I’m just spit-balling.”

“I’ll go down there tomorrow, see if I can find any trace of him.”

“Shouldn’t we both go?”

“No, we can’t risk both of us for reconnaissance. What, you don’t think I can take care of myself against a few slow Ruins.”

“It might not just be a few, you know that.”

“I’ll be fine. You worry too much, Saff.”

“It’s all part of my oh-so-glamorous job, dear.”

The bike came around again, coming to a stop this time around the front of the building rather than near the balcony. Saff and Peter stayed in the shadows, watching as the rider studied the building with his binoculars again.

“This is really not good,” Saff whispered.

“Guess we could shoot him. But then that might not solve our problem in the end if he’s got friends who know what building he’s scoping out.”

“Maybe they’d take it as a warning: Don’t come back here; we’re armed and dangerous.”

“If he’s running with the kind of crew I think he is, they’d take it as a challenge, a dare. Besides it might not be anything to worry about. Might just be people looking for someplace to take shelter.”

“That’s one of the worst words in the English language: might. Horrible, wishy-washy word.”

“I’ll try to keep it out of my vocabulary from now on.”

“Too bad this world is all full of mights and coulda-shoulda-wouldas now. I’m just in a weird mood, luv. I need more sleep.”

“Then let’s go get some,” he said, using one hand to massage the back of Saff’s neck. She leaned against him, her eyes closing against the possible danger below. When the engine revved back up again, they watched the motorcycle drive away, standing in silence as they waited to see if he was going to come back. When he didn’t, Peter took Saff’s hand and led her over to the stairwell, back towards the relative comfort of the safety of their bed. But as tired as Saff was, she would’ve gladly bet what little she did own that neither of them would get a great deal of sleep that night.

* * *

Two days later, towards late afternoon judging from the dusky sunshine falling across the roof as Saff tended to her almost bare garden, the alarms sounded from the open stairwell, snapping Saff out of her reverie.

Saff ran to the stairwell, barreling through it and pulling the door shut behind her to block out the noise. She flew down the stairs, ignoring the pain of running on the rough, debris-littered concrete without her shoes on. When she reached the door to the second floor, Peter was already there, his key in the lock. They both went through together, heading for the surveillance room, each one afraid of the possibilities of what might be setting off the alarms.

When they reached the monitor, Saff was met with an almost too familiar sight. A young man, though not so young as Seth, was at the door, staring up at the camera as he pounded on the door. His hair and eyes were dark on the black and white screen, but he was alert, alive.

“Another one? You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t go through this again.”

“So we won’t, Saff. We’ll scare him off. No more entertaining guests here. Would you like to do the honours or should I?”

“I’ll do it. If he’s another spy from Seth’s camp there’s no reason to give away our secret weapon.”

“I’m the secret weapon?”

“Well, really just your ugly mug. It’d send most smart people running, screaming in horror.”

“So all those times you’ve mentioned how handsome I am…”

“All lies. Just trying to make you feel better. Should I use the bow or the gun?”

“I’d say gun. As good as you are with the bow, it’s not as immediately intimidating as a sawed-off shotgun.”

“Good point.”

Saff took up Peter’s gun, throwing open the nearby window and perching on the sill, aiming the gun at the man, whistling to catch his attention. He stopped his noise and backed away from the door so he could see her. Upon seeing the gun pointed at his face, he raised his hands above his head.

“Whoa, don’t shoot. I come in peace.”

“Then go in peace. We don’t want you here.”

“But I—I came to warn you.”

“Warn me? About what? If it’s about those things that wander around and try to eat people, I already know a bit about them. On your way with you now.”

“No, about…about the men coming for you. Raiders. They know that it’s just you here with a bunch of kids. Easy pickens, they said. They’re just gearing up, finding more gas and ammunition in case you’ve got more firepower than they can handle. They’ll be here in a week, two at the most. You don’t have much time. You should take your kids and get away from here. I can help you. I want to help you.”

“That’s a fancy story. But why should I believe it? Maybe you’re just a spy, trying to worm your way in here.”

“I’m not a spy. The—the guy they sent in here to spy on you came back three days ago, talking about how it was just a woman here with a bunch of kids but a good bunch of supplies and a pretty reliable stronghold.”

“What was this guy’s name?”

“Seth. The little prick’s name was Seth.”

“Hmm, so you have met him. Well, thanks for the warning, but we’ll be fine without your help.”

“But…it’s just you and—“

“—It’s not just me. I have a husband who’s pretty handy in dangerous situations and most of these kids have been trained to fight and handle weapons. We can take care of ourselves.”

“I could still help. One extra person—“

“—To feed and house and watch out for? No thanks.”

“But...I could tell you how many guys they’ve got, the kinds of weapons they’ll have. Maybe you wouldn’t have to run.”

“That’s nice of you to offer, really, but we’ll make it on our own. We don’t need you to play the double agent. Now you should probably go. It’s still warm enough out that something will have heard the noise you were making, and this time I won’t be sharp-shooting your way out of trouble.”

“Saff,” Peter said quietly, standing behind her but out of sight of the man below. “Maybe we shouldn’t turn down his help. It wouldn’t be all that bad to have another adult fighting alongside us. And it would be useful if we knew what we were up against.”

“Are you sure? That’s almost the kind of thinking that got me into trouble last time. Even though he seems like an all right guy, he was running with the same guys who now seem intent on coming to kill us all.”

“You met me when I was running with some pretty nasty characters.”

“Well, but—“

“—But I was just surviving. Maybe he was, too.”

“We can’t trust him.”

“I think we have to. It’s up to you, though.”

“Oh, brilliant. Thank you. I already had to do this before and now you’re all, ‘It’s up to you.’ You’re such a dick sometimes, Peter.”

“And yet you stay with me.”

“Well, we all do what we have to to survive, right? Fine, inside he comes.”

She ducked back out the window, looking down at their visitor, the gun resting at her side rather than pointed at him.

“All right, we’ve decided you can come in after all. Go around that way,” she said, pointing towards the side of the building where the fire escape was, “and I’ll let you up. If you have any weapons on you, be prepared to declare them as soon as you’re inside. We will be giving you a good once-over.”

“No problem.”

He headed for the fire escape, leaving Saff to stare after him for a moment before she sighed and ducked back inside, closing the window.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Peter.”

“When do we have good feelings about things?”

“Fair dos. Come on, he’ll be waiting.”

They left the surveillance room, heading for the fire escape. Saff had an unpleasant sense of déjà vu about all of this, but at least Peter was there this time. When she reached the window, she clambered out, lowering the ladder and waiting while the man climbed up. He was tall, taller than Peter, but slimmer than Peter by a good margin. His hair, while dark, was several shades lighter than hers, a fine straight medium brown. He had a bit of scruff on his face, almost as if he was trying to grow out a beard or perhaps just hadn’t had the benefit of a razor in a day or two. His eyes were dark brown, barely lighter than his pupils. Altogether he wasn’t a bad looking man, more average than anything. Once he’d reached the top of the ladder, she hit the lever to bring the ladder back up.

“Follow me. But don’t try anything. My husband’s waiting with that mean looking gun from before.”

She ducked back inside, moving away from the window quickly so as not to be too close to the man. Peter waited in the doorway, the shotgun aimed at the window, his face half in shadow in the late afternoon light. The man came through the window, standing in front of it as he took in the imposing man with the gun who stood in front of him.

“So, any weapons to declare?”

“Just this kni—“

“—Ah! Don’t pull it out. Let me.”

Saff retrieved the blade he had been about to pull out of his jacket, throwing it across the room towards Peter. When she had gotten close to him, the man had begun to stare at her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“All right, assume the position. Arms out, legs apart. If I find something I don’t like, it’s possible Peter over there will shoot you. Fair warning.”

“I don’t have anything else. I mean, other than a little food and some mace.”

“Mace? Really?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t kill Ruins but it’ll mess ‘em up for a few minutes while you run away. Everyone called me stupid for grabbing up cans of it, but it’s saved my life a few times.”

“Huh. Learn something new every day. Where’s the mace then?”

“Back pocket. Do I…do I know you?”

“I doubt it. I certainly don’t remember you.”

“It’s just…I could swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

“That would be unlikely given how reclusive we tend to be. Back pocket you said?”

He nodded, trying to keep looking at her even as she moved around behind him. She retrieved the small canister from his pocket, throwing it over with the knife. She then began searching his other pockets, patting him down for any other weapons. She found his cache of granola bars and sent them the same way as his weapons, but other than that, he was clean.

“All right. You’re good. What’s your name, now that I’ve gotten so familiar with you.”

“Daren. I’m Daren.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Daren. I’m Saff and that’s Peter.”

As she said his name, Peter stepped forward, his face illuminated by the dusty light. Saff smiled up at him, completely missing the change that came over Daren’s face.

“You…you son of a bitch!”

Daren ran at Peter, knocking Saff to the side of the room as he barreled towards him. He got in a few punches while Peter was surprised at his sudden attack, but Peter didn’t stay immobile for long. He flipped Daren off of him, bringing his full weight down to bear on Daren to keep him down.

“Saff, a little help please,” Peter ground out as he struggled to restrain the flailing Daren. She ran over, grabbing one of Daren’s arms and pulling it high above his head as Peter retrieved the other.

“Do you have your cuffs?”

“Do you really have to ask, Saff?”

She laughed mirthlessly, reaching around Peter to retrieve the handcuffs he always had in his back pocket. She then slapped them onto the wrists she and Peter held, trapping his arms together.

“Seriously, mate, you need to stop struggling. This can only end badly for you.”

“How can you still be with this—this monster?!” Daren yelled, still trying to find some way to get Peter off of him.

“What are you on about?”

“He…he raped you!”

“I what?!”

“Get off me! Get off me, you bastard!”

Daren managed to get his bound arms free and knocked Peter across his temple. Peter, obviously angry, clocked Daren in the jaw twice, until Daren’s head fell back and his body went slack.

“What on earth… He can’t be talking about…can he?”

“I don’t know, but we need to get back upstairs. Too much sound carries down here.”

“Right, another opportunity to carry some dead-weight up the stairs. To think it was only a few days ago that I got this rare treat. At least this one is skinnier.”

“Not a bad left hook though for a little guy.”

“Where are we taking him? Up to the fifth?”

“Yeah, it’s better soundproofed up there than on the other floors, except for the fourth.”

“And we’re not putting him down there with us and the kids.”

“Of course not. But if he’s up there hopefully the kids won’t be able to hear him yelling.”

“I’ll get his feet then.”

Chapter 9: Bring Him Home

2010-11-29T13:44:00.000-06:00

Chapter Nine

Bring Him Home

She was curled up in bed, her head as close to Peter’s pillow as it could be without actually lying on it. She never put her head n Peter’s pillow when he was gone, no matter the temptation to bury her face in his scent and the indentation left there. She didn’t want him to know just how much she missed him, even by the barest of measures.

As she slowly came awake, she realized there was an arm circling her waist, pulling her back against another body. For a moment she was frightened, blindly reaching out for the knife hidden under her own pillow. But then she recognized the callused hand as it brushed the skin left exposed from where her tank top had ridden up and the big chest now resting against her back.

“Peter!” she cried out as she turned over burying her face in his T-shirt, breathing him in.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m glad you realized it was me before you got hold of your knife.”

“Oh, God, how I’ve missed you.”

“Hey, hey! What’s with the waterworks? You’ve never been this emotional after I’ve gotten home. I know I was away longer than I said I would be, but I’m back now. Everything’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I might’ve killed us all.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

“There…there was a man—more a boy really; he was only eighteen or nineteen. I—I was stupid and compassionate. He came to the door, asking to be let in. I told him now, but then…a bunch of Ruins showed up, would’ve killed him if not for me. I couldn’t leave him down there; there were so many. So I let him up.

“I was suspicious about him but…there was nothing to be done about it. At first he seemed all right, a bit too curious for my liking but otherwise not bad. Tess was far too interested in him, but I thought we had him scared enough that he was under control. Then…he tried to…”

Peter was on his feet like a shot, pacing the room, unable to look at her.

“I’ll kill him! Is he still here?”

“No, no he’s not.”

“I’ll hunt him down then. He’ll pay for hurting you!”

“Me? No! No, he didn’t… In fact, I hurt him, beat him up pretty good. No, he tried to rape Tess. I stopped him, nearly killed him myself…but I didn’t want the kids to know. So I…I sent him down to the basement. If he survives. Which is unlikely given how long it’s been since we cleaned out down there, but if he did it would be a while before he made it out…right?”

“Yeah, unless he’s really smart…or had a compass. I should go down there and find him.”

“No! You just got back. And…it would be dangerous and might take forever to find him unless we were really lucky. I—I’m sorry I mucked everything up while you were gone.”

“Oh, hey. It’s not your fault. I couldn’t have done any better.”

“Yes, you could’ve. You always do.”

“That’s only because I always have you giving me advice, whether I want it or not. Everything’ll be fine. In a few days, I’ll go down and see if there’s any sign of him. If there is, I’ll deal with him. If there’s not…then we’ll wait and see.”

“I’m so sorry, Peter.”

“What for? It’s not like you’re the only person to ever make a mistake or put your trust in the wrong person. I’m not exactly a model citizen. Remember how we me, who I was friends with?”

“You were surviving.”

“There are other ways to survive, as we know.” He kissed her forehead, unable to see the pained expression on her face as he did. “Let’s get some sleep, huh? We’ll probably get woken up pretty early once the kids figure out I’m back.”

“Yeah. Good night then.”

Saff let go of Peter, rolling back to her side of the bed, curling in on herself again. After a moment, Peter cleared his throat and spoke again.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired and stressed out from everything that happened.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No, why would I be?”

“Because usually, especially when I’ve been gone for a while, you always cuddle into my side with your head on my shoulder, like you want to make sure I’ll still be here when you wake up. To tell you the truth…my shoulder doesn’t quite feel right without your head laying on it.”

Saff let out a small, quiet sob before rolling over and curling into Peter’s waiting side, nestling her head against his shoulder like it was the world’s softest pillow.

“Somehow I just miss the sensation of my arm going to sleep when we’re apart.”

Saff laughed even as she playfully punched Peter’s laughing chest. She held onto him as if he were the only thing in her universe, breathing in the scent she had been studiously avoiding in his absence. She didn’t care if he knew how much she missed him this time.

* * *

As Peter gradually awoke, he felt someone kissing him lightly along the column of his neck, working up towards his jaw and mouth. Before he was fully awake and aware of what was happening, that mouth had found its way to his, at first kissing him slowly and sweetly. Then the kiss deepened and he stopped caring whether he was dreaming or not.

It had been so long since he had been kissed that he shut off the part of his brain that said something was strange, even wrong about him being kissed now. He didn’t think about where he was or everything that had happened to him over the past thirteen years; he just lost himself in her impossibly soft lips and sweet smelling hair that brushed against his face with every movement.

Then he felt her hands that had previously been tangled in his hair brush across his shoulders and chest, moving inexorably downward. And then he remembered.

“Saff,” he said against her mouth as he grabbed her hand before it could reach the waistband of his sweats. “Saff, stop.” But she didn’t seem to hear him. She just kept kissing him, her eyes closed as if she were still asleep. He rolled her onto her back in an effort to pull away from her.

“Well if you wanted to be on top all you had to do was say so,” she murmured, her free hand wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him back down for another kiss.

“Saff, wake up!” he said, shaking her shoulder gently in an effort to wake her.

Slowly her eyes opened, at first cloudy with desire and then clearing as if a warm breeze had come to blow the clouds away. She looked up at him as he held her roving hand trapped between their two bodies, finally seeming to come awake. Her green eyes widened as she stared at him, blinking as if he were a mirage that would disappear with enough effort.

“Peter, what’s…what’s going on?”

“You tell me, Saff.”

Her lips were swollen from how ardently she had been kissing him. She bit her bottom lip and her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what exactly she had done.

“I—I was dreaming…I think.”

“What about…exactly?”

“Umm…”

Before either of them could think up something that might explain away what had just happened, their door swung open, a handful of children barreling inside before they took in the scene before them. Tess was the first to speak, her eyes glinting with humour.

“Eww, guys! I know it’s been a while but lock the door first. Or don’t leave your boots in the hall so we know you’re back, Dad. Come on, guys, apparently our parents need some alone time.”

Peter rolled away from Saff who was blushing darkly beneath the curtain of her dark hair as she sat up, hiding her face from the laughing children.

“It’s okay guys. We were just…talking. Come on, you all know you want to give your dad a hug,” Saff said, smiling at the kids to encourage them to come running over as they were wont to do when their dad came back after a long absence. Cary lost no time in running over, followed quickly by Andy and Sully who jumped on the bottom of the bed, narrowly missing Peter’s legs as they did. The other children followed behind, most a little more reserved though no less eager to see the man they thought of as their father.

While Peter laughed at their antics and their stories, he kept an eye on Saff. She smiled at all of them, but the blush still hadn’t completely faded from her cheeks and there was something very sad behind her eyes. The blush he could understand: what had almost happened was awkward for both of them. But the sadness confused him. Why would she be sad?

“Saff, are you all right?” he asked quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the exclamations of the children.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered, gracing him with a brighter smile that still didn’t reach her eyes. “I am going to go and make breakfast,” she declared to the room at large. “And I think we all deserve a treat.”

“What kind of treat?” Camryn asked eagerly, bouncing up and down at the first of their bed.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to wait and see.”

Saff got up, reaching for the sweater she had left next to the bed the night before. It was one of Peter’s sweaters. She paused before pulling it on as if she were debating whether or not she wanted to wear it to ward off the morning chill.

Tess watched Saff with a strange expression on her face. When Saff headed for the door, Tess followed after her.

“Do you want me to help, Mom?”

“No, I think I can handle making breakfast, Tess. Besides it won’t be much of a surprise if you know what I’m going to make. Besides, Peter will be just as eager to talk to you as he will be with everyone else. Thanks for the offer though.”

Saff left the apartment, heading for their storage room. After she watched her leave, Tess looked back at Peter, a question in her eyes. But he didn’t have any answers for her, and even if he did, he certainly couldn’t have said anything to her in front of the other kids. He was even more perplexed than Tess was with Saff’s behavior this morning. Of course, he had seen more strangeness from her than Tess had.

A little while later they were all drawn to the family room by a delicious aroma that only Peter could place. He smiled as all the kids tried to guess what Saff could’ve prepared for them in celebration of their father’s return.

They entered the living room to find a fire blazing in the hearth, Saff bent over it with a pan, flipping something flat and round over with a flick of her wrist before letting the pan settle over the fire again. There was a large plate on the table with a stack of the things that she’d made for them. Some were just purely golden, but others had bits of fruit nestled in them.

“What are these?” Josiah asked, picking one up between his fingers, bringing it to his nose.

“They’re pancakes, me boyo,” she said, placing the pancake she had been cooking as they came in on top of the stack on the table. “Well, at least as close as I can get them since we don’t have eggs or milk. But I think I remembered the recipe well enough that they should be tasty. Though no one but Peter will really know better.”

“Give it a nibble, Joss. Tell us how they taste,” Peter said, a smile stretched across his face.

“Hmm,” Josiah mumbled, chewing slowly. “It’s…it’s wonderful!”

That was all the other kids needed to hear before they too grabbed a pancake for themselves, biting into them with wild abandon. Saff and Peter stood back, laughing. Even David had lost his maturity in the face of Saff’s pancakes, grabbing for two at a time.

“Hey, don’t go crazy now! There’s plenty for everyone, though it means we’re going to have a lot of flour to make before winter comes.”

Groans sounded from between mouthfuls of pancakes as they thought about all the work they’d soon have to do before winter. But not even that dour thought could erase the pleasure of Saff’s treat in honor of their father’s return.

“Aren’t you going to have some? I figured you’d be in there fighting the kids for ‘em, given that you actually remember what they should taste like.”

“I’m kinda scared to stick my hand in. One of them might bite it thinking it’s a pancake.”

“Here, Daddy, I saved you one with apples in it because they’re your favorite,” Teryn said, standing in front of the two of them, holding one of the pancakes up to him like she was presenting a crown to a king.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, taking it from her and taking a bite while she smiled up at him. “And thank you, sweetheart,” he said, turning to Saff and hugging her to him. “These are delicious.” He looked up to see Tess watching them, a strange expression on her face.

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad I remembered how to make them without eggs and milk. Thank goodness my cousin had all those allergies and was always visiting when I was little. My mum had to learn how to make all this stuff that was milk and egg and gluten free. She hated it but she did it because her sister would’ve thrown a fit if something had happened to her. You never know what’ll be useful though. I guess it’s a blessing that my cousin was so sickly so that now I can still make delicious treats in a world without eggs and dairy. Does it taste anything like you remember?”

“Pretty close. But then my memory’s a little fuzzy on things I haven’t had in over fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years? You hadn’t had pancakes for two years before the Ruins?”

“I was in the army. They weren’t exactly big on pancakes in the mess, especially where I was stationed. Aren’t you gonna have one?”

“Nah, I already ate a couple that got burnt. Shh, don’t tell the others.”

“Then why were you asking me if they tasted the same?”

“Well, like I said, the ones were burnt. I was hoping the non-burnt ones would taste more like real pancakes and less like the ones I remember my mum making.”

“They’re wonderful. Thank you,” he said, hugging her again, kissing her cheek. He felt her jaw clench slightly as he did it, but she pulled away from him before he could see her face, see what that tension meant.

“You guys need some juice? Or are you too busy inhaling those things?”

The pancakes were almost gone, but the kids nodded eagerly at the mention of juice. She pushed Peter towards his usual seat before heading into the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later with a pocked plastic pitcher full of orange juice. She had already placed the mismatched cups and mugs around the table before they’d come in. Soon everyone was enjoying what was left of their breakfast, the children chatting eagerly at Peter, telling him about the new songs Saff had taught them, the stories she’d told in his absence.

“Speaking of new songs, I found something you’re going to love, Saff.”

Peter stood up, leaving the table to head into the room where they kept their supplies. Apparently he hadn’t unpacked the night before when he’d arrived, because he came back out with one of his packs still brimming with cans and bags of food. He dug around in the pack, finally extracting a large, worn paperback that had been rolled into a tube. He unfurled it, rolling it back the other way to try and make it return to something close to its original shape. After he had gotten it as straight as he could, he handed it to Saff, smiling down at her, waiting for her reaction to his present. She studied the book for a moment, brushing her hands across the words printed across the top.

“’Broadway Ballads’? Really?”

“Yep, the thirty-six greatest ballads in Broadway history…or something like that. What does it say?”

“Something like that,” she said, laughing down at the book she held in her hands like it was a precious jewel. Finally she looked up at him, smiling through the tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Peter. This is…it’s wonderful.”

“Mommy, why are you crying? Don’t you like Daddy’s present?”

“I like it very much. I’m just crying because I’m happy. It means we’ll have loads more new songs to sing. And maybe we’ll also learn how to play some songs I’ve sung before the right way. In fact, I see one here that I want to start learning right away. Of course…it’s one where I’ll need someone to duet with me,” she said, taking Peter’s hand and pulling him towards the stand-up piano against the wall.

“Oh no, which one is it?”

“Why don’t you have a seat?” She pushed him down onto the piano bench before sliding next to him, flipping through the book until she found the song she wanted.

“Oh, please no. I don’t have the chops for that.”

“You shouldn’t doubt yourself, luv. You have a beautiful voice when you use it. Let’s see if my old skills at reading music have failed yet.”

She began to play, no one much caring that the old piano was pretty out of tune. She paused her playing, looking over at Peter who stared at the piano, but not at her sheet music.

“That’s your cue, Peter.”

“Do I really have to?”

“You brought me the book.”

“Yeah, but…Phantom?”

“What? It’s a brilliant musical. One of the all time greats.”

“Yeah, but…I don’t wanna be Raoul. He’s lame.”

“Wow. I didn’t know you even really knew the show. Color me surprised. If you don’t like Raoul that much, then pretend you’re the Phantom and we’ve rewritten the show so Christine picks him instead of Raoul. Just sing. Just for a bit. Please.”

“Fine. Play.”

She began playing again, this time with Peter’s attention fixed to the sheet music in front of them. After the intro, Peter began to sing, albeit quietly and with less gusto than Saff would’ve preferred, but she would take what she could get.

“’No more talk of darkness,

Forget these wide-eyed fears;

I’m here, nothing can harm you,

My words will warm and calm you.

Let me be your freedom,

Let daylight dry your tears;

I’m here, with you, beside you,

To guard you and to guide you.’”

The children, who had gathered around Peter and Saff at the piano, clapped when Peter finished his verse but then quieted down when Saff took over.

“’All I ask is every waking moment,

Turn my head with talk of summertime.

Say you need me with you now and always;

Promise me that all you say is true,

That’s all I ask of you.’”

Saff finished with a flourish, laughing at the relieved look on Peter’s face. The kids took to clapping again, Cary clambering up onto the bench to nestle against Saff, trying to pick out her own song on the piano.

“I find it endlessly entertaining how bad your stage-fright is in front of me and a few kids.”

“Well, if you had my voice and had to sing with you, you’d have stage-fright, too.”

“That was all kinds of convoluted, luv. I keep telling you, you sound like Gene Kelly and that is an amazing compliment.”

“And I keep saying that you only tell me that so that I’ll sing with you, and that secretly y’all cringe every time I open my mouth, laughing behind my back at how bad I am.”

“Nobody laughs, Daddy. Except when you try to do the parts that are too high for you on those Queen songs. Then I kinda do laugh,” Cary said, sending everyone into giggles.

“Well, that’s good to know, Cary. I’ll stop trying to be Freddie Mercury.”

“Freddie who?”

Peter and Saff laughed, Peter ruffling Cary’s hair as she stared at the two of them in confusion.

“He was the lead singer of Queen, sweetie. And he did have a much higher register than your dad ever thought about having, no matter how lovely his voice is. Now come on, kids, playtime’s over. We all have chores to do with winter on the wing, especially your dad who didn’t unpack his supplies last night.”

“I was tired! I figured it could wait ‘till morning.”

“Well, it’s morning so stop being a slag and get to work.”

“You’re the one who wanted to sing.”

“Ooh, so defensive you are! Come on, kids. To work. We’ve got to bring in the last of the harvest before the first freeze hits. Everyone to the roof.”

The children obediently filed out of the family room, heading for the stairs at the end of the hall. Peter and Saff were the last out, Tess staring at them for a moment before she too headed down the hall.

“How are our supplies?”

“They’re…as good as can be expected given the cold these past few weeks. It wasn’t cold enough to freeze but it certainly didn’t lend itself to abundant crops. But we should have enough, if we dig in and ration it smartly. Why? Were you not able to find very much this time?”

“I found almost as much as last time. A good bit of jerky so that’s really good. But…it was few and far between. That’s why it took me so long: I had to go quite a ways to find what I could, and then coming back was some trouble. There were several Ruins and a few raiders out on the road. I had to hide and take the long way back. But I made it back.”

“Which way did you come in this time? You didn’t come through the tunnels or you might have found Seth already.”

“Nah, I used the back wall. Scaled it up to the balcony. That old brick makes for a not so bad climb.”

“Hmm, that is impressive, army boy.”

“Well, I do try.”

“Come on, the kids will be complaining if we don’t get up there soon. Or one of them will decide to snack on one of the apples, hoping to hide it from us. And if one sneaks an apple…”

“Then all of them will. Lead on.”

Chapter 8: My Give-A-Damn's Busted

2010-11-29T13:43:00.002-06:00

Chapter Eight

My Give-A-Damn’s Busted

Seth came to as they neared the old garbage chute on the second floor. He was groggy from the beating he’d taken, but he recognized that what was about to happen wasn’t going to be pleasant for him.

“What are you gonna do to me?”

“Dump you down into our basement. Did Tess tell you about it? There are loads of tunnels down there, only one of which can be used as an escape. The others, well, they’re a bunch of dead-ends and possible hiding places for Ruins who’ve wandered in. If you do manage to find your way out, it’ll take you a very long while, so long you’ll be delirious with thirst and hunger. But personally, I hope you get caught by a pack of those biters and they tear you limb from limb, gnawing on your entrails while you watch. Have a pleasant ride.”

Saff and David grabbed Seth as he tried to squirm out of their grip, hauling him over to the window-sized door in the apartment wall that stood open. David cuffed him a few times upside his head until he stopped fighting them. Seth was surprised at how strong they both were, lifting him up relatively easily to wedge his feet into the opening in the wall. He tried to brace himself to stop them from shoving him all the way in, but without the use of his hands it wasn’t much good. Eventually they had him almost completely in the chute, the two of them holding his arms so that only his head and shoulders remained out.

“Aren’t you gonna untie me? Without the use of my hands I’ll barely be able to slow my fall, let alone make my way out of the tunnels.”

“Did you miss the part before where I said I hope you get torn limb from limb? Because I thought I was pretty damn clear. If you’re lucky, maybe the fall will kill you. I hope you’re not. Bombs away.”

With that Saff and David let go of Seth’s arms, staring at the space where he had been, the metal chute echoing with the sound of his scream as he fell. There was a dull thud from the bottom of the chute but no other sounds. Saff shut the door to the garbage chute, staring at it instead of at the boy standing beside her.

“Are you sure that was the best decision?”

“Bit late now, isn’t it, Davey? Besides, it’s going to be hard enough explaining to the others what happened to him. This way we don’t have to lie too much, covering up his death; we can say we sent him on his way and that he’s on his own from now on. I just…I just don’t like killing when it’s not necessary. You understand, right?”

“Yeah…I do. Come on, Mom. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired.”

“Me, too. I’m completely knackered. Let’s go get what sleep we can.”

* * *

The next two nights passed in relative peace and quiet, but on the third night Saff was awoken by a strange sound, one she hadn’t heard in a long time. A motorcycle.

Its engine growled as it rounded the building, fading into the background as it went past them. She’d heard cars passing on some of the distant streets before, but never so close to them. No one had come down that far in at least two years; the roads were too impassable for the large vehicles that survivors or raiders typically used. A motorcycle was completely impractical in most cases. It could only carry one or two people, barely any supplies, and was more open to attack. However it could be faster, especially for someone who was simply scouting out an area.

She sat up in the bed for a moment, the blankets clutched to her chest like she was a kid again and had just woken up from a nightmare. Maybe it was just someone who’d had to make a fast getaway on the easiest vehicle. Maybe it was someone scouting for signs of life, but not looking in their direction particularly. She hoped it was just a fluke.

But then the noise came again, this time slower as it rounded the corner. She didn’t dare open the window for fear whoever it was might see the dim fire still lit in her room. She hoped the children were as prudent or more soundly asleep than she had been. She got up slowly, checking the window to make sure it was still covered. Seeing that it was, she left her room, heading for the family room and their balcony. As she neared the glass doors, careful to keep herself concealed, she heard the engine idling beneath her. She looked out the windows, trying to see if the bike was sitting in front of their building, watching them. But the balcony railing blocked her view of the street. Slowly she opened one of the doors, making sure no light reflected off of it to alert the person below to their presence. She then crawled out onto the balcony, staying well below the railing, looking out between the gaps, glad for once that her hair was dark, her skin tanned, so that she wouldn’t attract notice with any of the ambient light outside. Finding the motorcycle sitting on the street, she saw a man on it, a gun slung across his back, a pair of binoculars raised to his face as he searched the face of the building.

“Oh, God, no,” she whispered. “Please, God, please…don’t let him see anything.”

After a few moments, he put the binoculars in the storage case on the back of his bike, revving the engine and ambling away from their building. After she was sure that he had gone, she rose and went back inside, closing the door behind her, covering the windows with the curtains she had painstakingly sewn together. She cursed herself for not putting them down before she’d gone to sleep, but luckily all of the lights in the room had been extinguished. There was no way he could’ve seen anything to make him think anyone was inside. But still, she had been careless. She couldn’t be careless.

“Mom, what was that?”

David had come into the room, staring at the balcony doors she had just covered.

“I’m not sure. Some guy on a motorcycle, scoping the place out, I think. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

“It—it can’t be Seth. He can’t have gotten out of the tunnels already. There’s no way. Unless…”

“Unless what, Davey?”

“Unless Tess told him how to get through the tunnels.”

“Hmm, that’s not a comforting thought. Guess I’ll have to ask her about it in the morning. Maybe it was just fluke, just some guy looking for signs of civilization. I don’t think he saw anything. Not even the smoke should’ve been evident given how dark it is out there. Hopefully it was nothing. Not much we can do about it in any case. Go on back to bed, Davey.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

“No. I’ll be staying up, keeping an eye out for anything else strange. I know you’re worried, too, but there’s no sense both of us staying up worrying. Try to get some sleep…for me.”

“I’ll try. Can’t promise I’ll succeed.”

“Good night, sweetheart,” Saff said, kissing David’s forehead before she pushed him back towards the door. He went reluctantly back down the hall to his own room, leaving Saff alone in the family room. She curled up in one of the old armchairs, trying to ignore the cold that permeated the room. Why wasn’t Peter back yet?

Chapter 7: Tainted Love...Rated PG13 for some bad language and beaucoup de violence

2010-11-29T13:41:00.002-06:00

Chapter Seven

Tainted Love

The atmosphere inside their home changed drastically after the confrontation between Seth and Saff. None of the kids knew exactly what had happened, but they could all tell that the two adults couldn’t much stand each other anymore. This pleased David to no end, but it seemed to spur Tess on in her relationship with Seth as such antagonism had between parents and their children’s objects of affection for ages before there were ever Ruins plaguing the earth. David encouraged the other children, Camryn especially given her closeness in age to Tess, to stick around when Tess and Seth were together, to keep them from being alone, but both of them were quite crafty at finding ways to elude their would-be chaperones.

One night long after dinner, Saff had just finished putting Cary and Teryn to bed. Neither had been particularly eager to go to sleep, but after three songs, including Teryn’s new personal favorite, they had finally drifted off. It was already later than Saff would’ve liked to have been awake, but she still went through the motions of checking the empty rooms in case something strange had happened, like a leak in the roof or window or the presence of vermin.

It was while she was walking the halls that she heard muffled voices coming from one of the empty apartments on the third floor. It was obvious Tess had forgotten about the possibility of Saff checking the floors as she or Peter normally did or she probably wouldn’t have chosen one of the rooms without all of the rudimentary soundproofing they’d added to their rooms upstairs. There was a faint light shining from beneath the door, flickering slightly. Tess had secreted a candle for their rendezvous, no doubt, and it seemed clear that no one else was with them.

“Hey, slow down,” Saff thought she heard Tess say as she approached the closed door. Saff hesitated, unsure whether or not she should interrupt and send them both to their rooms given the fight that would be likely to ensue.

“You’re playing coy now? Come on, you know you’d wanted this for a good long while. You’ve practically been begging me for it.”

She heard a slight struggle on the other side of the door. Obviously hesitating had been a bad idea.

“Hey, no! Stop it, Seth! Stop it!”

Saff kicked open the door, glad that they hadn’t had the foresight to use the old bolt when they’d taken refuge there. She was across the room before Tess had finished crying out, yanking the boy’s body away from Tess’s, her forearm forming a vise around his neck as she hauled him backwards.

Once they were clear of where Tess was lying on the pillow-strewn floor, Saff threw Seth to the ground, punching him with a ferocity she didn’t know she possessed, one that surprised both Seth, who seemed so stunned by the small woman laying into him that he didn’t move, and Tess, who watched in disbelief.

Soon Seth had recovered his senses and tried to get in a few shots of his own, but he’d barely moved before Saff’s knife was in her hand, pressing into the boy’s neck, eliciting a thin trickle of blood due to the anger that kept her normally steady hand shaking.

“Make a move, boy. Please, do me the favor.”

Seth paused, staring up into her face through one eye that was already beginning to purple and swell. Seeing the rage in her eyes quelled whatever notion he’d had of fighting back, at least physically.

“M—Mom? Mom, I—“

“—Go get David, Tess.”

“But why?”

“Because I’ll need someone to help me carry this useless arse up to the roof so we can throw him off.”

“I—I could do that.”

“You could but I’d rather you weren’t a part of that. Just go get your brother.”

“But, Mom—“

“—Go!”

Tess left the room, unable to even look at the boy lying on the floor beneath Saff’s knife.

“You’ve got a pretty mean right cross,” Seth said, trying and failing to defuse the situation.

“I’ve got a whole hell of a lot more than that ready for you, bucko. How dare you touch her?! I know you’re a useless, shit-for-brains, pissant of a wanker, but you’re not deaf. And though you’re pretty damn stupid, I know you understand the word ‘no’ given how often you’ve said it when I’ve asked you to do something lately. So, if you manage to live past tonight, which right now isn’t very likely, keep in mind that the next time you don’t listen when a woman tells you to stop raping her, you’ll probably get your bollocks cut off.”

“Come on. We both know you’re just mad that she almost got some of this instead of you.”

The hand not holding the knife wrapped around his throat, grasping tight as she lowered the knife to the crotch of his pants, pressing the tip through the material until he winced in fear.

“You just don’t know when to shut up, do you? I guess I could just take care of your bollocks right now. Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll accidentally nick your femoral artery and let you bleed out before we through you to the biters. Sound like a plan?”

He shook his head as frantically as he could given tight grip she had on his throat, a small splotch of blood appearing on his jeans from where her knife had stuck him. He whimpered, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gasped for what little air she allowed down his windpipe, trying not to flinch away from the knife pressed against him lest he get cut even deeper. She didn’t particularly care where she’d cut him. It would be a blessing if he did bleed out before they had to decide what to do with him.

“Damn! It sounded fantastic to me. You don’t know much about pleasing women, do you, boyo?”

“Mom, you needed me?”

David quickly walked to her side, a knife in each hand. He stared down at Seth with pure contempt in his eyes, his face far too grave to belong on a fourteen year old. But then he wasn’t exactly a normal fourteen year old.

“Yeah, I found some vermin while I was doing my sweep of the place. We’ll have to think up a way to dispose of him.”

“I’ve got several in mind.”

“Mom, what’re you doing?”

Tess had followed David back down and now she stood staring at the tableaux before her, taking in Saff’s precariously placed knife and the blood stain on Seth’s pants.

“What I should’ve done as soon as he got here. You got some rope, David?”

“Always,” he answered, pulling a short length of thick twine from his back pocket.

“Roll over, boy,” Saff barked at Seth, crouching over him with her knife against his throat again and she nudged him to comply. He obeyed grudgingly, rolling on his side and then his back. David dropped down, placing a knee into the middle of his back before grabbing Seth’s arms and yanking them together, tying them like he was in the roping competition of his life. Seth cried out but otherwise kept his mouth shut. Obviously he’d learned that mouthing off wasn’t going to get him very far with his captors.

“Now, will you be a good boy and walk all nice for us to the stairs, or do we need to hog-tie you?”

“I’ll…I’ll walk.”

“Good choice.”

She and David pulled Seth to his feet, both keeping a tight grip on his arms. Neither of them was gentle about it. The pulled him out into the hallway, Tess standing back from the door as they came through.

“What…what are you going to do with him?”

“No need for you to worry, Tess. Just go back upstairs with the other kids and David and I will take care of this thing.”

“No…no! I’m not one of the kids! I want to know what you’re going to do; I want to help.”

Tess stared at the wilting form of Seth, a rage in her eyes that almost matched Saff’s when she had first burst into the room and started laying into David.

“I know you want to…but you shouldn’t. I won’t let you. Now go upstairs and go to bed.”

“But Mom—“

“—I’m sorry, Tess. The answer’s no. Go upstairs.”

Tess started to argue again, but she knew the steely look on Saff’s face all too well. She moved past them, keeping away herself as far away from Seth as the hall would allow. As she passed him, he spoke again.

“Leaving without a goodbye kiss, baby?”

He tried to mutter it, but they all heard. Maybe his hearing was messed up and he thought he was quieter, or maybe he had a concussion and wasn’t away he was speaking aloud.

“You little shit,” David growled, moving to strike Seth.

“No! Wait,” Tess said, moving back towards them, standing in front of Seth. He raised his head to look at her, smiling crookedly. She smiled back at him, though her smile wasn’t one filled with any real kind of humour. Then she swung at him, clocking him against his temple hard enough to send his head cracking back against the wall behind them. Saff and David struggled with his sudden dead-weight as the blow knocked him out cold.

“Wow, Tess, I’m impressed. Of course, now we really do have to drag him around which isn’t so great.”

“Sorry, Mom. Couldn’t help myself.”

“I don’t really mind. Do you, Davey?”

“Hell no. So where are we taking him?”

“Well, down to the second floor.”

“The second floor? But I thought you wanted to throw him off the roof.”

“While that is incredibly tempting, Tess, it wouldn’t be that prudent. We’d have a flock of Ruins running around gnawing at him just when your dad might be trying to come back home. No, it’s the basement for him. We’ll dump him down the chute and hope that he breaks a leg and then gets eaten. Come on, it’ll be better if he’s not awake so he’s that much more confused.”

David took hold of Seth under his arms while Saff took his feet, slowly making their way to the stairs. Tess stayed behind, watching them, tears in her eyes. Personally, she hoped that Seth fell head first down the old garbage chute and broke his neck.

New NaNoWriMo chapter!! Chapter 6-Make 'Em Laugh

2010-11-27T11:16:00.000-06:00

I'm thinking of calling this thing "Ruins." What do y'all think? Also, this chapter is rated PG-13 for a little coarse language and violence. Thanks for reading.

Chapter Six

Make ‘Em Laugh

Though Seth had been a model citizen for the past few days, Saff had begun to feel uneasy around him. Tess had become more obvious in her attentions to him, and while he didn’t ignore her, he also seemed intent to mask his own interest in her when Saff or any of the others were around. Saff overheard them talking alone frequently, Seth asking her questions about their supplies, their defenses, the number of rooms and beds they had, the way their generators and solar panels worked. It was becoming clear that Seth was what Saff had originally feared him to be.

It was also clear that, despite his willingness to lend a hand when he’d first arrive, he had no real inclination for working. He’d often pawn off his work to the younger children who didn’t think they could say no to an adult, even if it was one they didn’t know all that well. But both Saff and David had noted his perfidy more than once and neither of them was inclined to be generous in their assessment of him.

More than once she broke in on Tess and Seth in what seemed to be intimate moments, though they appeared to only be kissing. Saff was afraid Seth would take things too far before he had gleaned enough information about them, hurting Tess irreparably with his callousness. Saff tried to warn her, but she was afraid to say too much lest Tess take what she’d said back to Seth during their next make-out. Instead she tried to make sure that she or one of the other kids stuck with Tess and Seth, preventing them from having any time to themselves. She just prayed that Peter would come back soon and relieve her of this awful stalemate she had brought upon herself.

Saff stood on the balcony, looking down at the streets below where a few Ruins stumbled around aimlessly. But she didn’t pay attention to them; instead her eyes scanned the littered streets for someone moving with more purpose and speed than they could muster when there wasn’t prey about.

She didn’t turn when Seth came through the balcony door behind her, but her shoulders tensed as the door opened.

“Nice day.”

“Not that any of us can really enjoy it. Our yard’s a bit rubbish at the moment.”

“Whoa, almighty queen of sarcasm. I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Something I was very much lacking. Thank you so much for filling the void.”

“I’ve got something to fill—“ The look she gave him stopped him dead before he could finish whatever lewd joke he was about to make. “Whatcha looking for?”

“No what…who.”

“Your husband? What was his name again? Matthew? Mark?”

It wasn’t just her shoulders that tensed this time; every bit of her did, from her jaw to her fists to her feet.

“Peter.”

“Right. Peter.”

“Is something funny?”

“Just…he’s named Peter and he’s got a hide-away with a bunch of kids? Sound familiar?”

“Does it strain your brain to come up with such rudimentary jokes instead of being actually clever? Or do you use your sad excuse for humour to hide the fact that you’re so scared you’d shit yourself if you weren’t busy being not funny?”

“God. You don’t have to be such a hard-assed bitch.”

“Well done. That was a fraction more intelligent than your Peter Pan quip. Any more clever barbs to throw my way?”

“You think you’re so smart. But this little utopia won’t last. And, if Peter actually does exist and isn’t just some figment you’ve dreamed up to make it seem like y’all aren’t such easy prey, he probably either got himself killed and ate or he abandoned all of you because he’s tired of playing house. Either way he’s not coming back. Good enough joke for you?”

She stared at back him, eyebrows raised as he ranted at her. But he might as well have been playing poker with some indefatigable world champion for all that her face gave away at his words.

“I know why you’re here. And I’m sure you’ve gathered a good bit of information about us. Of course, getting out and getting that information to your friends won’t be easy. And Peter will be back soon…and he won’t like you one bit. You won’t be able to talk your way ‘round him. I don’t know how you survived this long, but I’m gonna take a stab in the dark and say you won’t be much longer for this world once Peter’s back. So either learn to be respectful and actually pull your weight around here, or be prepared for some true ugliness in a few days.”

“You don’t scare me, you stupid b—“

She grabbed his neck with one hand, pushing him back against the balcony doors as her other hand retrieved a wickedly sharp dagger from her belt.

“Watch your mouth, boy, or I’ll give you more than a simple tongue-lashing. I’m not someone to be trifled with. Now go back inside and be a good little boy or you’ll feel more than just the chill from this knife.”

She released him, holding the knife down at her side in case he didn’t take her advice. His hands were clenched into fists, but he didn’t make a move as she backed up to the balcony railing. After a moment, he opened the door behind him and left the balcony, his glaring eyes never leaving her until he backed into the hallway.

Chapter Five NaNoWriMo

2010-11-23T14:36:00.002-06:00

Chapter Five

My Favorite Things

The thunder shook the building, waking Saff up with its violence though it thankfully didn’t wake up the alarms. She didn’t even have to look at the door to see Teryn hovering there, clutching her ragged stuffed rabbit to her chest.

“It’s just a little thunder, sweetheart. Nothing to be scared of.”

“Are you sure, Mommy?”

“I am…now come on and climb in. You know I’ll never turn down a cuddle.”

The little girl came barreling into the bed, burrowing her head into the crook of Saff’s neck as Saff drew the covers over her, tucking her in just as another crack of thunder and flash of lightning rattled the windows.

Teryn huddled against Saff, pulling the blankets over her head as she cried quietly, the tears wetting Saff’s t-shirt. Saff made small shushing noises as she stroked the girl’s red hair to soothe her.

“Why does it have to be so loud and scary?” Teryn’s muffled voice asked from beneath the blankets.

“I don’t know, sweetie. Do you want to know what my cousin always told me about thunder?”

“Yeah, what?”

“She said that thunder was caused when God was moving furniture up in Heaven and he stubbed his toe. Now what happens when you stub your toe?”

“I jump around cos it hurts.”

“Right. And that’s exactly what God does, he jumps and does that funny little dance just like you do, thus all the ruckus.”

“That’s silly. Why would God be moving furniture?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe the angels bought him a new couch for his birthday.”

“But it’s not Christmas yet.”

Saff couldn’t contain her laughter as the little girl stuck her head out from under the blankets, looking at Saff like she was the daftest person in the world.

“Aren’t you a clever girl? But Christmas is Jesus’s birthday, not God’s. Maybe God’s birthday is right now, or maybe they missed his birthday last month and had to make up for it now.”

“Or maybe God has lots of birthdays because it seems like he moves furniture way too much.”

“Maybe that’s it.”

Thunder took to rattling the windows again, sending Teryn under the covers though this time she didn’t start crying. Saff pulled the covers over her own head, joining Teryn in her cocoon of safety.

“Could you tell God to stop, Mommy?”

“I’ll try, but he might be a bit busy with his toe.”

After giving up a giggle, Teryn turned serious again.

“Could you tell him also…to make the world better again? Like it was when you were little.”

“Oh, I do. Every day.”

“Why is everything so bad? Why would he let things be bad, let those monsters hurt people?”

“It’s not so much that he lets it happen, Teryn. It’s…it’s more that we made our bed and now we have to lie in it. We defied God a long time ago and we messed up the world he gave us, messed it up really bad.”

“But why did he let us mess things up?”

“Love. He’s all about love. He loves us and wants us to love him back, but love that’s forced, love that come without choice isn’t love at all. So when we chose to mess things up, he couldn’t just stop us without taking away our ability to really love him.”

“So he let us mess everything up because he loves us? That sounds as silly as him moving furniture.”

“Maybe. But think of it this way: Remember when you, Cary, and Tess all helped me make bread last? Remember the absolute mess you and Cary made?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking sheepish.

“Did I get mad at you?”

“A little. But then you laughed and said we’d have to sweep up all the flour when we were done. Then you put flour in my hair!”

“Yes, I did. See, that’s kinda how God is with us: like a mum or dad who, when you’ve done something wrong, gets mad at you, but still loves you despite what you did and forgives you for it because of how much they love you.”

“And then makes you clean up?”

“Yes. Until we can figure out how to clean up the mess we’ve made of the world, things will stay as they are…or, God forbid, get worse if we don’t learn from our mistakes.”

“So…you’re kinda like God then?”

“Oh, only on my very best days and even then only a smidgen. A very little smidgen at that.”

“How do we clean up the mess outside, Mommy?”

“I’m not sure if we can. Sometimes things are so bad and so wrong that we don’t have the ability to fix them. We just have to try and not make it worse. And keep loving and trusting God until he makes it better or takes us somewhere better.”

“Somewhere better?”

“Yes. Heaven. You know about Heaven.”

“Yep, Tess told me in our classes. Said it was all nice and sunny and peaceful there. But…will there be monsters there, too?”

“No. No monsters. No tears, no grief, no fear, no anger. And hopefully no thunderstorms.”

“That would be good. Why can’t we just go there now?”

Saff was quiet for a moment, weighing her words before she answered.

“Well, God put us here for a reason. We’re supposed to learn how to love him and follow him and love each other. If we manage to learn all that despite how bad it is down here…well, then we’ll have really learned something worthwhile. We’ll really love him.”

There was a flash that lit the dim room like daylight, causing Teryn to huddle against Saff, waiting for the thunder. But it didn’t come.

“Look, no thunder. I bet the storm’s almost over. I just had an idea. I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it before. Wanna hear a song?”

“Really? One just for me?”

“Well, I might share it with the others at some point, but even then it’ll be our song. Maybe you’ll even sing it with me when we do share it with everyone else. You ready?”

“Yes.”

“All right.

“‘Raindrops on roses…

And whiskers on kittens

Bright copper kettles

And warm woolen mittens

Brown paper packages tied up with string

These are a few of my favorite things

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes

Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes

Silver-white winters that melt into spring

These are a few of my favorite things

When the dog bites

When the bee stings

When I’m feeling sad

I simply remember my favorite things

And then I don’t feel so bad.’”

Teryn had nestled her head against Saff’s chest like she was trying to listen to the ocean through a seashell. She was snoring lightly, the song having put her to sleep as Saff had hoped. Saff smiled and kissed the top of Teryn’s head, removing the blanket from over both of their heads, tucking it beneath Teryn’s chin.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

“Raindrops on roses…” Teryn murmured as she nestled deeper into the blankets, hugging Saff’s body with her thin arm. Saff smiled and tried to go to sleep, too, but the absence of another pair of strong arms encircling them both kept her from sleep. The emptiness of the other half of the bed was like a living presence, daunting despite the fact that she wasn’t alone. She wished Peter were there; wished it so bad she thought she could make him appear through sheer force of will. But there was no magic left in the world for wishes to be made true, no magic left in her either.

Chapter Four NaNoWriMo

2010-11-23T14:36:00.000-06:00

Chapter Four

Night and Day

The next few days passed without any real incident. Seth still chafed about being locked up every night, but he didn’t complain overmuch and was willing to work during the time he was free. Saff began to give him more freedom, allowing him to work with the other kids, to spend time with them without her hovering over them. However, while Saff gave him a certain amount of freedom, David was always watching him. Though it worried Saff that David was taking on more trouble and responsibility than he should be, she was also grateful that she wasn’t the only one keeping a wary eye on their new tenant. Though Seth seemed to be fitting in well, she had caught him a few times slacking off in the tasks he’d been assigned when he didn’t think anyone was watching. And she’d also noticed that he used Tess’s crush on him to his advantage, asking her questions about how all of the children had come to join their little family, questions about where they got their supplies, and several questions about Peter and his absence. He seemed to return to the subject of Peter every once in a while with all of the kids, asking what Peter looked like, when he’d left, when he was supposed to be back. It seemed obvious that he was trying to trip them up, see if Peter was an actual person who would be coming back soon and might not take to this newcomer as the others had. Saff hoped she was wrong about Seth, but she was almost positive that she wasn’t.

Still he didn’t cause trouble for them and that was all she cared about for the moment. They had too much to do with winter on its way and Peter still gone. He should’ve been back with the last of their winter supplies days ago. She could tell the kids were getting worried about him as well, wondering why he was gone so long this time. She tried to keep them entertained with special treats: games she had recreated from memory from when she was a child, an apple pie with a few choice apples she sacrificed in the name of their enjoyment, even a few songs that she half-made up when she couldn’t remember the actual lyrics to them. Seth seemed to take the most delight from their nightly entertainments.

“So every night you sing for the kids after supper?”

“Not every night. But a good portion of them. Most of them are too young to remember TV and radio, but they can still get bored. Books help, as does encouraging them to make up their own stories. But sometimes they just want to sit back and watch someone else do all the work. So we sing for them, or we tell stories from books we read but don’t have here or movies or TV shows or plays. But they love the songs the best.”

“Those songs you did tonight…I’ve never heard those before.”

“Well they were a good bit before your time. A good bit before my time even. They were by a man named Cole Porter. He was a brilliant writer, wrote some of the best music and shows ever. I like his music because most of it’s fun and happy and upbeat, even when it’s a bit melancholy. And he was really clever.”

“If he was before your time, how do you know his songs?”

“Remember how I said my mum fancied herself an actress? She really wanted to be in musicals. She used to play them for us all the time, practicing the songs with her piano, teaching me to play so I could accompany her, auditioning for community theatre shows. I watched and listened to more 1930s, 40s, and 50s musicals than most film and theatre students. Luckily my dad introduced me to other genres of music or my entertainment capabilities would be very limited. The kids can only take so much Rodgers and Hammerstein before they mutiny. Can you sing, Seth?”

“I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

“Too bad. It’s always nice to have someone else to share the burden with. Peter’s got a lovely voice, sort of Gene Kelly-esque. But he’s a bit shy and doesn’t really like singing even if it makes the kids happy. I try to placate him by learning songs he likes, country and old rock and roll. Still it’s like pulling teeth to get him to sing.”

“No one’s perfect.”

“No…but sometimes they’re pretty close. Now how ‘bout you try rewashing that pan so it actually gets clean? I know we don’t use a lot of cookware and most of it’s old and a bit decrepit, but it’s still better to cook on if it’s clean.”

Seth reluctantly went back to scrubbing the pan, pursing his lips slightly, though Saff couldn’t tell if it was from concentration on his task or contempt at her order.

There was a flash outside, startling both of them. Seth dropped the pan, sending it clattering down into the porcelain sink; Saff kept hold of the plate she was drying, raising her eyebrows at Seth’s skittishness.

“It’s just a bit of lightning, luv. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of storms.”

“No! Just…wasn’t expecting that.”

“Good. I’ve already got one kid afraid of thunder and lightning that’ll be crawling into bed with me later if the storm passes overhead. I certainly don’t need another.”

“You sure about that?”

She put the plate down, staring at him until he looked over at her.

“Is that you trying to be funny again? I thought I’d already made myself clear: I love my husband…and I only see you as another mouth to feed and be annoyed with when it takes to talking out of turn. Think you could see to that?”

“What, the eating of talking out of turn?”

“Preferably both. That’s about as good a clean as your useless hands are gonna get it. Put the pan down and head off back to your room. I’m sure David will be waiting out in the hall for you.”

“Still locking me up then?”

“Just until you learn to mind your manners. Well, actually it’ll probably be for the duration of your stay seeing as how your room’s connected to David’s and he sure hasn’t taken a shine to you. I doubt he’ll be comfortable with the idea of you having free rein around this place while everyone sleeps. So scamper off before he comes to fetch you.”

“You think I’m afraid of some munchkin?”

“You should be. David’s a better fighter than I am. He may not be as big as you, but he’s good deal scrappier. He’s like a terrier: once he gets his teeth dug in, he won’t let go ‘till the thing he’s got hold of is good and dead. In the end that’d win him the fight. So unless you’re better than I’m guessing you are and you get the drop on him, if it came down to it, he’d kill you. And he wouldn’t hesitate like I would. Just a fair warning. Have a good night.”

Seth had no more not-so-witty rejoinders for Saff. In fact, he now looked a bit scared as he opened the door, especially when he saw David waiting for him outside, casually leaning against the wall as he performed deft little tricks with his favorite knife. He smiled at Seth, an unpleasant smile that had Seth gulping and looking back at Saff as if for help. She laughed quietly, picking up the pan he had so readily abandoned in the sink, scouring it with her homemade salt scrub until all the bits he had missed were gone. When next she looked up, her door was empty, the dim hall outside desolate as all the other buildings inhabitants had all gone to bed already, happy to be hunkered down together before the impending storm. Saff sighed, wishing she had someone to hunker down with as well. Of course, if the storm didn’t pass them by, she’d surely have at least one visitor in her bed during its visit.

Chapter 3 cont. NaNoWriMo

2010-11-23T14:19:00.001-06:00

“All right, enough chattering at the poor blighter!” Saff called out, moving into the teeming mass of children who now crowded around Seth. “We all have work to do, remember? Scarper off to it now.”

“Can Seth come with me, Mom? I can show him where we keep the extra supplies, get him to help me carry up the blankets for when it starts getting cold.”

“Sorry, Tess, no. Seth’ll stick with me for now. He can help me tend the gardens and start winterizing the plants.”

“I could help with that, too. I can always get the blankets later. I—“

“—Tess! No, I said. Go to your work now.”

Tess reluctantly left the room to take care of her own chores, following the stream of children who had already exited. David was the last to leave, giving Seth a hard look as if to warn him off any mischief while he wandered free with Saff.

“Come on, country boy. We’re going up to the roof. You’ll get a glimpse of the whole city from up there…well a good bit of it, at least. Mostly you’ll get to see our pride and joy, though. Follow me.”

It made her itchy to have Seth behind her as they headed down the hall and up the stairs. She couldn’t decide if she’d be more relieved if he tried something and gave her the excuse she had been waiting for to throw him out or if he played nice and minded his manners.

They reached the door to the roof and were nearly blinded by the bright early morning sunlight. After Seth’s eyes had adjusted, he noticed that Saff had made her way over to the middle of the roof where a large plot of earth was filled with every manner of growing things he could possibly imagine: one apple tree ripe with fruit, tomato vines, lettuce, a small section of corn, another of what he guessed was wheat, and several other plants he couldn’t name.

“How on earth did you grow all this stuff?”

“I told you: my gram was quite the gardener. I used to spend every summer with her, helping her plant and harvest. She had the cutest little orchard behind her house, just five or six trees but…they were the best apples I ever had. She even had a goat for milk.”

“Was she a hippie or something?”

“Hmph, no she just hated her grocer. Said he always charged too much. She grew up on a farm so she knew how to do everything, but after she married my grandpa and the moved to a little village, she really only grew a few things. But when this new grocer got into business, she vowed she’d never shop there again. And she didn’t. It was funny. Dad was always sending her detergent and other things when she couldn’t make it to the next town over for things she couldn’t grow or milk.”

“Where’d she get meat? Or did she keep other goats for that?”

“Haha! No, she went to the butchers. It was separate from the grocer and run by a friend of hers so he always gave her a good deal. Her goat was only for milking. Come on, you can pick the apples while I tend to the other plants.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve been here four years. That’s just…remarkable.”

“Not really. Peter was in the army back in the day. He knows quite a bit about survival and making a place safe when it isn’t.”

“Then there’s you with the extremely green thumb. But what do you do in the winter when nothing’ll grow?”

“We can and preserve what we’re able. Hopefully Peter will also bring back some supplies that’ll help see us through till spring.”

“What do you do for meat?”

“Celebrate like crazy before we tear into it. There’ve been a few times where Peter was able to trap some animals on his runs, but it doesn’t happen often. Sometimes I manage to catch a few birds and that’s well and good. Once, Peter got a deer right before he came back. It was wonderful…pure bliss. We made jerky out of what we didn’t eat the first night and enjoyed that for months. If we’re lucky, Peter will have found a grocery store or convenience store with packaged jerky still intact, maybe even some Spam. It’s funny. When I was a kid I hated Spam, turned my nose up at it. Now if we can get it my mouth waters for just a tiny piece. It’s hard to find that kind of stuff around though, but it doesn’t hurt to hope. Otherwise we’ll just have to make do with bread and whatever preserves we can spare. The food situation can sometimes get a bit monotonous but…what can you do? Well, that about does it for harvesting. Now to the fun part.”

“Winterizing?”

“Good, you were paying attention. Run over to the corner and get me those shears and bags and we’ll get started.”

After they had finished, Saff and Seth straightened with a variety of grunts and groans as they tried to work out the kinks in their backs from bending over the plants for so long. Saff led Seth back to the stairs, again feeling a little wary at going down before him, but she needn’t have worried. Seth behaved himself just as he had before. Of course, that didn’t erase her worries altogether; he could just have been a very excellent actor.

NaNoWriMo...Chapter 3!!! (technically it's Chapter 2 but I broke up the very long Chapter 1)

2010-11-18T16:55:00.002-06:00

“Oh come on. You can do better than that, especially after I saved some very nice vittles for you. It wasn’t easy given how those kids love their fruit. Give us the real story.”
“Um…well, I was about seven or so when things started going…well…”

“Tits up? That’s what I always say. It adds a little humor to something not at all funny. Go on.”

“My…mom had already died the year before. Cancer. It was just me and my dad. But he was dating again, seeing this woman named…Marjorie, I think. She seemed nice but…she got infected. When my dad realized what was going on, he took me and we left, heading for my grandparents place in Colorado. They had a cabin up in the hills, pretty remote. Dad figured we’d be safe. And we were…for a while. When I was eleven, during the summer three of those things wandered up. Dad killed them, but one of them got him anyway. He—he killed himself to keep from hurting me. I was on my own then. I made my way to a nearby town and found a group of people who took me in. They were nice…if a bit fanatical, always going on about how the Ruins were our punishment for all the bad we’d done, all the times we’d broken God’s laws, all the evil we’d allowed to exist in the world with us. But what had I done? I was a kid. The worst I’d done was steal some candy from a store, which my mom then made me return and apologize for. How was that bad enough to warrant monsters wandering into my home and killing my dad? I really only stayed with them because it was safe. I knew I couldn’t make it on my own.

“They got brought down by a group of raiders when I was thirteen. The raiders took me with them, offered me a place as long as I worked hard and didn’t cause trouble. They were…pretty terrible for the most part, but what could I do? I was just a kid. One of the older guys kept me away from the worst of it, but I still saw a lot of horrible things. When Frank died (the guy who looked out for me), I left. Ran off with some food and clothes. I must’ve been…sixteen then. I kept on the move. Stopped off with some other groups who didn’t seem too bad, avoided the other ones. I finally hooked up with a group that had a really good set-up: nice house out in the country, crops and animals. They were nice people, too. I think that was somewhere in…Kansas. I spent almost four years there. Even…found a girl.”

“What went wrong?” she asked when he didn’t continue.

“What else? Ruins. One person got infected and before long it was spreading like wildfire. My girl, she…she turned. After that I ran again. That was…about five months ago. I made my way here, looking for something…anything.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm? That’s all you have to say after I spilled out my life story? Just…hmm?”

“I’m trying to decide if you’re telling the truth, or you’re just a really good liar.”

“All of that…you think I’m lying.”

“Every good liar knows that to make a lie convincing you put just enough of the truth in it to make it believable. But…if any of that was a lie, then you would’ve made a killing at high stakes poker tables cos I can’t find a tell at all.”

“So…what does that mean?”

“It means that you can come out of captivity…for a bit. To ensure that you don’t have to be locked up day in-day out, you’ll have to be a good little boy. That means doing what I tell you, when I tell you, without arguing, following our rules, and not doing anything to endanger us. If you have a problem with any of that, speak now, and we’ll come to some other…arrangement.”

“Like…like what? Bullet-to-my-brain kind of arrangement?”

“Nothing so crass as that. But there could be similar results if you choose not to cooperate with us. So…what’s your decision?”

“I’m willing to play ball.”

“Good! Would you like to meet everyone? I know you sort of saw them all last night, but you might not remember them all that clearly given everything that had happened.”

“That would be great. Can I ask you something first?”

“Sure…as long as it’s not offensive.”

“It’s—it’s not. At least I don’t think it is. I just wondered…um, your accent.”

“Oh! You wanna know where I’m from since it’s obviously not from here abouts.”

“Yeah. I uh…I also knew a guy, in one of the groups that I traveled with who talked a little bit like you. It was more worn down but…still.”

“What did he look like?”

“Who?”

“This guy who talked like me. What’d he look like?”

“I don’t remember. Dark hair. Don’t remember much else. I didn’t stay with that group long. They weren’t very…nice guys. But you never said where you’re from.”

“Oh, right. I’m English. I grew up near Gloucester until I was about nine when my mom decided she needed to become an actress and moved us all to London. When she didn’t get her big break there, her agent got her a commercial job in New York so we moved again. I was twelve when we came over.”

“And then…”

“Yeah, and then… My dad was a nurse at home, but there were all these tests and certifications he had to get to work here, so he worked as an orderly at a hospital in Queens.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, that’s how my world fell apart. But apparently it was some kind of blessing that we were here instead of England. Before all the news sources went down, the last reports were of how widespread the infection was in England. Makes sense: tiny island, cut off all exit routes to prevent the spread of infection and it runs rampart over the whole place. Big countries like this were much safer in the long run. Of course, Russia and Canada did the best given the cold; harder for the biters to get out and move around when it’s freezing. Of course, they didn’t have the best survival rate given how hard it is to grow food in frozen ground. Ha, I’m rambling, aren’t I? Sorry, just…the past tends to send my head spinning if I let it. Come on, let’s introduce you to the kids.”

***

The children all stood in a somewhat orderly line in the large apartment they all used as a common living area, staring at Seth warily just as he stared at them. Saff stood between the two groups, Tess close to her side. She was the only one who looked at Seth with anything other than distrust; she stared at him like he was her first Rembrandt, her first van Gogh, her first da Vinci. David, who stood last in the line of children, did not share Tess’s wonder or the other childrens’ fear: there was almost open hostility in his eyes, as if he dared the newcomer to try something, anything and finally reveal himself as the villain David believed him to be. Tess didn’t like David’s watchfulness; it made her feel as if she had been too quick to believe Seth, too quick to open their home to this stranger.

“Well…here we all are. You already know that I’m Saff and this is Tess. You also know David, and you might remember Josiah,” she said pointed at the blonde boy who stood eagerly at David’s side, clearly wanting to be considered as not just one of the many children that stood next to him. “Next we have Camryn, then Andy and Sully, and last we have Cary and Teryn.”

“No, last we have Dad,” Cary called out.

“Of course, Cary. But Dad’s gone right now, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“Well, don’t stand on ceremony everyone. Sit yourselves down and we’ll all get to know each other.”

Tess was quick to begin asking Seth questions, though Camryn wasn’t far behind. Though she was only twelve, she looked up to Tess in almost every way, emulating her from the way she had Saff cut her hair to the way she sat. The youngest girls, though normally the most talkative, were quiet and shy around the stranger. Josiah, like Camryn, modeled his idol David (who was himself a model of Peter) and stood quietly next to the older boy, his arms crossed over his chest in what he probably imagined was an intimidating stance but was almost comical instead. Andy and Sully were as quiet as the little girls at first, though they were enlivened into their own line of questioning when Seth mentioned all of the traveling he had done in the past thirteen years.

David nonchalantly wandered over to where Saff stood, watching her brood as they laughed and relaxed a bit despite the strange circumstances. He kept his eyes on Seth the whole time, his effort to appear unconcerned thwarted by his tense shoulders and mouth.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Mom?”

“No, but what other choice do I have? We can’t keep him locked up day and night.”

“Sure we can.”

“David, that would be cruel.”

“Not if we fed him every once in a while.”

“Shush, you,” she said playfully, laughing despite her own misgivings. “We’ll just have to keep a very close eye on him. If he does anything untoward, anything suspicious, back into lockup he goes.”

“What if he does something really bad, like too bad for just being locked up?”

“Then…we’ll deal with that when we get there. Either we’ll dump him downstairs or…”

“Or we’ll kill him.”

“Only if absolutely necessary. Just keep an eye out for me. You usually see more than I do.”

“Not that often.”

“Often enough to make me feel bad at my job.”

“Being our mom isn’t a job. It’s a privilege.”

“Hardee-har-har. Maybe being your mom isn’t a job, but keeping you alive sure as hell is…sometimes.”

She hugged David to her, trying to shake him from being tense. He smiled tightly, but it was clear that he wouldn’t relax until Seth was back in his room, safely behind a strong deadbolt.

NaNoWriMo Chapter 2 continued

2010-11-17T12:28:00.002-06:00

“I figured you’d want to talk to everybody before I brought the new guy along to officially meet and greet.”

“Good call, Davey. We can all have breakfast and then I’ll take Seth some from what’s left.”

“I’ll take it to him!” said Tess, pulling Camryn’s hair in her eagerness to offer her help.

“Nice try, but no, you won’t. I need to have a good long chat with our new friend before I let him near any of you. Now eat up.”

Saff placed a tray of bread and fruit on the table in front of them, sitting down as the kids reached for the food in front of them, eagerly grabbing handfuls of the choicest fruit first.

“Hey! Forget something?” David said from the head of the table.

“But…Dad’s not here to say it.”

“That doesn’t mean we don’t. He wouldn’t want that. Come on. Food down, hands joined, heads down.”

Saff smiled as the other children put their food down and took each other’s hands, bowing their heads as David had ordered. David began to pray, thanking God for their food and safety, for each other.

“And please guide our decision with regards to Seth. Help Mom know if he means us harm or if he just needs our help. Protect us from all of our enemies, even the ones we don’t know about. Amen.”

Saff nodded at David as the others slowly raised their heads.

“All right, kiddies. Dig in!”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

***

Only a short while and several raucous arguments later over who truly deserved the last strawberry, Saff headed down to David’s room to give Seth his breakfast. Tess had tried to tag along but Saff was quick to quell her minor rebellion before it grew into something more problematic. It was hard to remember and sympathize with how she had felt and acted at seventeen, but then that had also been just after she and Peter had run off together, so she hadn’t had as much free time to pay any mind to her raging hormones or teenage sullenness given that they had to constantly look out for Ruins or Raiders while they travelled.

She set the tray down next to the door, unsheathing a knife before she carefully released the lock and opened the door. On the other side, she found Seth sitting on the twin mattress, his hair wild and unruly but his eyes wide awake. He’d obviously heard David get up and leave the outer room and had taken to waiting far too patiently for his own brief release.

“Breakfast or bathroom?”

“I’m sorry?” he answered, confusion crossing his face as he stared from her face to her knife.

“Would you like to eat first or use the bathroom first? Which one’s more pressing for you?”

“Um…bathroom.”

“All right, come with me. The bathroom’s out here.”

Seth slowly walked past her as she stood just outside the door, trying not to look at the knife in her hand. She took that as a good sign: either he was plenty afraid of her and what she might do if he acted up, or he wasn’t brave enough to try and wrestle it away from her. Either option was fine with her.

She pointed him across the room to the open door of the bathroom. He gratefully headed for it, emerging a few moments later looking much more comfortable. She gestured for him to sit in Peter’s room, rather than the one he had slept in, setting the tray down in front of him after he did. He seemed surprised that she hadn’t trundled him right back into his room, but she had no desire to sit and talk to him in such a small space. And maybe he would take it as a gesture of kindness and generosity, which might incline him to play ball with them if he had been sent by some Raider group as a spy.

He sat for a moment, staring down at the food but not touching it.

“If you’re waiting for it to get up and walk to you, you’ll be a long while. I make good bread, not magical bread.”

“I’m just…I can’t believe you have apples,” he said, picking up a piece in abject wonder.

“I keep a garden on the roof. Supplies are getting in much shorter supply so we have to go back to growing things ourselves. Thank goodness my grandma taught me gardening when I was young, or we’d probably all have starved to death years ago.”

“Years? How long have you been here?”

“Four years come next month…at least I think it’ll be next month. We started making our own calendar, but sometimes we forget how they’re supposed to work or when we should have a leap year, so it gets a bit bungled. What’s your story, Seth?”

“Don’t have much of one. I just keep on the move, finding places that are safe, food when I can, that sort of thing. Just surviving.”

“Oh come on. You can do better than that, especially after I saved some very nice vittles for you. Give us the real story.”

NaNoWriMo Chapter 2

2010-11-16T20:56:00.002-06:00

Chapter Two

When the sunlight streaming through the window hit Saff’s face, she groaned before turning over to avoid its call for her to rise and shine. But as she turned, throwing one arm across the bed, she was met with an empty mattress and the brief, lingering fragrance of Peter, reminding her of just how long it had been since he’d last slept beside her. She groaned again, though this time it had a different cadence and tone: no longer full of sleepiness and annoyance, it now held sadness and a touch of fear. What if her bed remained empty? What if, this time, Peter didn’t come back?

She shook off her bad feelings along with the covers, standing and stretching to further dispel her foreboding thoughts. Peter would come back; he always came back. Saff got up, heading for the kitchen. Soon the kids would be awake and famished as they always were. She’d have to decide what they could spare until Peter came back with more supplies.

Tess was the first to come tromping in, slumping down in one of the dining chairs as she watched Saff prepare breakfast. She was soon followed by Cary and Teryn, two girls who were never far apart from each other when they could help it. Cary’s dark brown mass of curly hair looked like a mad bird’s nest while Teryn’s soft, fine straight red hair fell flatly against her head and back, in dire need of a trim. Next came Josiah, Andy, and Sully, all blearily swiping at their eyes, Andy and Sully oblivious to the wild state their almost identical brown hair was in currently. Camryn trundled in, her eyes half-closed as she sat on the floor next to Tess’s chair, resting her head against Tess’s leg so she would braid her thick blonde hair, which Tess took to automatically. Last came David, his close-cropped black hair standing in stark contrast to his pale face as he took up Peter’s usual seat at the table. Josiah started to say something about David’s seating choice, but one look from David kept his thoughts to himself. Saff pretended not to notice. Though it pained her to see his chair taken, it was better that they not leave the chair empty as if honoring the memory of the dead. It was better that the other kids thought only that David was just filling in Peter’s spot for a little while until Peter came back.

NaNoWriMo end of Chapter 1! (gosh what a long chapter)

2010-11-16T19:08:00.000-06:00

Saff headed over to the kitchen, taking out a loaf of bread and cutting away a few slices. She took the slices over to the banked fire in the fireplace, stoking it back to life before skewering the bread onto nearby sticks and placing them over the flames. What seemed like hours but was actually only moments later, the bathroom door opened and Seth padded out into the living room, making his way over to the kneeling figure of Saff as she extracted the slices, nudging them onto a waiting towel and then blowing on her now warm fingers to cool them.

“Here you go. House specialty. Bon appétit.”

“Thanks. Um…sorry about before, what I said. It’s just…some people expect payment when they save your life…”

“And you thought I’d want a bit of a tumble in exchange for clothes and some toast? Or do you just offer whenever anyone saves your life?”

“No! No, I just…I’ve had to run with some not very nice people and it’s always good to try and gauge what kind of people I’m dealing with before I get in too deep. I was just…testing the waters, so to speak.”

“More like jumping in head first, but tomato, tomahto. You done?”

He had almost inhaled the three pieces of toast she’d made for him, licking his fingers for the crumbs.

“Yeah, it’s been so long since I’ve had real bread. That was really good.”

“Thanks, I make it myself. Can’t exactly pop over to the market anymore. Well, it’s time for all of us to get some sleep, including you. Follow me.”

Seth seemed reluctant to leave the coziness of her fire, but he followed Saff without too much delay, aware of how short her temper could be. They headed out into the hall to a room where the oldest boy, David, stood waiting for them. He allowed Saff and Seth to go into his room first, following close behind Seth, the knife he’d held before gleaming in its impromptu sheath against his waist. Saff led them through David’s room and into the next room over, ushering Seth inside. He was met with a twin mattress and a blanket laid out in one corner of the small bedroom. The only other feature in the room was a medium-sized bucket with a piece of cardboard over the top against the other wall, near a covered window.

“This is where you’ll be staying. Enjoy your rest. If you need something, you can knock and call out to David. If it’s important, he’ll see to you.”

“If it’s not?”

“Then you’ll have to wait till morning, won’t you? Your loo is over there,” she said, pointing to the bucket.

“Loo?”

“Toilet in American. I would advise only using it if absolutely necessary. And, if you have a number two, you might wanna try holding it ‘till morning, else you’ll be stuck with the stink of it all night. Any questions?”

He stared around the room as if weighing his options. Finally, he decided that there was only one.

“I guess not. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“G’night then. Oh, and don’t try to look out the window. We don’t want to alert anyone or anything to our presence. Besides the view is rubbish from this side of the building. Sweet dreams.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Saff pulled the door shut, engaging the lock that David had recently switched to his side of the door.

“What would I do without you, kid?” she said as she put an arm around his thin frame. David’s head came up to just above her shoulder, but instead of laying his head on her shoulder as he used to only a short while ago, he merely bumped his head against hers before answering.

“Take care of everything yourself?”

“Smart ass.”

“Why’d you let that guy in, Mom?”

“Well, he would’ve gotten killed otherwise. You know what a sucker I am for hopeless causes. Maybe he won’t turn out to be so bad.”

David just looked at her; it was clear he didn’t share her optimism about their new guest.

“All right. Maybe in the morning we’ll dump him back outside and send him on his way.”

“So he can bring back his friends?”

“Okay, maybe not. Maybe we’ll send him down into the basement and wish him luck.”

“You’d never do that; it’d be like killing him in your opinion.”

“It’s weird how well you know me.”

“Not that weird considering. We’ll just have to keep him here for now, watch him, make sure he doesn’t cause any trouble. Until Dad gets back. Then he’ll deal with him.”

“You’re a brilliant boy, Davey. Get some sleep. If he gives you any trouble…”

“I’ll go in and knock him senseless. Don’t worry, Mom. Go see to the kids. They’ll want you to sing to them before they go back to sleep.”

“Of course they will. It’s gonna be an early morning tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Mom.”

David kissed her on the cheek as she stood just outside his door, smiling before he shut it. Saff headed down the hall to the other kids’ rooms, smiling as well. A smile that was as bittersweet and worried as David’s had been. Peter should’ve been back already. Hopefully he’d be back soon and the weight of a stranger being dumped into their midst wouldn’t be theirs to carry for long.
Chapter Two (coming soon)

NaNoWriMo...again

2010-11-10T17:51:00.000-06:00

We’ll have to find a place for you, preferably a room with a lock on the outside only.”

“That doesn’t sound very safe.”

“It sounds perfectly safe for the rest of us, at least until we get to know you. Tess, lead the way. I’ll be bringing up the rear behind our new friend.”

“The stairs are this way. I’m Tess by the way.”

“Yeah, I heard. I’m Seth.”

“Seth, what a nice, trustworthy name.”

“Names aren’t what make a person trustworthy. Now stop dawdling. The kids are probably freaking out after Mr. Trustworthy’s antics.”

“Kids? How many of you are there?”

“Ten altogether. There’s me, and Saff and Peter, and then David and Cary and—“

“—And we can save the introductions for later, Tess. Less talking, more walking.”

Tess reluctantly turned around and trudged up the stairs, glancing over her shoulder at the newcomer every chance she got. More often than not she also caught Saff glaring up at her from behind Seth, urging her to go faster. Tess complied, albeit reluctantly and with a certain small wiggle in her hips that Saff didn’t like the look of, even though the young man didn’t seem to notice that it was all for his benefit. When they reached the fourth floor, Tess pushed open the door, nearly hitting the boy waiting just outside the stairwell.

“Josiah! How many times have I told you not to hover by the door? If you get knocked out from someone running through, we’re going to bloody leave you behind.”

She pulled the boy to her, ruffling his hay-coloured hair before she knocked against his head for effect. The man stood back watching this exchange as the boy sheepishly looked up at Saff.

“Sorry, Mom. Everybody wanted to know if everything was all right and David sent me to wait for y’all.”

“Sure, and you didn’t volunteer at all. Now run back and tell David the coast is clear, but we’ll be running on candles for the rest of the night. And you should work on getting the littlest ones back into their rooms. Tell them I’ll be along in a bit to tuck them in. First I need to get our new guest settled in.”

Josiah stared up at the new man, his mouth agape as he noticed that there was a stranger in front of him.

“Joss…go on now.”

The boy moved slowly back down the hallway where other heads were currently poking out of doors, trying to make sense of the odd number of people exiting the stairwell. One of the younger boys called out, “Daddy!” but was quickly shushed by Josiah as he headed down the hall to the oldest boy, who stood brazenly outside of his room, a knife held casually in one hand. After a hurried conversation, the younger boy began herding the other children back into their rooms while the older boy came down the hallway towards Saff, Tess, and Seth.

“Everything all right, Mom?”

“Other than a bit of unwanted action, everything’s fine. Your room has the connecting door doesn’t it, Davey?”

“The one that locks? Yeah.”

Though David was only 14, he was sharper than the other children; he’d been out on his own for a while before Saff and Peter had found him four years ago. David was also the most skilled of all the children, even more so than Tess who, though she knew how to shoot a gun, couldn’t claim to be a good shot and was absolutely rubbish in hand-to-hand fighting. David was also something of a wiz with technology; while Peter was good with almost anything mechanical, David was the one who’d figured out how to set up the cameras and monitors and how to reroute the door buzzer from the old security guard’s room down on the first floor to an apartment up on the second. David was also the most like the Peter: shrewd and careful, even calculating at times, not like a kid at all.

“Good, we’ll put Seth in that room. I’ll need you to go and take the doorknobs off his side first while I help him get cleaned up.”

“Whoa, you really are going lock me up in a room?”

“What would you do if the situation was reversed? Allow a stranger free rein of your home alongside your children? Sorry. Until we know you can be trusted, you’ll have to be on lockdown. But hey! Look on the bright side: you could still be outside being munched on by Ruins. Follow me. You look like you could use some new clothes.”

Tess followed Saff and Seth to Saff and Peter’s room, but after ushering Seth inside, Saff threw one arm across the door, blocking Tess from entering.

“But Saff, I—“

“—No more ‘buts’ today, Tess. You’ve used up your quota already; I’m certainly not going to let you use one more for watching a grown man change. Besides I need you to go and see to the little ones. I’m sure it’ll be awhile before we can get them back to sleep.”

“Why do I always have to look after the babies? Don’t you think that’s just a little bit gender biased?”

“What on earth have you been reading now, Simone de Beauvoir? And no, it’s not gender biased as I asked Josiah to go and do the same thing just a few minutes ago. I’m really just telling you to do it because I need you out of my hair. If you don’t want to be helpful than, by all means, go back to your room and sulk. Either way you’re not coming in here.”

Tess looked ready to argue some more, but Saff shut the door in her face, locking it to more thoroughly prove her point. She then turned to the warily waiting Seth.

“Bathroom’s through there,” she pointed towards the half-opened door on the other side of the room. I’ll get you some of Peter’s old things to wear.”

He went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. She went into the bedroom, retrieving an old pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt that Peter hadn’t worn in a while and wouldn’t miss too badly when he got back. She returned to the bathroom door, knocking on it a couple of times before calling out.

“Here’s the clothes. You want something to eat or drink. We don’t have anything fancy, but I might be able to scrounge up some toast and jam.”

“Got any beer?” he called back before opening the door and retrieving the clothes from her hands, revealing a well-defined chest and stomach. He held the door open as if inviting her to take in the view.

“As I never learned the secrets of brewing, no. But we do have water and juice. You planning to get dressed or just stand there half-naked?”

“Well, I thought…lonely woman with a bunch of kids…maybe it’d been a while since you’ve seen a good-looking young man in the flesh.”

“It’s hardly to be lonely when you’re surrounded by kids and a husband who adores you.”

“Right, you keep mentioning a husband…but I haven’t seen anything to indicate he’s here.”

“That’s because he’s out on a supply run at the moment. And these clothes should be evidence enough. They’re obviously not mine,” she said as she held the jeans up to her own body, illustrating their exaggerated length when compared to her own legs. “And even if I didn’t love Peter, I wouldn’t be interested in a scrawny boy like you.”

“Scrawny?”

“Sure, you’ve done the best with what you have, but I like my men to be well fit…and much taller. Now, do you want the food or not?”

“Toast sounds great,” he said as he went back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

NaNoWriMo--a tidbit

2010-11-09T20:40:00.002-06:00

“Bow and arrows? That’s your weapon of choice?”

He was clearly uncomfortable and thought some ill-placed humour would draw attention away from his nervousness.

“Why not? It’s much easier to find ammunition for if you know how to make them; I don’t know about you but I’m rubbish at making bullets. Now…you’ve got some ‘splaining to do, Lucy.”

“Lucy? My name’s not—“

“—Of course you’re name’s not Lucy, you idiot. It’s a joke, obviously one from before your time. Now: why are you here?”

“Like I said down there, I just saw the fortifications and thought—“

“—Don’t bullshit me, sweetie. I’m not some girl who will fall for your puppy-dog eyes and Southern charm. Plenty of buildings around her are fortified, and yet you happened to pick ours to run up to, waking up a bunch of Ruins to prowl around our door in the process. Are you a scout?”

“A what? No, I’m just a guy trying to survive.”

Saff was in front of him before he could blink, her pistol pressed against his temple as he backed into the wall.

“Lie to me again, and you’ll end up like those things on the front step, you hear me?”

He nodded rather than speak, his light green eyes wide with fear.

“Good. Now, what kind of group are you working for?”

“I—I’m not working for anyone. I used to be part of a group a few months ago, bad guys who were big on touting around guns but not big on actual security. We got ambushed and most of them ended up dead, so I ran off, struck out on my own to try to find some other people who wouldn’t be so stupid or reckless. I came up to your building because of the cameras. I saw a light blinking on one of them and figured that had to mean there was power in here. Power equals people. I was…tired of always being on the move, scrounging for food. That’s the truth, I swear!”

Saff kept the gun on him, staring into his face as he tried not to flinch away from her lest the gun should go off accidentally.

“Hmm…I guess you’re not lying. Or you’re a fantastic actor. Either way it doesn’t really matter seeing as how you don’t know a way out of the building.”

“Well…what about the fire escape?”

Saff had just lowered the gun, but his words brought it up again, flush against his skin.

“Everyone stays up on the fourth floor. The only people with a key down here are me and Peter, my husband. And since I don’t plan on handing over that key to you, nor do I plan on you being clever enough to steal it, you won’t be coming back down this way any time soon. Is that understood?”

“Y—yes ma’am.”

“Good boy. And please, don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ I’m not that old, for goodness sake.”

NaNoWriMo continued...

2010-11-05T16:59:00.001-05:00

She pushed the button down, steeling herself for the pleading that would come soon.

“I’m sorry, luv, but we can’t let you in. You might be a right enough bloke, but we can’t take that chance. Best move on now.”

“And what if I don’t?”

He didn’t look into the camera with any seeming bad intent, but his challenge sent a shiver through her all the same. Saff wished Peter were here.

“If you don’t, then either you get grabbed as soon as it gets dark…or I shoot you myself if you try and cause me trouble.”

“You’d really do that? Shoot a defenseless man?”

“I doubt that you’re defenseless, otherwise you’d never have made it this far into the city unscathed. But no matter how nice you seem, I can’t have you putting my family at risk. So move along.”

She released the button, leaving him to protest in silence, looking away from the screen in which he continued to talk, yelling at her or pleading with her, she couldn’t tell. At least he didn’t go back to hitting the doors, setting the alarms off again.

But then they went off, louder down here than they were upstairs. Saff glared at the man on the screen as he railed against the barricaded door, cursing him for frightening the children even further. Peter always said they couldn’t make idle threats, so now she’d have to make sure this man knew she wasn’t just talk.

She went over to the window that overlooked the front courtyard, the yelling man now dimly heard through the glass. She pulled back the blackout curtain, unlocking and raising one of their only open windows, sitting on the sill as she leaned out to get a better look at him past the awning over the door.

He was kicking at the blocked up door, so he didn’t hear the faint noise of the window sliding open or her sigh as she ducked back inside, reaching for her weapon of choice that was next to one of Peter’s favorite sawed-offs. She aimed at him carefully before whistling to get his attention.

He came out from under the awning, staring up at her in shock as he took in not only her weapon, but also her appearance.

“I’m only going to tell you one more time, luv: move along. There’s no place for you here.”

“You would really shoot me? With that thing?”

“I would really shoot you, straight through the eye and into your brain. With this thing. Don’t try my patience.”

“Look, I don’t want trouble. I just want a place to be safe, to make whatever passes for a life now in this world. I don’t intend to hurt you or your family. Is there maybe a man of the house I could talk to? Your dad, your brother...anybody?”

“My husband’s out at the moment, but he’ll be along soon. Of course, if you wait around for him it’s likely you’ll either get eaten before he gets here or, if you manage to hide away from them, he’ll most likely shoot you himself, but with a much less elegant weapon. Choose your poison. But make it quick. My hand can only hold for so long.”

As he gazed up at Saff in her perch on the windowsill, the laughter died out of his eyes. He could tell she wasn’t bluffing.

“Fine, I’ll just…move along. But my death will be on your hands.”

“Please, don’t try to guilt-trip me. Your death will be on the hands of whomever or whatever kills you. But as long as you get out of here now, it won’t be on mine.”

“All right, all right, I’m going. Maybe I’ll see you on the road.”

“Maybe you will, if you’re half as clever as you seem.”

She relaxed her grip, not enough to end the threat of her aiming on him, but enough to signal that he wasn’t in danger of being shot at the present moment. But then…

“DUCK!” she yelled just as she reaffirmed her grip and then let loose, almost too quick for him to move. But instincts and reflexes were quick to return in times like these, so her shot just glanced by him as he hit the ground. Instead of hitting him, the feathered end of the arrow protruded from the skull of a Ruin, sending it sprawling backward just a few steps from the man she had previously been threatening. He jumped up, his eyes moving from her to the thing she had killed and back again as she took up another arrow, preparing to shoot again.

“Don’t just sit there, idiot. Get up! There are more coming.”

“Where do you expect me to go?”

“Go around the right side of the building, your right side. There’s a fire escape. I’ll lower it down for you. But you’ve got to hurry. You woke up some of the young ones from the look of it. Leg it!”

He followed her instructions, heading around the side of the building just as she headed in the same direction, grabbing up Peter’s gun as before she left the room.

Tessa met her on the stairs, nearly running into Saff as she came barreling down.

“What’s happened? Did you kill him?”

“Nearly, but I almost didn’t have to. He woke up some Ruins with all his noise and now we have to save his arse. Stupid man!”

“You’re letting him in?”

“Can’t very well watch him get taken by them, now can I? You head back to the TV room and get ready to flip the switch when I yell.”

“There are that many?”

“I didn’t really get an accurate head-count, but there could be. We need to be ready, even if it means burning up the power for the rest of the night. Radio upstairs and tell them to hunker down and be ready for some noise. Now get!”

Saff pushed Tess in the direction of the TV room, heading off towards the fire escape as they unearthly sound of keening floated through the open window.

The man was waiting down below, weapon in hand as he alternated looking up for her and watching out for the shufflers that approached him. He was lucky it was cold that night; otherwise they would’ve been a lot faster and consequently a lot more dangerous.

She opened and climbed out of the window next to the fire escape, praying the rickety old metal hadn’t rusted too much to hold her weight. She then went to kicking the lever Peter had devised that would release the ladder down to where the man was anxiously waiting, but it had grown stiff and unyielding with the little use they’d had to make of it lately, so it took a few kicks before it shuddered and released, the screeching and wheezing ladder nearly taking the man out as it plunged down towards him. He grabbed onto the rungs, pulling himself up with a speed bred of desperation and fear. But he wasn’t fast enough.

One of the less sluggish Ruins had crept up behind him while the man was staring up at his salvation, grabbing on to his ankle as it came rose in front of him. The man screamed, trying to kick at the thing but it held on with the single-mindedness of all of its kind. Saff tried to take aim with her bow, but it was almost directly under the man, effectively using his body as a shield against her without any conscious effort.

Just when Saff thought the man was done for, that the Ruin was going to succeed in pulling him down from the ladder, the man wrapped his left arm around a rung, freeing his right arm to take up his own weapon, a dark, heavy machete. He hacked at the Ruin, cutting off the hand that held his leg with two haphazard swipes before carving into its skull with another. The Ruin fell in a clump under the ladder, leaving the man free to continue his climb before more arrived and tried their own hand at catching him for dinner.

Once he reached the top of the ladder, Saff hit the lever again, allowing the ladder to retract just as a Ruin was about to stumble into it. The man sat on the fire escape, staring down at the shambling monsters milling about below them.

“You saved my life.”

“Yeah, and I really shouldn’t of since it was your own fool self that nearly ended it. Now come on; this structure’s old and could fall apart with the unexpected weight of us. You’ve got your wish: in you go.”

She helped lever him to his feet and then pushed him toward the open window, following through after him.

“Tess!” she yelled out. “Throw the switch!”

At first Saff wasn’t sure that Tess had been able to hear her down the hall, but then the ground around the building seemed to spark. The Ruins wandering around were suddenly wracked with spasms, sending them sprawling to the ground.

“What the hell is that?”

“Electrified fencing. I don’t know if you noticed the ground when you were running on it, the weird texture of it?”

“Can’t say I did.”

“Well, we put down electric fencing so that, with the flip of a switch, anything walking near it gets a zap.”

“And it kills those things?”

“No, it just stuns ‘em for a bit, impairs their motor functions and all that. We have to do the killing ourselves.”

Saff put Peter’s gun down next to the window, taking up her bow again as she leaned outside, aiming for a Ruin just past the fire escape. It seemed as if she barely took time to aim, but then the thing stopped it twitching, laying like the first one she’d killed to save his life, the end of an arrow sticking up from it’s eye.

She quickly dispatched the other two shuddering figures that laid within the confines of the courtyard fence before turning back to him, taking up Peter’s gun again.

“Did you break open the gate?”

The man looked suitably frightened as he stared from the bow slung over her shoulder to the gun held easily in her other hand.

“No, but there was a back gate that was almost rusted through. The latch was already broken off when I found it. I just pushed it open and came through. But I pushed it shut again, even shored up some dirt and rocks around the base so it would be hard to open again.”

“Not hard enough, judging by the activity we have down there. Normally they can sense the current enough even when it’s off and stay away from here, but I guess you smelled tasty enough for them to ignore it. Come on, there’ll be more around the front to take care of.”

She pushed past him, heading down the hall to the TV room and the window facing the front of the building. Tess stood next to the window, looking out at the figures that only twitched sporadically, her hand poised above a switch in the wall.

“No need, Tess. They’ll be dealt with soon enough.”

The man hung back as Saff took to the window again, firing arrow after arrow into the Ruins, stopping their movement all together. Tess snuck glances at him, occasionally looking over at Saff to see if she noticed, but it seemed that she didn’t.

Saff finished her work, pulling back inside and closing the window again, covering it over so it looked as blocked and boarded as the rest. She rested Peter’s gun back against the wall, her bow and arrows next to it. Then she turned back to their visitor.

NaNoWriMo beginnings...

2010-11-03T10:32:00.002-05:00

For those of you who don't know (or care) November is National Novel Writing Month! Basically that means that a bunch of crazy (awesome!) writers dedicate themselves to writing a novel over the course of November, declaring their intentions to write at least 50,000 words over the span of one month. Since I haven't been as up on my writing lately (given the comatose state of my laptop) I haven't been as diligent with my writing, despite the loads of free time I have now what with school over. But no more! I've signed up and I plan to write a long novel about...well something. We'll see what it's about further in. So I've decided to post my work so far on here, (since I'm doing part of my writing at work and it scares me a bit to have it only saved on my work comp) not that anyone will probably read it. Oh well, this is more for me than anyone else. Enjoy, oh non-existent readers!

P.S. I don't have a name for this yet, so if you think of one (ha!) then pass it along. Cheers!

----------------------------------------------------

The alarm was blaring, soon followed by the hushed shouts and screams from down the hall. She sat up in bed, her fine brown hair sticking to the side of her face where she’d been sleeping on it, crackling a bit as she brushed it away. She instinctively went for the gun tucked between the floor and the mattress, switching the safety off before she pulled on one of Peter’s sweaters lying in the empty space next to her. It was warm and comforting, but not comforting enough.

She stepped out into the hallway, met by the oldest girl, Tess, along with the faces of several of the younger children as they stared out into the hallway, clutching toys and blankets to their chests like life jackets.

“Start gathering your things like we’ve taught you. Only what’s necessary. Tess, keep everyone in line while I go have a look at what’s wrong.”

“But I want to come with you.”

Tess had been very stubborn lately, especially without Peter there to challenge her willful moods. She knew Saff was much more of a pushover and would cave despite their rules. And Tess wasn’t wrong.

“Fine, come on then. David, that means you’re in charge of everyone else. Get them sorted.”

“Mommy?” One of the littler girls, Cary, had crept out, tugging on the long hem of Saff’s sweater as she tried to move past.

“Yes, sweetheart, what is it?”

“What can I carry Jelico in?”

She held up the black and white kitten for Saff to see, her blue-hazel eyes gone as wide as possible as she tried to push the boundaries further.

“I’m sorry, Cary, but you know the rules. We can only take what’s necessary down into the basement. Jelico will have to stay here. But don’t worry,” she continued as tears welled up in those blue-brown eyes, “Jelico will be fine. She’s smart and quick and little enough that she can hide if they get inside. Now go on and gather your things like I said. Tess and I will be back in a mo.”

Saff pretended she didn’t see Tess stop for a moment with Cary, handing her a canvas satchel and urging the younger girl to place the kitten inside. She also pretended she didn’t hear Tess tell one of the boys that he would carry the kitten down into the basement if worse came to worse.

Tess caught up to Saff in the stairwell, conspicuously silent about what had kept her, but neither of them mentioned it. The alarms were still going strong and whatever God was left in this world only knew just how long they might have.

Two floors down they came to their security room, the one expertly set up by Peter and David with three working monitors, the motion sensors which were currently going haywire, the blaring alarm, and a microphone feed to a speaker just next to the front door of the old apartment high-rise. Saff and Tess stared intently at the monitors which covered the three entrances to the building, all barricaded and fortified against attack now, and part of the courtyard beyond, which was surrounding by a wrought iron fence lined with barb-wire. At first they couldn’t see anything but an empty expanse of dirt and weeds and a pitted road beyond the fence littered with decrepit cars. But then a face appeared in the first monitor, the one covering the front door. Saff and Tess jumped back, Tess emitting a little shriek of fear at the thought of seeing one of those things closer than she had in two years, but the face in the scream wasn’t all that frightening…and most importantly the eyes were lively, staring into the camera with clear intent as if by sheer force of will they could see the people on the other side. It was impossible to discern their color through the black and white screen, but they were light and wide, almost innocent looking in what was otherwise a nicely rugged face for someone so young.
“Is—is he—“

“—Shh, Tess, he’s not one of them. Look at his eyes. Please, calm down.”

The man was still staring into the camera, his mouth opening and closing in soundless shouts. Saff tentatively pushed down the button for the speaker, half-afraid what would come through would be nonsense or a dire warning about approaching hoards.

“Hello? Hello?! Is anyone there? I know the camera’s on. Please, please answer.”

He makes complete sense, which could be just as frightening as mindless yelling. Peter’s told her stories, their own modern ghost stories made more sinister by the fact that the villains aren’t actual ghosts but live people, about groups of raiders who prey upon those who’ve found some modicum of safety in this otherwise completely unstable world. She hesitates with whether she should answer, but if she doesn’t, it’s just as likely that he’ll keep pounding on the door, leaving the sensors raging until they burn up the power in their generators before the sun comes up to repower them. And all the noise he’s making could bring the few monsters prowling the streets in daylight out of their hidey-holes to move on their home. She presses the intercom button.

“We’re here. We hear you. Now could you please stop hitting the door and stay still for a minute. You’re buggering our alarms all to hell right now.”

He complies, standing still on the stoop for a moment, staring up at the camera and resisting the urge to move despite the necessity to keep an eye out for anything that might attack him from the street. Tess sniggers at his uncomfortable immobility, though there’s still a trace of fear in her eyes. Saff hits the intercom button again.

“I didn’t mean you have to be perfectly still. Just no wild and sudden movements. Now, what do you want?”

“What do I…I just wanted to know if there were survivors here. I saw the fortifications and thought maybe…and here you are. Any way I can come inside before I attract some unwanted attention?”

“I’m not exactly in the mood to be charitable since you seemed quite content to attract every kind of attention just a few minutes ago. Besides, how can we know you’re on the up-and-up and not just looking to steal supplies from us?”

“Well, since I’m guessing it’s not just you up there in this big building all by your lonesome, I’d wager it wouldn’t be easy for me to steal from whoever’s up there with you and get away with it.”

“You could have friends on the outside.”

“All the friends I had are gone now, in ways I imagine you’re familiar with. I’m just on my own, trying my best to survive.”

“Hold on a moment,” Saff replied, turning off the intercom before she swatted at the hand tugging on her sleeve. “Tess, stop trying to pull my shirt off! What on earth do you want?”

“I want to tell you something but I knew you’d get mad if I just started talking while the ‘com is on.”

“Fair enough, but a simple tap would’ve done the trick. Now what is it?”

“I think we should let him in.” She stared hungrily at the handsome face on the screen, fear replaced with curiosity and desire.

“Do you now. What compelling reasoning can you offer that would make it seem prudent to allow a complete stranger into our midst?”

“Well, I think he’s telling the truth. And you always said that we should be on the lookout for other survivors. And Peter’s always saying that he wishes the boys were older so he could train them properly. This guy fits the bill.”

“He could also be a homicidal maniac out to kill us all. Or he could be part of one of the Raider troops, a scout sent in to suss our weaknesses before the others attack. It’s a bad idea to let him in, especially without Peter here, and you know it, Tess. I’m not letting him in just because he’s good-looking and close to your own age.”

“That is so not the reason!”

“Hmm, funny, but I don’t believe your hormone-riddled eyes. Sorry, sweetie, he’s not coming in. I don’t trust him.”

“But, Saff—“

“—No arguments, Tess. I already broke protocol enough letting you come down here with me. He stays outside to fend for himself.”

“Don’t you always say that’s what’s wrong with the world now: that nobody trusts anybody else?”

“Yeah, I say that, mostly to keep the little ones trusting what Peter and I tell them for their own safety. That doesn’t mean I blindly trust anyone who walks up to our door, looking for help, especially not with those kids upstairs. You had some rough times out there before we found you, but you have no idea the kinds of monsters people can be when they get willful and desperate. Now go up there and tell the kids it was a false alarm.”

“No, I wanna hear you tell this guy he’s SOL, that he might as well wander into a nest and end everything here and now.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Tess. He seems perfectly fine now and it’s obviously he’s wandered a bit. He’ll be fine on his own…or he’ll go and find his friends and tell them we were a bust. Either way I won’t let you guilt me into making a mistake that could get us all killed. Now go upstairs.”

“Saff, I—“

“—Either you go or I drag you. And don’t think I won’t.”

Tess’s face turned sullen as she glared back at Saff. Seeing that this time Saff wouldn’t budge, she reluctantly left the room and headed back upstairs, leaving Saff alone with the man on the other side of the monitor.

Check out this blog for a chance to win a free book!

2010-07-22T15:53:00.000-05:00

I just read about this book on the Traveling Arc Tours website and now @thesmartyowl is giving it away! Click the link below for a chance to win

http://thesmartyowl.blogspot.com/2010/07/firelight-arc-contest.html

new job!!!

2010-07-22T14:21:00.000-05:00

This post is kinda late considering everyone on facebook already knows about my new job, but I figured I'd share it on here too in case there is someone out there (ha!) who reads this blog but isn't my friend on facebook. But the news is:
I GOT A JOB AT THE LIBRARY!!!
Finally! I know it's been a long time coming. And the best news is that I'm absolutely and completely done with Hastings! Now if all my good friends who are stuck there could find new jobs and get away from that sinkhole everything would be golden.
Well...that's about all I had to say really. We're having a slow day over at the library (yay!! not for it being slow but for being at the library), so I figured I should update things. Sadly this will mean an end to funny videos from the Hastings backroom, but I'm sure we'll have other fun times, and I'm sure I'll capture other fun videos (maybe from Canyon trips or Buttercup's soccer games). That's all I gots for now. TTFN gentle readers (and again, ha!).

"Truthfully I've loved like I'm a dyslexic / Upside down and back and front couldn't fix this"

another video courtesy of the hastings backroom...but this one's a rap

2010-05-11T02:09:00.001-05:00

Please do enjoy my dear friend, Ray Ray C-Rizzle (he totally picked that name himself) "spitting some mad lyrics." Apparently he wrote this rap several years ago about a friend and an ill-advised relationship he was engaged in.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pjs0Oi9wWro

p.s. the "jen" mentioned in the video is not me (no matter if she's "big-titted" or not). Give it a go, Bobby!

A Jo-Bro doing "The Crane"?

2010-02-19T17:35:00.000-06:00

The hijinks we sometimes get up to at work. Andrew decided to entertain us with his martial arts prowess...or lack thereof.

"I'm tired / tired of playing the game"

2010-02-17T18:51:00.000-06:00

Not going to be a long post as I'm about to head off to church. Just wanted to write a little something since I haven't in a while.
I think I'm just about ready to burn out from work and school. Can't seem to catch a break, missing assignments and bs-ing my way through papers and hoping I don't fail. I just have to keep telling myself: "It's just until August and then (hopefully) I'll graduate and can start looking for a real job and not some crap job where the company doesn't give a shit about us and keeps freezing our yearly raises."
At least today the weather was nice. Almost balmy. Had to take off my jacket whilst shopping. Kinda reminded me of my dream the other night, though hopefully the tornado part which came later won't also come true.
Oh well, almost time to head out. Womens' bible class should be interesting considering I haven't been in a while. No idea where we are in the book. Guess I'll find out.
Now remember: Jib can be dangerous, so be careful. I mean, Wayne Brady might have to jib a bitch. (Just for you, Robert).

Quote of the day: "Sarah Palin is a f***ing retard." Thanks, Stephen Colbert.

Once Upon a Dream...part 7

2010-01-08T15:17:00.000-06:00

     I feel someone shaking my shoulder, hear a voice calling my name, but it’s so nice and peaceful inside my head for once that I don’t want to listen, don’t want to feel the urgency of the hands gripping my arms. Then I remember.

    I sit up suddenly, head-butting Trevor in my haste, which doesn’t help the pounding headache I already have. Trevor, one hand still firmly on my shoulder, the other gripping his own head, pushes me back down a little too roughly for my taste.

    “Aggy, please be more careful. You know I can’t see you. And besides, as hard as I think you cracked your head on that big rock over there, you probably shouldn’t be trying to sit up so suddenly. You might pass out again.”

    “Thanks for the info, Trev, but I thought we might have more pressing concerns than a mild concussion. Where’s Zella?”

    “I don’t know. She ran off…I think. What did you do to her? All I could hear was her yelling that you had ruined everything and that now Gillian had gotten away and then I heard someone running away. I didn’t know if it was you or her.”

    “So…how did you find me?”

    “I crawled around in the direction she’d been yelling at before she left. Finally I found your leg and figured out that it was you.”

    “You figured out it was me just by grabbing my leg. That’s a little creepy, Trev, unless it means your spider sense is just getting better since your…well, since…”

    “Since Gillian blinded me, you mean? Yeah, I think that might be it. At least my hearing must be getting better. But I knew it was you because of your tights, stupid. They’re so loud I can see them even though I’m blind.”

    “I’m glad you find this whole thing funny enough to joke. Can I please sit up now?”

    “Sure, if you take it slow.”

    “I can’t really take it anywhere with you practically laying on top of me.”

    “Oh, right…sorry.”

    Trevor gingerly moves to the side while I sit up, slowly as he ordered, and then I look around the clearing. We are indeed alone; both Zella and Gillian have taken off for parts unknown, though how Gillian had been able to even move if what Zella turned on me was even a tenth of what she did to Gillian…

    “We have to find her.”

    “Yeah, I think she ran off to the left of where we were standing…but I’m not exactly sure where we were standing.”

    “Not Zella…Gillian. We have to find Gillian.”

    “What?! Are you crazy? No way! Go looking for the crazy witch that just tried to kill us all?! That’s self-explanatory suicide, Aggy.”

    “She didn’t try to kill us. Trust me, Trev, I know the difference. Gillian aimed to hurt, sure, I’ll be the first to concede that, but she didn’t aim to kill. Zella, on the other hand…”

    “What? That’s…Aggy, you don’t know what you’re saying. You hit your head too hard and—and now you’re talking crazy.”

    “You didn’t feel it, Trevor: what Zella turned on me when I stopped her from killing Gillian. If she hadn’t been distracted by me stabbing her with your knife—“

    “—You did what?! With my knife?!”

    “And now you know why I didn’t tell you what I was doing! You would’ve stopped me and then Zella would’ve killed Gillian.”

    “And that would’ve been a bad thing how? Gillian’s a…she’s a witch, Aggy! You said it yourself, she was trying to steal Zella’s powers, to hurt her. Zella was just fighting back.”

    “Sending wave after wave of unending pain and torment into someone who’s begging not to die…that doesn’t really seem like defense, now does it?” says a cultured, slightly British voice from the edge of the clearing.

    Trevor tries to stand up quickly and put himself in front of me, to shield me, but, as sweet an idea as that is, he just ends up putting himself off balance so that I have to grab his side to right him, like some tottering toddler.

    “It’s okay, Trev. Gillian’s not gonna hurt us.”

    “And why shouldn’t I?”

    “Because…I’m the one who stopped Zella from killing you. And because you’re almost too weak to stand up straight.”

    “That doesn’t mean I’m too weak to hurt both of you.”

    “If I’ve learned anything about this little foray into the magical world in the last few minutes, it’s that using power like that and having that kind of power and pain tear back through you doesn’t leave much of anything left in the way of magic. I’m guessing the batteries need a little recharging, right?”

    “You’re clever. Cleverer than I ever would’ve guessed.”

    “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge people, Gillian, especially feisty teenage girls with hidden magical talents. I can call you ‘Gillian’ now, can’t I? I think we’re on more than equal terms now, what with you torturing me, me inadvertently helping to torture you. Feels…almost even.”

    “I guess it does. You did a really stupid…and really brave thing. And you’ve made one hell of an enemy.”

    “But not you, right? I think it’s safe to say we’re basically on the same page about this whole thing.”

    “Aggy, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! Why are we even talking to her? We should be running from her, not chatting!”

    “I’m not going to hurt you, boy, neither of you. In fact, I’m going to propose a little collaboration: I can’t stop her on my own.”

    “When you say stop her…you mean—“

    “—I don’t mean ‘kill her’ if that’s what you think. That’s never what I intended, despite your misreading of my version of that spell. Zella’s powers must be stripped; she’s too wild and too dangerous to be given her own way.”

    “Why can’t you just teach her to control them? You’ve obviously learned how to control your own.”

    “It’s not that simple. Not with her. You might have a chance but…but we don’t have time to do this. Not here. She doesn’t know how to track us…yet. We need to get back to the house.”

    “Wouldn’t that be the last place we’d want to go?”

    “She won’t go back there. Besides, I can protect it if she does make that mistake. But she won’t. You’ve sent her down another road.”

    Despite the weakness she displayed earlier, Gillian begins walking out of the clearing, completely sure of her direction. I take Trevor’s hand and start after her, but Trevor won’t budge.

    “Aggy, what exactly is going on here? We can’t follow her; we can’t trust her! She basically kept Zella prisoner for her whole life, lying to her about her parents and who she really was and now you wanna follow her back to her house/lair and let her, I don’t know, KILL US?! I might need to consult my Hansel and Gretel here, but that’s insane!”

    “Children, we really don’t have time for this.”

    “Trevor, please, trust me. I…I have an instinct, a feeling. That’s stupid, I know, but…but Zella’s way more dangerous, and I will not risk you getting hurt by her.”

    “But you will risk me getting hurt by her,” he says, gesturing wildly in Gillian’s vague direction. “She’s the one who hurt me in the first place, Aggy!”

    “Is that what all this is about? I was just trying to protect myself; I had no idea who you were or what you might attack me with, magic or no. Listen, if you come back to the house, I will put your sight to rights…if I’m able. I promise.”

    “Why should we trust you?”

    “You shouldn’t…not completely. I’m still a dangerous animal, not meant for petting or hand-feeding, but I’m certainly the least dangerous animal out tonight. If Zella finds you, either of you, there’s no telling what she’ll do. The rage and anger you unleashed…she can’t control it or her powers. If we’re very, very lucky, she’ll forget about us for awhile and go after her real mother instead. Of course, if she finds her, then we are royally screwed.”

    “What?”

    “Walk and talk, please, children. We have to get back to the house.”

    Gillian starts walking briskly into the woods again, not bothering to check and see if we’re following, but Trevor doesn’t hold back this time, though he is definitely reluctant to follow the pull of my hand in his. Who could blame him? He was right: we couldn’t trust Gillian. But Gillian was also right: we need her just as much as she needs us…or more precisely me. I have a feeling that whatever she’s planning, whatever she wants to do to get Zella back and strip her powers will require my assistance. There’s a lot more we need to know, about Zella…about me. And the only person who can possibly provide any answers is Gillian. So, with Trevor finally cooperating (if very obstinately), we follow.

    “Why exactly would we be screwed if Zella finds her real mother? I’m guessing you didn’t go to all the trouble of hiding Zella from her just because she...wasn’t a fit mother.”

    “You would be right. Zella didn’t just happen to have so much power; she was bred for it.”

    “’Bred’? You make her sound like a horse.”

    “Trevor, how ‘bout you save the snappy comments for after the exposition? Please, for me? Besides, it’s kinda more my territory anyway.”

    “Fine.”

    “It’s not all that inappropriate a simile, though it was a tad more complicated.”

    “People usually are.”

    “What happened to saving the comments? Are you somehow exempt from your own rule?”

    “My bad. Sorry, Gillian, please continue. Comment-free, I promise.”

    “Thank you. Zella’s mother was—is a very powerful witch…and a very dangerous one. All she craves is power, more power than any one person should have. She knew that the only way to gain more power was to steal it from another, from a young witch whose powers were just emerging, when their powers are the strongest. However, finding a young witch who is unknowing and unprotected would be too difficult and trying to wait for, so she determined to arrange for her own source of power, her own young witch from whom to steal the power she desired. She found another powerful witch from a long line of powerful witches whom she tricked and seduced until he impregnated her.

    “Once he discovered her plans, he worked to try and get the baby away from Melia; however, that was no easy task to accomplish. He enlisted the help of other witches, most of whom paid dearly for their assistance, but eventually he succeeded in rescuing Zella from her mother. Keeping her from Melia was another story.”

    “I’m guessing that’s where you came in.”

    “I was…a friend of Zella’s father, and I was the last person Melia would expect to take the baby and therefore the most logical choice. At first my job was simply to protect her, to keep her safe and eventually raise her into her heritage. But knowing Melia’s tenacity for not only power but also vengeance, I knew that awakening her powers and trying to cultivate them, teaching her to use them, would only act as a beacon for Melia, leading her right to the girl and to me, something I most definitely did not desire. And I also knew that because of Zella’s parentage, her powers would be far too potent and too great for one person to handle. They would drive her mad and lead her down a terrible path of destruction, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed after that little display in the clearing. My plan was to strip Zella of her powers, thereby negating any threat from Melia, at least to Zella, and any threat Zella might pose to herself or others. This plan can still work.”

    “How exactly?”

    “We’ve got to get her back to the clearing and the altar and then perform the spell I reworked. But first we need to go back to my house and get all the ingredients and supplies and then figure out how to lure her to us before she figures out how to break the binding spell around the town and let her mother in.”

    “Can’t she just leave town, meet her mother on the outside?”

    “No, the binding spell creates a protective field around the town, keeping Melia out and keeping the presence of Zella shielded from her. It also keeps Zella in. Now that her powers have awakened, Melia will be able to sense her, but not well enough to adequately locate her. If Zella figures out a way to bring the shield down, her mother will come straight to her, strip her of her powers, and leave her to die.”

    “But you want to strip her of her powers, too. How’s that any better than her mother doing it?”

    “Because, boy, I’ve reworked the ancient spell Melia planned to use so that it will merely strip her powers but leave her alive. And I do not plan to take her powers for myself as Melia will if she gets her hands on Zella.”

    “So…what happens to Zella’s powers once you’ve stripped them? I’m guessing it’s supposed to go somewhere and can’t just fade into thin air.”

    “Very astute, but I have a plan for that as well.”

    “And that plan would be…?”

    “Nothing for you to worry about. We’re here.”

    The house loomed suddenly out of the darkness, the twined trees causing flashbacks of this afternoon when things had seemed simple if a little dark and foreboding. Now things were decidedly more complicated.

    “I don’t like this, Aggie. I don’t think we can trust her. What if she’s just using you for a little power boost and then as soon as she’s taken care of Zella, she takes your powers, too? What if she’s lying about changing the spell so it won’t kill Zella?”

    “We gotta go on a little faith, Trev. Besides I…I feel like she’s telling the truth, that Zella really is dangerous and her mother is even more dangerous. Besides, Gillian’s the only one who can fix you.”

    I touched his temple lightly, hoping he would understand. He reached up and took my hand away from his face, holding it in his own for a few seconds as we stood at the very edge of the forest.

    “If you get hurt, me getting fixed won’t exactly be worth it, now will it?”

    “I’ll be fine. Remember, Gillian’s not the only one with some tricks up her sleeves.”

    I pulled him out of the forest and towards the house. Gillian stood on the porch, waiting for us, a bemused look on her face as she watched up walk up. She opened the door and ushered us inside, telling Trevor to wait downstairs while we went and gathered up the supplies. Trevor wasn’t very happy with the idea of leaving me alone with Gillian, but I reassured him that I would scream my head off if she so much as looked at me funny. We hurried upstairs to the attic, Gillian quickly listing off all the supplies we would need. I grabbed whatever I saw nearby (from the stuff she noted that I understood what she was talking about, candles, herbs in bags and bottles that were clearly labeled, etc.), setting things up according to her rapid-fire instructions.

    “So we’re still attempting to strip Zella’s powers away, right? Without killing her?”

    “Yes, the spell should still work as long as we get to her before she finds a way to take down the barriers and let her mother in.”

    “Can you tell if her mom’s nearby?”

    “She’s…she’s not close yet, but she’s moving through all of my spells to confuse our location pretty quickly so it won’t be long. We have to move quickly.”

    “How are we going to lure her back to the altar?”

    “I’ll think of something. We just need to make sure everything we need is here before we take it out there. I might be able to trick her into believing her mother already broke through and is waiting for her there. Or we could--”

    There was a faint trace of music in the air, as if someone had turned on a radio downstairs. But this music was…funny. Not funny “haha,” the other kind. It was like it was trying to latch onto my brain and suck my will away, calling me to it.

    “--What was that?”

    “What was what? Did you hear something? Surely Zella didn’t--”

    “--Shh! Can’t you hear that? It’s like…like the most beautiful song I’ve ever… I need to find it, turn it off or something--”

    “--No, no, no! Aggy, look at me! Listen to me!”

    As scary and imperious as Gillian sounded, I just couldn’t focus. That song was calling me, begging for help, needing me. I had to--

    Suddenly a pair of hands slapped against my ears, sending my head ringing as a headache darkened the horizon in my mind. I shook my head, crying out in pain as Gillian gripped my shoulders tightly, shaking me.

    “What the hell? Did you just hit me?”

    “Yes, I had to. Now--”

    “--What is wrong with you?! I can barely hear. What if you’d damaged my hearing?”

    “You’ll be fine. I’m sorry, but I had to stop you. Zella was trying to bewitch you.”

    “What? That’s crazy.”

    “Is it? After everything you’ve already seen and experienced tonight, you think that’s crazy? Come one, we have to gather the rest of the supplies and head out before she succeeds. Grab that mortar and pestle over there next to the window.”

    “But why would she pick me to ‘bewitch’? She’s gotta know we’re not exactly besties after her little torture-temper-tantrum.”

    “She’s just calling whoever’s close enough that might help her. You helped her before, so you’re more susceptible.”

    “What would she have done if you hadn’t stopped me?”

    “Zella’s figuring out some of her fundamental powers. She was trying to lure you to her so she can use you in a blood ritual to bring down the barriers I have blocking her mother from town. It‘s old, instinctual magic, so she could easily pull it off despite her inexperience.”

    “So she was trying to siren me. Damn, good thing you stopped me before--oh shit! Trevor!”

    I sprinted down the stairs, cradling the mortar and pestle I’d picked up along with some bizarre-smelling herbs. Despite my haste, I managed to not drop any of my burdens until I reached the living room and saw it devoid of the blinded Trevor, the front door swaying in the gathering wind. Then I dropped everything, my hands flying to me face. Luckily, the mortar hit the couch first instead of the floor, and remained unscathed.

    “Oh shit, shit, SHIT! Gillian!”

    “I’m right behind you.”

    “She got Trevor, didn’t she?”

    “It seems likely. He would also be predisposed to come to her call, more so than you.”

    “We have to go after him, snap him outta it.”

    “We’d never reach him before she did. Besides, we need to finish preparing the spell so we can stop her.”

    “But we have to stop her now. She’ll kill Trevor!”

    “Yes, she might.”

    “How can you be so blasé? He’s an innocent guy--”

    “--No one is innocent, especially not men.”

    “Not the time for jokes. Besides, if she gets him she’ll do her voodoo that she do so well and here comes Mommy Dearest. We’ll be too late.”

    “It’ll take her a while to do her spell, even as simple as it is. Now we--”

    “--No! Screw your ‘we’. I’m going to get Trevor. I’ll stop her with or without your help.”

    “But--”

    “--You should probably get the rest of those ingredients. In the meantime, I’ll be busy kicking that witch’s ass.”

    I ran out the swinging door before she could protest again. Gillian might not care about Trevor getting murdered all because of his noble albeit hormonal good intentions, but I did. My ears had finally stopped ringing, so I let Zella’s voice pull me through the woods, guiding me back to the clearing, though this time her song wasn’t alluring or bewitching, and the clearing was no longer the place of fairy tale nightmares, at least not mine. Zella, however, was about to get a very rude awakening.

    Zella was still singing, faintly though, as Trevor was in the clearing, slowly making his way over to the stone altar. Apparently even though she had been magically guiding him to her, Trevor hadn’t had an easy time making it through the woods in his blinded state if his dirty and torn clothes were any indication (sure he’d gotten a little dirty and banged up before, but I’d managed to keep him from running into too many bushes or tripping on branches when we’d come here before). I couldn’t tell if he was completely entranced by Zella or if his slowness was due to him not being 100% under her spell.

    Once Trevor was lying prone on the altar, Zella began a new song. While this song was still one that called and beckoned, it was clear that Zella was phoning home rather than seeking help like before. I crept closer, trying to keep my clunky shoes from stepping on a twig or a pile of leaves and ruining all my stealthiest. But when Zella took Trevor’s grandfather’s old silver knife in hand and began to raise it over him, I knew the time for stealth had passed. I rushed her, grabbing for her hand before she could bring it down on Trevor’s heart.

    Though I was close and fast enough to stop Zella before she could hurt Trevor, I did not have the luck of most movie action heroes in grabbing her wrist forcefully, throwing her arm back and the knife halfway across the clearing. Instead, I caught her hand just right (or wrong, however you wanna look at it) and the knife sliced into my own hand yet again. I ignored the pain, pushing Zella back with my other hand until she tripped and fell, the knife (finally!) leaving her hand and bouncing into a convenient pile of leaves which hid it from her perfectly. I then grabbed Trevor’s shirt, hauling him to a sitting position and pulling him off the altar, opting for the brilliant plan of running for all we were worth before Zella could get her mojo back and hex me all to hell. But Trev was still half-ensorcelled, moving as if he had just woken up, making my efforts to save him twice as difficult as they should be, so I didn’t notice that Zella had regained her footing. Suddenly a painful blow knocked into my back, sending me tumbling into Trevor, trying to brace myself against the altar to keep from falling when my legs gave out.

    “Aggy, tsk, tsk, tsk. This is a special, private moment between Trevor and I. You really shouldn’t interfere.”

    “Sure, of course, murders should always be private. You don’t wanna do this, Zella.”

    “But I really do, Aggy. I need to do this, to find my mother.”

    “’Cept your mother’s a crazy witch who just wants to steal your powers and kill you. Not exactly a good idea to call her.”

    “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Aggy.”

    “Actually, I do. I know more than you at this point, Zella. Just…just stop. Stop and think. This power you’ve got…does it feel right? You don’t know what you’re doing here. You need to let me help you. You need to let Gillian--”

    “--NO! I will kill her before I’ll let her do anything to me. She’s the one who tried to kill me. No, once my mom gets here everything’ll be--”

    Her eyes were shining again, starting to turn red. I tried to back away slowly, keeping one hand up to ward her off while the other tried to keep ushering Trevor away, hoping that my instincts would kick in again and form a shield around us if Zella went all nuclear.

    “--Stop this at once!”

    I had never been so glad to see someone as I was to see Gillian in that moment. She had entered the clearing unnoticed by either of us, and she was carrying a very full pack of what I could only assume was all of the spell materials we’d need to strip Zella’s powers.

Once Upon a Dream...part 6

2010-01-08T15:10:00.000-06:00

     “Where are we? Why’d we stop running? What’s going on, Aggy?!”

    “Trevor, please SHUT UP! I have to—to think. We’re in the woods…lost…which is always a fabulous place to be when some crazy witch is chasing you. And, kudos to me by the way for calling that when we met her.”

    “Do you see Zella anywhere? We have to find her, Aggy, before…before that…witch does.”

    “I know, Trev, but we kinda have other problems right now, like you being blind and Zella being missing. Here, come sit down on this log. I’ll try to yell for Zella and see if she’s near enough to come find us.”

    “Yell?! But what if she hears you?”

    “Well…I don’t know. We kinda need to take some chances here, Trevor. Unless you want me to leave you here in this nice little clearing for our friendly neighborhood witch to find you while I get myself more lost than I already am trying to find Zella, who’s probably even more lost than we are. Just—just sit and rest and…I don’t know, try rubbing your eyes and see if it brings your vision back. I’m gonna look around and…find some heavy branches or something to use as a weapon.”

    “But if…if she’s a witch, a real witch, what chance do we stand with—with branches or stones for weapons?”

    “I don’t know. Maybe we can take her by surprise. She sure seemed surprised when I jumped on her and tore out a good chunk of her hair. I’m guessing she’s not impervious. Now please…just sit. Rest. I’ll be right back.”

    I hate to leave him sitting on some moldy log, staring off into the space near the right side of my head, his milky white eyes far too startling and heart-breaking to take staring back at for long. Whatever Gillian did to Trevor to make him blind…I have a feeling modern medical science isn’t going to be able to cure it.

    But I can’t dwell on any of that stuff right now. There’s a missing traumatized girl to find and a witch to elude and woods to somehow escape. And this nice, seemingly innocuous clearing actually looks as though it’s some kind of…oh shit.

    “Trev…Trevor, come on. Get up. We gotta go!”

    “Wha—what are you talking about? You just said we should rest and find weapons and try to call for Zella.”

    “Well, I was wrong, I’m a massive idiot, you shouldn’t be surprised, you’ve seen my efforts in English class, so please just get up and take my hand and let’s go!”

    I grab Trevor’s hand and forcibly pull him off the log, not very easy to do when he’s a good foot taller than me and several pounds heavier and also severely disoriented because of his sudden blindness. But I pull him up by sheer force of fear and desperation and start to pull him away from the clearing, not caring what direction we’re heading in or how much more lost I might get us. We just need to get away from that place.

    “Zella?! Zella!! Trevor, keep your other hand in front of your face; it’ll protect you at least a little bit from branches. ZELLA! Please, Zella, answer me!! Yell, Trevor, help me yell! We have to find her now!”

    “What’s going on, Aggy?”

    “Just yell, dammit!”

    And so the frantic yelling commences, both of us screaming ourselves hoarse trying to find any trace of Zella. Finally after a lot of running and tripping over rocks and knotted roots, I hear what sounds like Zella’s voice, calling to us. I steer Trevor towards the sound, both of us calling her name with less frenetic confusion. We seem to be running in the right direction, because her answering calls get louder and closer. Finally we stumble to a stop as a shaft of moonlight pierces through the trees, turning her charred red hair to a strange, unearthly gold. I run towards her, silently thanking whatever power might be helping us get out of this mess, before my prayers turn to curses.

    “No, no, no, NO! Zella, run this way. We have to go! We can’t stay here!”

    “But, Aggy, we just found her.”

    “It isn’t safe. We have to run. Come on, Zella, come on!”

    “It’s just a clearing, Aggy. It’s okay. We can…we can rest here for a second and then get back to running. Trevor, are you…oh…oh, God. What—what happened to your eyes?”

    “No time! Come on, both of you!!”

    I try to grab Zella’s hand too and pull her behind me, trying not to look at what’s in the center of the clearing, but Zella resists because she’s too busy staring in horror at Trevor’s eyes, and I don’t have enough strength to pull both of them along.

    “Guys, please, please, come on! We have to get out of here now!”

    “What’s the rush, children? You all just got here.”

    “Gillian.”

    Even though Zella whispers her foster mother’s name, I know Gillian hears her loud and clear despite the distance across the clearing. I push Zella and Trevor behind me, though what good I can possibly do against Gillian other than sarcastic taunts is unapparent. But for some reason, it feels right to stand between her and them. Maybe it’s because I’m the only one who hasn’t been cursed by her…yet.

    “Please, you don’t wanna do…whatever it is you…want to do. Just—just let us go, Gillian.”

    “What manners you children have these days. Calling me by my given name? Absolutely no respect. I thought I’d taught my daughter better than to associate with hooligans like you.”

    “Point o’ fact, Dangerfield: she’s not your daughter. Not your real one, anyways. And you really wanna talk about manners after you tried to scorch all your daughter’s hair off and then blinded my friend? Pot to kettle: you’re the one who’s black here.”

    “Enough of this ridiculous chatter. I just want my daughter back. Now, please, get out of my way.”

    “Can’t do that…ma’am.”

    Great, I apparently think my overweening sarcasm can protect us from whatever freaky kind of magic Gillian might throw at us next. I’m a schmuck, and I deserve to be turned into a toad.

    “Listen, I know about the spell, Gillian. The one you wanna use on Zella. To take her…powers away. But why would you want to? It seems like you’ve already got more than enough power as it is.”

    “Don’t presume to talk about things you can’t possibly understand. This has nothing to do with how much power I have. It has—why am I even discussing this with you? It’s long past time to be done with this.”

    There’s a nearly blinding flash of light in the clearing, illuminating everything for a moment like lightning, including my uplifted hands shielding my face. Then I realize that, not only did whatever she throw at us not actually hit us, but part of the light still in the clearing is emanating from my upraised hands, creating a shield around the three of us.

    “Well…that’s new.”

    “Well, well, well. I knew I sensed quite a lot of power, but I thought it was all Zella’s, just getting riled up because of all the excitement. But it seems I was wrong. Zella’s not the only young witch in the woods tonight, is she? Looks like I got something of a deal, doesn’t it? Two for the price of one?”

    “Aggy, what’s going on?”

    “We seem to be having some more than technical difficulties, folks. But, saving grace, I think I’m a witch, too.”

    “How’s that a saving grace? We’re being attacked by a witch, aren’t we?”

    “Yeah, but I think I’m the Glinda kind. Well…maybe not in the fashion department, but you’re catching my drift, right?”

    “I don’t think I am.”

    “It’s okay, Zella. I—I think I can hold her off.”

    “You think so? How little you know of real power? Here, let me show you.”

    Suddenly, pain rips through my body, like I’ve grabbed ahold of an electric horse fence and now can’t let go. The little shell of glowing light that surrounds us is getting fainter and beginning to close in. I hear myself cry out but can’t remember actually opening my mouth to yell, and I can faintly hear Zella and Trevor yelling back at me, asking what was wrong or what to do or just yelling nonsense. I can’t be sure. But Gillian’s voice comes through the clearing full of the noise of frightened teenagers and crackling energy loud and clear.

    “Now, Zella, darling, please stop all this nonsense. I’m your mother, and I only want what’s best for you. Those two…they’ve lied to you and made you defy me and will hurt you in ways you can’t even imagine. Just look at that girl, Zella. She’s some kind of monster, and she’s trying to trick you, to lead you into evil. You have to fight her, Zella. You have to fight her by coming over to me. Then you’ll be safe, I promise.”

    I can hear that latent persuasion in her voice and know it for what it is, even if Zella and Trevor can only hear the words. I feel Zella pulling away from us, looking at Gillian with vacant, trusting eyes. I have to break whatever hold she still has over Zella if we can ever hope to have even a chance of beating Gillian, even if it means pushing away the agonizing pain caused by her ongoing assault.

    “What, as safe as her real mother was? Zella, don’t listen to that lying bitch! She’s been lying to you all your life, telling you your parents abandoned you, your real mother never wanted you and got rid of you as soon as she could. None of it’s true! Gillian tricked your mother, lied to her, magicked her so that she could steal you away. I saw her books and spells and—and witchy stuff! Remember? I went into the attic because you and Trev were too afraid, and I found out what she was going to do to you. She wants to steal your power, Zella, and she’ll kill you to do it. She doesn’t love you, and she doesn’t want what’s best for you. Zella…please…I saw your mother. Held her picture in my hands. She’s been trying to find you ever since—ah!”

    “Shut up, just shut up, you little brat!”

    But that is Gillian’s mistake; once she shifted all her concentration to me, to make me shut up, Zella came out of her little waking coma and looked at her foster mother with completely unshielded eyes.

    “You lied to me.”

    “No, Zella, I didn’t. I love you, Zella. Don’t listen to her! She’s lying.”

    “Zella…ple—please. I don’t think I can hold on much—Take my hand…please…help me…help me!”

    “YOU LIED TO ME!”

    And just when I think it’s over, just when I think I’ll explode from all the pain and power bursting through me, Zella grabs my hand tightly, squeezing my fingers until I began to lose feeling in them. But the other pain is gone, as is our little shield…and instead of me writhing in agony, Gillian is doing the writhing.

    Zella stares at her foster mother as she falls to the forest floor, screaming in ways I’ve never heard before…not even in horror movies. Whatever pain I’d been feeling can’t have been anything compared to what Gillian is feeling right now. She seems almost incoherent as she pleads with Zella to stop. This isn’t right. This can’t be right.

    “Zella, please…stop. Zella, listen to me, listen to Aggy. You have to stop, you can’t—we can’t do this.”

    “We have to do this. She deserves it. She’s evil, Aggy, and she will never hurt me again.”

    “Zella, no, this isn’t ri—AH!”

    Suddenly Zella is squeezing my hand so tight that her precisely manicured nails are digging into my skin, sending little rivulets of blood rolling down my hand and forearm. I fall to the ground, not because of her scratches, but because I can feel something so…so dark and so absolutely wrong flowing between the two of us, making me so sick to my stomach that it feels like I have the worst case of the flu and food poisoning in the history of the world combined. I try to pull away, but Zella won’t let me go; she just keeps digging her nails deeper and deeper into my skin.

    Gillian and I aren’t the only ones unable to stand because of Zella’s onslaught; I look behind us to see Trevor slumped to the ground, trying to crawl towards the sounds of our voices. I reach out and grab the hand he’s using to plot out his path along the forest floor and begin tugging him towards me.

    “Aggy, is that you? What’s going on?! Is Zella all right?”

    “That would be a resounding no, Trev!”

    “Is that her screaming?”

    “Still a no.”

    “Aggy, I don’t—“

    “—Trevor, just shut up for a second. I need—need to think. I have to stop her.”

    “Gillian?”

    “No, she’s the least of our troubles.” Suddenly I have an idea. “Trev, you got your pocket-knife on ya still?”

    “Yeah, in my back pocket.”

    Without waiting for him to try and blindly find it, I reach around his body and thrust my hand into his back pocket, yanking the antique pocket knife out.

    “Thanks, Trev. Your grandpa’s little heirloom may save all our lives.”

    “What are you gonna do, Aggy? I still don’t understand what’s going on.”

    I ignore Trevor, knowing that if I told him what I was planning, he’d try to fight me. And in my fragile state, I don’t think I could’ve even hoped to fend him off.

    I look up at Zella, pulling myself up slightly by our linked hands. Her hair has changed from its normal strawberry blonde to a glowing reddish gold, like her hair had caught fire again. But her eyes are what really worry me; as she stares across the clearing at Gillian’s slowing movements, her eyes catch the moonlight, just for a second…and they are as red and glowing as her hair.

    “Sorry, Zella, but I really can’t let you do this,” I barely whisper it, but she hears anyway, looking down just as I plunge the silver pocketknife into the back of her hand, sending it all the way through so that it buries itself into my own palm before she pulls away. She screams in pain and then turns the full fury of her fire red eyes on me. Then…then I’m too lost in the sudden burning that rips through my veins, sending me flying into the stone altar in the middle of the clearing, the very thing I’d thought we had to fear most.

Once Upon a Dream...part 5

2010-01-08T14:54:00.001-06:00

     I decided to forgive Trevor for getting us back to the school just seconds before the bus arrived from the museum, but only because he was able to talk Mrs. Pine into not giving us detention (thanks to a hastily made up story about my sick older sister suddenly needing a ride to the doctor…which is all the more humorous because I don’t have any sisters…and Ms. Pine has known me and my family for most of my short teenaged life, but that’s how good Trevor is at storytelling and charming teachers and adults alike…with the exception of Zella’s mom, but I guess you can’t win ‘em all). So when he actually pulls up outside my house at 5:30, I’m only a little surprised…and a little excited. For some reason I feel that, even though I’m not entirely convinced that it’s a good idea to go back over to the enchanting Zella’s house, I don’t think I can actually resist the strange pull I feel to the place and the girl trapped inside. I’m guessing it’s even worse for Trevor, what with all his princely good intentions and boyish hormones.

    “Here a little early, aren’t we?”

    He pulls up (per Zella’s request), around the corner from her house, turning off the engine quickly so as not to arouse any suspicions from Zella’s mom presumably. But maybe it’s also due to his extra jittery nerves at seeing the “love o’ his life” again (okay, in all fairness, he never called her that during our ride back to school or over to Zella’s, but it was there…in the atmosphere. And in his calf-eyed expression every time he mentioned anything remotely about her).

    “I didn’t want to be late.”

    “Why? Think her mom might leave early or something. She’s seems more like the crazily punctual type, as in she doesn’t go places early but exactly on time. I don’t think she likes to leave Zella alone more than she can help it…especially not with one weirdly dressed girl and adorably All-American boy attempting to visit her sequestered daughter recently. I think we’ll have to sneak through the woods a little bit to get over to her tower. I still can’t believe she lives in the tower.”

    “How do you know she lives there?”

    “Uh, cause the Mom-asaurus Rex said she was grounded. I figured that meant locked up in her room and since she was on the tower balcony…ergo her room. Follow the chain of logic, please.”

    “You are such a little smart-ass.”

    “And yet, you’re still hanging out with me. What does that say about you?”

    Now we’re tromping through the edge of the forest which borders the backyard of Zella’s house, watching for the break in the trees which’ll signal that we’re close. However, it’s not the sight of the braided trees or the slightly out of place Victorian-esque house that first tells us we’re close: it’s the sound of singing.

    It’s the strangest sound I’ve ever heard, even more strange than the music that had been coming from the house when we first arrived. Now I really feel like we’ve been plopped down in the middle of some Disney cartoon; I expect to see animated birds flying over our heads any second, tweeting along with her beguiling song. But no, I’m wrong on that count. Instead, Trevor drives forward suddenly, forgetting that we need to wait at the edge of the woods for the Ms. Carver-dragon to leave before storming the castle and rescuing the princess. Strangest thing is part of me wants to run along with him, following the voice and forgetting any other dangers that may be between us and her. But that’s only part of me; the rest of me is declaring a nice big full-stop.

    “Trev, wait!”

    “But, Aggy, listen—“

    “—Trevor, you’re the English geek; remember the story of Odysseus and the Sirens. A girl singing all pretty more often than not gets a man in trouble, even in fairy tales. Just…wait. Until the coast is clear. Then you can hi-ho your silver away, by all means.”

    “Fine. But didn’t you get that feeling, too, earlier? When we were talking to Ms. Carver? That she’s not just some overly religious, controlling parent? She’s something…worse.”

    “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Doesn’t really matter.”

    “Of course it does! If she’s…if she’s as terrible to Zella as I think she is, we need to get her out.”

    “Seriously? Are you even listening to yourself? No matter what your romantic literary delusions are, Zella is not some damsel-in-distress that you, ‘the prince’, have to rescue from her evil step-mother; she’s just a girl. A pretty girl, an extraordinary girl maybe…but life can’t be as simple as fairy tales, Trev. You of all people should know that what with your family his—.”

    “—Maybe I should! That’s not the point though. What I do know…is that she needs our help. And I’m gonna give it to her in any way I can.”

    “Fine. I guess I’ll be right behind you in this insanity. Just call me Robin…or Little John…or something sidekicky…but preferably not Tonto. Just saying; I might find that kind of offensive because of my heritage and all.”

    “Huh? Your heritage? Are you trying to tell me you’re Native American? Seriously? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as pale as you…not even Zella.”

    So my distractions only worked for a couple of minutes, especially now that we’re at the edge of the woods, looking out at Zella’s house. I check my cell phone and see that it’s 5:59, then look up to see Ms. Carver, right on time, stepping out of the house, locking the door, and heading over to her respectively conservative sedan. I put a restraining hand on Trevor’s chest as he tries to step out as she’s pulling away, knowing that we wouldn’t be completely hidden from view should she chance to look over, going on with more prattle to keep his mind elsewhere for a couple of seconds.

    “Yeah, I know I don’t look it, but my great-grandparents on my mom’s side were Cherokee and Choctaw. I inherited basically nothing from them except stick straight hair that won’t curl for any curling iron.”

    He looks over, clearly startled, at my messily shaggy purple-streaked hair, staring at me in disbelief.

    “You doubt me, sir, but I’ll have you know there is so much product in this ‘do right now that it technically qualifies as a bicycle helmet. Go ahead, give it a knock. This was the only thing keeping me sane in your car today: knowing that, should we wreck, I had built in protection.”

    He’s appropriately amused long enough to make sure Zella’s incredibly slow-driving mom is definitely out of the picture, at least for an hour or so. We creep across the yard, heading for the back side of the house where more of Zella’s tower is exposed behind the trees. After a few moments, she peeks outside the stained-glass doors and, seeing us, lets out a squeal of delight and relief.

    “I didn’t think you would actually come.”

    Most of this is directed at Trevor, making me feel stupid for agreeing to tag along in the first place. What am I supposed to be: their chaperone? Of course, since “nobody chaperones the chaperone” maybe that’s not such a bad gig after all. I give a little giggle at my own ludicrous turn of thoughts, eliciting what’s becoming a quite characteristic glare from Trevor.

    “Sorry, continue, I’ll just stand over here and pretend I’m deaf, dumb, and blind.”

    “I’m glad both of you came. I’d invite you up, but Gilly—Mom’s pretty meticulous about locking all the doors and ground-floor windows.”

    “Well…who needs doors and windows when we have a convenient tree to climb?”

    I look over at Trevor with what I feel is an adequately appropriate expression of shock and disgust.

    “Please tell me you’re not serious. You see these shoes? These shoes don’t climb trees. And neither do I.”

    “Well, it looks like you’re both gonna have to learn. Unless you’d like to wait down here while I go up,” he half-whispers aside-style but still beaming up at Zella.

    “Why in the hell did you even bring me here? To be your lookout? ‘Cuz that ain’t gonna fly, bub. I might as well start walking home. Zella, where’s the nearest bus-stop?”

    “You’re—you’re leaving? Already? But you just got here, Aggy.”

    “Yeah, but you two obviously need to be alone so I’ll just get on with my mosey and make like a tree and…well, you get the picture. Aggy out.”

    “Aggy, wait! Please, she doesn’t really know me.” This time he looks down at me, finally breaking the connection between him and Zella, talking in a low voice so she doesn’t hear what we’re saying. I follow suit.

    “She doesn’t really know me either, Trev. What the hell are we doing here?”

    “We’re gonna climb this tree up to her room and figure out if she needs help like we think.”

    “Like you think, oh delusional one. I don’t want any part of this.”

    “Why not?!”

    “Because—“ I stammer, trying to think up something that won’t give away the actual fear I feel that he might be spot on about this bad situation or about getting caught. So I finally blurt out, “—Because I’ll snag my tights!”

    “Seriously?” he asks, barely holding back giggles. “That’s what you’re afraid of. Not that we’ll get caught or the situation will be as bad as we think but…snagging your tights?”

    “They’re my favorite pair. And they totally discontinued this brand so I can never NEVER get another pair. Besides, she said the color composition was genius.”

    “That’s what you two talked about at the museum? The color composition of your tights? Aggy…that’s too precious for words.”

    “Now I’m really not climbing.”

    “Come on. If we want to have any chance of getting her out, I’m gonna need your help. I’ve heard about your special skills.”

    “What the hell does that mean?”

    “Lock-picking? Ring any bells?”

    “Oh, right…Cam and his big mouth. Then why don’t I just pick the lock on the front door?”

    “I thought about that this afternoon. It’s got three deadbolts and, judging from the sound of all the locks slamming today, probably a security chain. Are you that good?”

    “No…I’m not. You’d need James Bond and MacGuyver for that kind of hardware. But…I’m guessing her bedroom door isn’t as heavily fortified.”

    “Now you see where I’m going.”

    “Okay…fine. But I’m gonna need help. It’s been a while since I climbed any trees.”

    “I’ll boost you and be right behind you in case you slip.”

    “Okay. We’re coming up now,” I call out to Zella, seeing her far too excited smile in return. Geez, this kid needs more friends.

    Trevor gives me the much needed boost (the twining of the trees doesn’t start until about three feet off the ground, and since that’s over half of my height, I’m not thinking I could’ve gotten my foot up that high all on my lonesome), placing one hand firmly on my shorts covered rear to steady me as I get my footing.

    “Hey, let’s not get fresh now! Save that for your girl up there.”

    “Hardy har har. Just start climbing.”

    After a few minutes (okay, more than a few to be honest) and much grunting and groaning and cursing, I manage to make it up to the balcony (though swinging my legs over is harder than I would’ve imagined since the railing is longer than both my legs), half-tumbling into Zella (and her room) as I try to do my little let’s-not-lose-our-balance dance. She steadies me, smiling down at me (I didn’t really notice in the museum, ‘cause we were sitting, but she’s super tall, probably only a few inches shorter than Trevor) as if I were her fairy godmother. Yeah, this is gonna be great.

    Trevor comes traipsing after me, having no trouble with the tree or railing (lucky long-legged people) and then stands staring at Zella, who stares back in equal bashfulness and fascination. They seem to be waiting for me to do something, though neither one can take their eyes off the other long enough to actually hint at what they’re waiting for. Finally, after some effort to hold back my gag reflex, I figure it out.

    “Trevor, Zella, Zella, Trevor. There, now we’re all properly acquainted. Let’s see if I can pop your lock.”

    “What—“

    “—Aggy!”

    They overlap each other, and their reaction to their in-syncedness is so cute I almost want to barf…again.

    “I’m talking about the lock on the door, gutter-brains. Just point me in the right direction and give me a hairpin or a very skinny knife. Preferably both.”

    “What’s she talking about?”

    “She’s gonna try to open the lock on your door, so we can get out of here…if you want.”

    “Um…but, how does she know how to do that?”

    “I studied with the great MacGuyver himself. I was a prodigy.”

    “The great…who? Wasn’t that a TV character or something?”

    “You really don’t get out much, do you? Yeah, MacGuyver was a TV character who was well-known for getting out of pretty hairy situations every week with the barest of workable materials. He could make anything out of anything. And…I was joking. I don’t really know him.”

    “Aggy, stop teasing her just because she’s not some pop culture virtuoso. I doubt your mom goes in for much TV.”

    “No, Gilly hates TV, except for those really silly religious programs.”

    “Gilly? You call your mom ‘Gilly’? That’s a weird nickname.”

    “Her real name’s Gillian. And…she’s not really my mom.”

    “Figured.”

    “What?!”

    “Well, after seeing her height and eyes and definitely large schnoz, I figured you must’ve been adopted or something. Either that or you look exactly like your dad.”

    “I wouldn’t…I don’t know which of my parents I look like. If I even look like either of them. I’ve never seen them.”

    “Really? That’s weird.”

    “Yeah, très weird, now can we get with the lock-picking. I wanna be done before your step-mom gets back. Hairpin, knife…anyone?”

   “Uh…oh! I have one…a hairpin, I mean. In my hair.”

     “You have hair under all that?”

    As she pulls out a hairpin from under all that cloth, a few strands of strawberry blonde hair escape from its traps and floats down around her face. A few strands of extraordinarily long strawberry blonde hair.

    “Aggy! Stop it.”

    “Sorry, I’m kidding, Zel. Can I call you Zel? It’s seems less formal, right, Char?”

    “You can use my knife,” he says icily, handing it over. “But be careful! It’s an antique; it was my grandpa’s.”

    “Cool beans. Is that silver?”

    “Yeah, he had it specially made when he was overseas…somewhere.”

    “Oh, you young people never care about the stories of your ancestors. There could be a really interesting history to this knife and you’d never know it because you were too into your video games and dirty magazines to ask,” I rattle off as I take off down the winding staircase to Zella’s door. I can feel Trevor at my back, barely staving off curses in my general direction for the benefit of the apparently sheltered Zella. I get down level with the old-fashioned lock, pleased to see it’s one I’ve dealt with before. After a few minutes of wiggling the hairpin and knife around and sticking the tip of my tongue out of my mouth for concentration, the lock pops satisfyingly and the door swings open.

    “Voilà! C'est magnifique, non? And that’s all the French I’ve got to impress you people, though really the door should be enough.”

    “Aggy, how did you do that? How did learn to do that?”

    “My grandpa was a locksmith. After my older cousins locked me in the bathroom a few times too many to keep me from bothering them, he showed me some tricks of the trade so that I could get out of slightly hairy situations if the need arose. When I showed promise, he showed me more. But it really only works on old-fashioned type locks; those new deadbolts, pretty hard to break…unless you have a battering ram or a gun maybe. Anyways, let’s hit the road, Jacks.”

    “But…” Trevor and I stand just outside the now open door, ready to make our big break for it, but Zella stands on the bottom rung of her stairs with a look of fear and wonder on her face. “Where will we go?”

    “Wherever you wanna go. You’ve earned some freedom, don’t ya think?”

    “Zella…I know we don’t know each other…at all really but…if you really need to leave here, to get away from your foster-mom, we’ll help you. Won’t we, Aggy?”

    “Yeah, we will,” I say quietly, appreciating the gravity of not only Trevor’s tone but of the situation itself.

    “I just…I’ve never left without her permission. She’ll be furious if I leave now.”

    “You don’t have to come back.”

    “Yeah, you’re like, what seventeen, eighteen? You don’t have to stay with her if she’s…if she’s not a good mom to you.”

    “I’m…I’m eighteen. And I don’t really have anything to compare her to. But no, deep down, I don’t think she’s a good mom. She’s really…”

    “Controlling? Obsessive? Downright mean and nasty? It’s okay. Parents can be like that. They shouldn’t, but they can. But just because she took you in and adopted you and raised you… or whatever, it doesn’t mean you owe her something. You’re old enough to leave and…do whatever the hell you want.”

    She gasps at my bad language, which strikes me as kinda funny and ridiculous considering most of the other cuss words I’ve used throughout my short but rather prodigious life.

    “If you want to go, Zella, we’ll help you get away.”

    “Then…yes, Trevor…Aggy, I want to go.”

    “Great! You wanna pack some stuff and then meet us back down here? Just don’t take too long.”

    “O—okay. I’ll be right back.” She practically sprints back up the stairs, and Trevor and I soon hear the sounds of frantically opened and shut drawers and closets. Trevor starts to follow her, but I stop him.

    “Trev, have you really thought any of this through?”

    “What do you mean? You’re the one making speeches about she’s ‘eighteen and can do whatever the hell she wants’.”

    “Yeah, I’m good for emboldening the girl, but what happens after we get her out? Where does she go? Where’s she gonna live? How’s she gonna get money? Unless she gives us some real evidence of abuse…how are we gonna explain basically kidnapping her?”

    “A. she’s not a kid and 2. She’s going willingly so there’s no…napping.”

    “But we could still get in trouble, Trev. Big trouble. Breaking and entering, destroying personal property; do I really need to go on?”

    “We didn’t break in; Zella let us in. And what did we destroy?”

    “That lock right there. And cops are probably gonna be more likely to believe an upstanding adult member of the community over two high school delinquents. And still you haven’t answered my question about where she’s gonna stay.”

    “She—she can stay with me.”

    “You think your mom’s really gonna go for that? Seriously?”

    “Well…maybe after I explain the situation—“

    “—Your mom’s still gonna see her baby boy, her star pupil and athlete, wanting to bring some strange girl over to live with him. I’m not thinking she’s gonna be incredibly rational about all of this. I mean, have you met your mom? Seen her at a soccer match?”

    “Okay, okay, so she can go a little schizo sometimes.”

    “Understatement!”

    “But I’ll make her understand. We can’t go back on this now. We just promised to get her out of here. Wait…”

    “No, I don’t think I like where this pause is going.”

    “She could—“

    “—No! Definitely don’t like this direction of pausing—”

    “—stay with you.”

    “Told you I wouldn’t like it. I know you apparently haven’t met your mother but haven’t you met my dad: president of the PTA, wants his daughter to be the best in everything, even if it’s physically impossible? He’s so not gonna go for me bringing some strange runaway to live with us.”

    “But your mom’s really nice. She’ll understand. She’ll…”

    “What? Convince him? You really don’t know my dad.”

    “Then…we’ll just have to see if I can convince my mom. If that doesn’t work…then I’ll take out some money and get her a hotel room.”

    “Some money from where, your allowance?”

    “No…my college fund. My parents set it up before…everything happened, and they let me delve into it for application fees and stuff like that.”

    “Your parents are apparently stupid…though they won’t stay that way for long once they find out what you’re using their hard-earned money for.”

    “Then I guess we’ll have to sneak her into your house. I can probably charm your dad while you get her in the back door and square it with your mom.”

    “You are absolutely impossible. You—what was that?”

    “What was what? You yakking? Not exactly a novelty here.”

    “No, I—I think I just heard a car door slamming…in the driveway.”

    Both of us rushed over to the nearest window and peeked out, anxious to see if my overactive imagination was just playing tricks on me. Sadly it wasn’t. There was Ms. Carver coming up the walk in all her petite and severely pissed off glory. I’m guessing she saw Trevor’s car parked around the corner as she came home.

    “Okay, guys, I think I got everything I—“

    “—Shh!! Your mom’s home,” I whispered while Trevor quickly covered Zella’s mouth. We all looked at each other in fear, trying to figure out what to do next, when I spotted another set of stairs leading up to another floor. “Come on, up here!”

    “No, Aggy, no—we—we can’t go up to the attic. It’s…it’s not allowed.”

    “We’re a little past ‘not allowed’, Zel. Come on.”

    “Aggy, I—I don’t think we should. I think we should go hide in Zella’s room.”

    “You mean, the room with the busted lock on the door which momma bear’s gonna notice once she comes to give Zella a piece of her mind? Colossally bad idea!”

    “We can climb out the window, back down the tree.”

    “Or we could go up into the attic, wait for her to rush upstairs to find Zella and then rush back out to go and track her down, leaving us to make a clean getaway. You said the attic’s not allowed right, Zel? Well then she won’t expect you to hide up there, will she? Now come on!” I grab Trevor’s hand tightly, towing him along, knowing he’ll tow Zella right behind him. But then I feel a tug and turn to see Zella run back to her door, sprinting up the winding stairs with a different fervor than the one before. Trevor takes off after her, like the stupid infatuated boy he is. I start to follow, but then I hear Ms. Carver’s shoes on the stairs, coming up fast.

    “Zella!” she yells as she half runs for her door, barely giving me enough time to silently creep the rest of the way up the attic stairs and slide behind the door. Now I really don’t know what we’re gonna do. I have the feeling there’s about to be cops and attorneys called and all kinds of badness. Then…I see the strangest stuff all over the attic floor, pictures and drawings and candles and strange smelling herbs and…and…oh this is…this is really bad. I race back down the stairs just as I hear Zella let out a loud scream and hear the fading yells of her mother. Then I smell something burning. Oh! Bad, bad, BAD!

    I race up Zella’s winding staircase, tripping over some rungs with my overly clunky shoes, but I slow as I reach the landing, looking out to see what exactly I’m facing here.

    There’s no sign of Zella, but her mother’s standing in the middle of the room, the smell of charred hair all around her as she stares out the open French doors. I’m about to rush in, do something to stop whatever craziness she has cooked up, when Trevor rushes out of the bathroom door, grappling with Ms. Carver and sending them both tumbling to the wooden floor. Suddenly Ms. Carver yells some strange foreign words that somehow seem familiar to me (maybe they’re French) and then Trevor’s grabbing his face as if something’s attacking him. This is it; now or never.

    I run in, tackling Ms. Carver around the waist and throwing her against the dresser. Luckily she knocks her head on the heavy wood and slumps to the floor, unconscious. I grab Trevor’s hand and haul him up, forcing him to run down the stairs despite his protestations of being blind.

    “Oh, stop being a baby, Trevor. We have got to get out of here and find Zella. Where did she go?”

    “I don’t—I don’t know. There was this burst of fire and then Zella screamed and was gone. I think…I think her mom killed her.”

    “No, I think Zella made a break for the woods. Otherwise her mom would be a hell of lot more upset. Don’t ask what I mean, there isn’t time. Just run!”

    I pull him forcibly down the stairs and out the open front door, heading off into the woods behind the house, hoping that Zella hasn’t gone far. If she has, we might all be very, very screwed.

Once Upon a Dream...Part 4

2010-01-08T14:42:00.000-06:00

     “Nice digs, huh? Then again, I’m just glad the ground’s still where it’s supposed to be. You think on the way back to school and probable detention you could drive just a tad bit slower…like maybe only twenty miles over the speed limit? I always thought it looked so cool the way I could barely see your car as you were speeding into the parking lot, but now, being in said car, I’m gonna change my vote to terrifying. I’m just saying, typically I like for both me and my stomach to arrive at the same place at approximately the same time, not thirty minutes apart.”

    “It wasn’t that bad. Come on, this is her house.”

    “I would’ve guessed that without your great detective skills, Sherlock. It’s the only house on this street that still looks lived in.”

    “Aggy, do you ever just…shut up?”

    “Not as a rule. Sarcasm’s sorta my thing. And it really doesn’t work if I’m not talking.”

    “Well, could you try, please? Her parents may not like smart-mouthed girls any more than I do.”

    “’Shot through the heart’ much? Most parents don’t like smart-mouthed kids, FYI. And I’m guessing that this girl’s mom is a little more on the strict side than most parents, judging from her outfit today. Don’t worry; I’ll be on my best behavior. But I would probably be safer waiting in the car. I mean, outfit-wise.”

    I try to make a break for the car, but Trevor’s restraining hand on my arm stops me. Stupid soccer reflexes. As we walk up the porch, I hear what sounds like the strangest singing I’ve ever heard coming from one of the upstairs windows facing the street. But the sound of the chiming doorbell quickly silences whatever freaky new-age chanting is going on inside.

    After a few moments of the two of us standing awkwardly in front of the door, not looking or speaking to each other, I see the curtain next to the skinny window beside the door twitch open for a second. And then finally we hear the blessed sounds of a door unlocking and the knob turning.

    Zella’s mom (though she doesn’t look at all like the caramel-eyed Amish beauty from the museum with her petite stature, icy blue eyes, and overlarge nose), peeks from around the door, glaring at the two of us more strongly than adults typically do, despite all my obvious oddities. I try for a warm and inviting smile, but that only seems to make her glare deepen. Maybe I’ll attempt to reign in my usually sarcastic mouth in favor of a more adult friendly greeting.

    “Hi, Ms. Carver. I’m…Agatha,” I say, inwardly grimacing at using my more formal but in this case what feels like more proper name. “I met your daughter, Zella, at the museum today. We talked about…photography and…color composition. And…uh…when she left, she dropped her notebook, so my…friend, Trevor, and I decided to bring it on over, since your address was inside. I figured she might need it because…because of the notes she was taking. I’m guessing she’s doing some sort of project about…art. So…ow,” choking back the sudden curse that tries to eek out after the slightly painful kick I covertly receive from Trevor, “Is Zella here?”

    “Yes…yes she is. And I’m sure she will be very grateful to the two of you for bringing her notebook back. Though you could have just given it to Mrs. Pine as we’re certain to see her on Sunday at church.” Surprisingly, she doesn’t sport the normal accent of our quaint little Texas town and instead seems to be…British, maybe. Though it’s only a very low-key, almost indistinguishable preciseness to her clipped tones that seems to signal she might be from over the pond.

    “Oh, I didn’t know you guys went to the same church as Mrs. Pine. Which…church is that exactly?”

    “Surely not the same one you attend…if you attend.”

    “Oh…I do! Every Sunday. On the dot. But I’m guessing you’re right, and we don’t go to the same one, because I surely would’ve seen you guys there already. Um…so…could we give Zella her notebook back?”

    “I’ll take it and give it to her.”

    Suddenly I remember the illicit drawing she didn’t want even me to see, and I shrink from handing the notebook over to her strange and slightly frightening mother.

    “Oh, but…I really wanted to apologize to Zella for…for what those other kids talked about today. Some of these high school kids just don’t have any idea what good art or good morals are, you know what I mean?” My sad laugh is lost on both Trevor and Ms. Carver. “Well, I just didn’t want either of you to think that our school was only capable of producing such…heathens. There are a few good kids there, like me and Trevor here.”

    Trevor is glaring daggers at me but keeping on his best parent winning smile as we wait to see if Ms. Carver will capitulate. Instead, with movements so quick neither Trevor nor I seem to notice them, she yanks the notebook from my hands.

    “I’m sorry, but Zella can’t come down. She’s grounded. But I will gladly give her the notebook. Thank you both for taking the time to bring it by. And may the Lord bless you…though I don’t know if he would approve of you skipping the rest of your field trip. Goodbye now.”

    “And may He bless you as well,” I try to rush out as the heavy door shuts authoritatively in our surprised and slightly horrified faces. I look up at Trevor as he looks through the small fan-shaped window in the top of the door (which I am not tall enough to properly see through), but he must not see anything but the retreating form of Ms. Carver because no delight comes to his face. Instead he shakes his head and walks back to the porch steps.

    “Well…that went great,” I say, following him, finally letting my sarcasm have its much needed full reign.

    “Yeah, you were exemplary. ‘Heathens’? Really?”

    “I was working on the fly here. ‘Sides I didn’t see you trying to help. You’re usually good with parents, aren’t you?”

    “Usually, but I think she detested the sight of me more than she did the sight of you.”

    “Oh, thanks. There’s a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one.”

    “You know what I mean.”

    “Yeah, she was a creepy old witch for all her religious posturings. Doesn’t it say somewhere in the Bible that you shouldn’t judge people?”

    “Wouldn’t you be the one to know since you go to church every Sunday? ‘On the dot’?”

    “Ha ha. Like I said, winging it.” I can’t help it; his teasing tone brings a smile to my face because it’s the first time that anyone of his high school rank has teased me in a friendly-type manner.

    We are almost back to the car when we hear a half-frantic stage whisper coming from the far side of the house, calling to us. I look around at the upper story, where the sound seemed to be coming from, but Zella isn’t standing at any of the windows; neither is anyone else.

    “Wait, did you see that?”

    “See what? I thought I heard someone say your name, but I don’t see anything.”

    “Up there…in that—those trees. Huh…those are some weird trees.”

    “Weird trees? That’s what you wanna stop and talk about. Come on. We’ve gotta get back to school.”

    “Hey! Up here!”

    We both look up into the branches of the two strangely entwined trees and see…well, sorta see Zella, sitting on a small balcony just under the leaves. She waves slightly, beckoning us closer.

    “Told you she was up there.”

    “Shut up, Aggy.”

    “Hi. It’s uh…nice to see you again…Agatha?”

    “Please, please call me Aggy.”

    “Shh! Not so loud. I don’t want her to hear. She’ll probably be up here pretty soon but…but she has a prayer meeting or something at six. Can you come back then…both of you?”

    Although Trevor looks way too triumphant for my tastes, the poor girl looks so lost and lonely that I decide to acquiesce.

    “We’ll be here at six…though God knows why you want me here,” I say, the last part under my breath.

    “What?”

    “Nothing, Trev. We’ll be here.”

    “Good. Just…park around the corner and walk over. I don’t want her to see…or hear you guys coming.”

    “Sure thing. We’ll be here at six.”

    Trevor, like some gallant prince of old, picks one of Zella’s mom’s flowers from the nearby bed and tosses it up to his towered princess, miraculously sending it right to the balcony. She takes it, holds it up to her daintily perfect (and completely unlike her mother’s) nose for a sec, and then smiles down at him. I want to puke.

    “Yeah, really don’t know why I’m coming. Come on, Trev. Gotta get back before we’re really missed and end up in detention for the rest of our lives. Good boy! Come on!” I add the last part on as a final jab, calling him like some cute little puppy. He glares at me before reluctantly following, gazing up at Zella as he walks to the car…until he trips on a decoratively placed rock. “Ooh, smooth.” I couldn’t resist.

    “Just get in the car.”

    “Sure thing. Quick question: do you go by ‘Prince’ or just ‘Charming’? Because both together, hmm, a little formal.”

    I’ve at least got him laughing as we both get in, but his laughter abruptly stops when he looks up and see Zella’s mom staring at us from one of the front windows. When I look up at her…I don’t know…it’s a weird thing to say, and maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but…but her eyes look…red.

Once Upon a Dream...Part 3

2010-01-08T14:33:00.001-06:00

     “Zella, is that you?”

    “Yes, Gil—Mom.”

    “I thought you wouldn’t be back for another hour at least,” she says as she walks slowly down the stairs, self-consciously wiping her hands together as if to rid them of dust. She smells strongly of strange earthy plants, but Zella figures that she’s either been in the garden earlier in the day or burning some strange smelling new candle in her sewing room.

    “Yeah, I…I started to get a really bad headache, probably because of all the high school kids there. So I left.”

    Zella hopes that Gillian won’t notice the rapidly spreading blush over her too-pale-for-her-own-good cheeks, but Gillian is far too watchful and astute to miss it.

    “What happened? Did you talk to some boy like a common hussy?”

    “No! I didn’t…a girl talked to me. She was…she was funny and nice and actually seemed to know a little bit about art.”

    “What did I tell you about talking to strangers?”

    “But, Mom, she wasn’t—“

    “—Zella, how many times do I have to tell you: You can’t trust anyone but me in this world. Those people out there don’t lead good, righteous lives, and they will lead you into temptation if you let them. Why do you think I keep you locked away the way I do? It’s not to punish you; it’s to protect you. And the sooner you learn that, the better off we’ll both be. I suppose I’ll have to ground you for this.”

    “But, Gilly—“

    “—Don’t call me that! You broke the rules today, Zella. First you didn’t cover up properly before you left, and then, while you were out, you talked to strangers, probably even flirted with some dirty-minded boys.”

    “I didn’t—“

    “—No more, Zella! I want you to go to your room and think about what you’ve done. And you will stay there until you’ve learned your lesson. Is that understood?”

    “Yes…Mother.”

    “Good. Now march.”

    She follows Zella up the stairs as she always does after a grounding…or, more appropriately, a towering. Zella reluctantly goes to the far end of the second floor where an old wooden door awaits, it’s large metal lock, gleaming in polished glory, taunts her. She opens the door and steps inside, climbing the winding staircase of the turret up to her room, trying but failing to shut out the crushing sound of the bolt sliding into place as Gillian locks her in…”for her own protection.”

    Zella finally reaches her room, if it can even be called that. A simple and unambiguous twin bed stands against one wall, a cream quilt adorning the top, while a plain, wooden dresser and armoire stand against the opposite wall, next to the bathroom door. A small desk and chair stand next to the one remarkable feature of the cream and unwallpapered dull expanse of walls: a set of wooden French doors filled with old-fashioned stained glass renderings of classic fairy tales, doors which lead out to a small balcony set on the far side of the tower, which a pair of white flowering rowan trees twined together like a girl’s braid nearly cover with their branches. She steps out onto the balcony for a moment, sitting down in the small space between railing and door and leaning her head against the tangible bars of her prison. But soon her reverie is interrupted by the reverberating noise of a car, a noise like a wild cat purring. A dark red Mustang comes into view at the end of the road. The car stops a few feet from her house, startling Zella, who cannot imagine who chould be coming to their house in that car. Surely not any of Gillian’s friends. Then that boy, that beautiful boy, and that odd girl from the museum step out of the now silent car. They walk up to the door, not seeing the frightened and wide-eyed girl in the tower balcony for the obscuring rise of the porch roof just below her. She would call out to them, to warn them, but Gillian would hear and then she’d be in even more trouble than a mere towering.

    Then Zella sees her notebook in the girl’s hands, and she realizes that the trouble found in calling out a warning to the two unsuspecting do-gooders below would have been far kinder than the trouble she will face if Gillian sees the drawing inside the notebook.

"this is too much for me to hold"

2009-09-11T21:22:00.003-05:00

Jacquelin Renée Hutzell (née Gipson) was a beautiful, funny, sweet, clever young woman (though she never seemed to realize or accept just how truly clever she was, even when she would figure out most murder mysteries and Law & Order: SVU episodes long before the rest of us). She was a loving and devoted daughter, wife, and sister, a caring aunt, a trusted confidant, and the best friend I have ever had. I could tell Jacque anything (and I frequently did, even after she and Eric moved to Tyler and we lived apart for the first time since college, but we could talk on the phone for hours despite the distance. And texting? Don’t even get me started). Jacque was always there for me when I needed her, despite the physical distance between us. We shared hopes and dreams with each other, even deciding to go through two sets of graduate school together (English grad school was mostly my fault, I mean, idea whereas Library Science was hers. See, she really was clever). I was planning on spending many, many years as Jacque’s friend, planning to someday be sitting on the front porch with her and Eric and my not as yet discovered husband, reminiscing about the good ole days of ACU glory and grad school drama, having some delicious desert that Jacque baked, sharing stories about our families. I am devastated that that will not happen now. And I am devastated that my friend is gone, that I won’t hear her laugh, or whine to her about my job or our classes, or get her feedback on my latest writing endeavor. I am devastated that we’ll never share our thoughts and feelings on the latest How I Met Your Mother episodes, or discuss how much we loved Nathan Fillion in Castle, or our hopes that this might be the year when Bones and Booth finally get together. I am devastated that I’ll never hug her again. I am devastated, and my heart is broken so deeply, deeper than I ever imagined it could be. I love Jacque and will miss her more than I have words to express, which is quite a feat for me, but I’ll keep trying. But then, that’s probably what Jacs would expect of me.

2009-06-15T20:33:00.002-05:00

so patti blagojevich could possibly be indicted for what her husband might have done and get sent to jail for 7-10 years but a polygamist child abuser only gets one year in jail? in what world is that right or acceptable? btw i highly recommend reading the book Church of Lies by Flora Jessop. it's an amazing and heartbreaking account of her escape from the FLDS polygamist cult and its many abuses as well as her current efforts to save other children just like her. i nearly read the whole book in one day which is amazing considering i don't read non-fiction very often (i.e. almost ever).

2009-06-13T20:59:00.002-05:00

The company I work for is incredibly stupid. They constantly want us to get twice the work done with half the people. This week we had to scan and tag every used cd in the store. The brilliant people at corporate estimated it would take four people four hours to get it all done. It took one person one hour to scan half of a fixture the first day. Just scan mind you, not tag as well. somehow we managed to finish it all. this next week we're resetting the front of the book dept which includes moving the best sellers onto a barge which is directly behind a pillar. AND we somehow have to find room for all the displaced bargain books but will only have one empty table for that. Joy. our company is run by morons

"Once Upon a Dream"...part 2

2009-05-14T15:17:00.005-05:00

    The girl sits alone, a plain, nondescript scarf wrapped ‘round and ‘round her head almost turban style. She sits on a bench, a part of the touring throng of high schoolers and yet apart, taking notes in a plain yellow spiral notebook. No one recognizes her, so she doesn’t go to school with us, but the other girls are intent to ridicule her for her plain clothes, lack of makeup, and sturdy, sensible shoes.

    And yet they seem marginally afraid of her. Normally they’d tease and torture someone different (I should know) within earshot but acting as if they didn’t know or didn’t mean to be overheard. But with this very strange girl (and being of that genus, I should know the type well), they keep their comments confined to their little pack, cackling quietly enough to not be overheard by either the girl or our teacher, Mrs. Pine. And this girl is strange enough that they even deign to try and include me in their mockery.

    “Aggy, whadya think? Tragic cancer patient or just really terrible haircut?”

    “Wow, what choices, Chrys: possibly dying and on some kind of painful treatment for it or shitty hairdresser. Let me think…”

    Even “slow as Christmas” Chrystyn (yes, two ys) gets my sarcasm…for once.

    “Well, SlAgatha, if you can’t play nice, you won’t get to play at all. Come on, girls: there’s naked statues in the next room so you know the boys are bound to be there.”

    Chrys and her rapid pack of wild tramps head off into the sculpture wing behind the tour guide to giggle and pant their way through classic art while I hang back, watching the girl instead. My supposed set-down (as if anyone making fun of my tragically old-fashioned name phases me by this point in my nearly adult life) has gone unnoticed by the girl, leaving me wondering if Chrys’s purile imagination was so far off the mark that she never hit on deaf. I decide to test my theory.

    “Hi.”

    She looks up, obviously startled and thus ruling out deaf (guess I’m no better at the ancient art of speculation than half-wit Chrys. Damn), stares at me for a moment (taking in all my plain and unappealing features) and then gives a sort of nod and sad one-quarter smile, quickly going back to her notes. But I’m not one to be deterred. I may not be pretty but I make up for it by being annoyingly tenacious.

    “I’m Aggy. Agatha really, but I’m sure you can understand why I don’t usually go by that name unless forced to by stubborn teachers and old relatives.”

    I did better this time. She’s holding back laughter at my rush of irreverent words, but still seems unwilling to commune with me. Guess I’ll have to try harder.

    “So I know you don’t go to our school. It’s small enough that I would’ve seen you before (and we all rode over here on the same bus—hard to miss you there). So I’m gonna guess you either go to St. Catherine’s over in Shannon or you go to some school I’ve never heard of but I figure it’s nicknamed ‘School of the Worst Uniforms in the History of Ever.’ Am I close?”

    She laughs this time, one of those tinkling musical laughs they always write about in fairy tales but you never hear in real life…at least not until now. People start to look over, intrigued and surprised by this beautiful yet plainly dressed girl laughing at the plain but bizarrely clown-like clothed girl in front of her (well, maybe not that surprised given my ridiculous but oh-so-awesome patterned leggings and purple-streaked hair only sanctioned because it’s school colors and I argued a lot to keep it). She stops laughing and finally speaks.

    “Sorry. Um…could you please move? I’m studying this photograph.”

    “My bad,” I say, moving aside and plopping down next to her on the museum bench, stretching out my multi-colored legs and sneaking a peek at her notebook.

    “It’s an interesting color composition,” she says, half startling me as I try to covertly look at the doodle I can almost see on the far right of the page.

    “Huh?” I utter, looking up at the picture. “It’s all in black and white and…greys, I guess. Not much color there.”

    “No, I meant your tights. The mix and contrast of colors are…neat.”

    “’Neat’,” I echo. “I really can’t tell if you’re being serious or sarcastic. Very good deadpan you’ve got going on there.”

    “Oh, no! Serious. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

    “No grapes here, man. I just never heard anybody say ‘neat’ unless they were sixty or older or talking about in what state my room should be. Is that—sorry for bein’ nosy but it’s sorta my thing—but is that—It is! You’ve drawn Trevor MacNamara in the margin there. Pretty good likeness, too.”

    “Please…keep your voice down. I was just…he has a…classically proportioned face and—and I like to sketch and…”

    “I could call him over, introduce you, if you like.”

    “No! N-no, I couldn’t. Um…I have to go. It…it was nice meeting you.”

    “But we didn’t really—“

    It’s no use; she’s already jumped up and gone, shooting straight over to Mrs. Pine, giving me that sinking feeling that I’m about to get balled out for scaring away actual patrons from our sad excuse of a museum. But apparently she doesn’t rat me out ‘cuz the Cone never even looks my way let alone yells out my full name in frustration and rage. She just pats the girl on the arm, saying,

    “That’s just fine, Zella. I’m sorry you couldn’t stay for the whole tour, but do tell your mom ‘Hi’ for me when you get home. I hope you feel better soon. And make sure you take the right bus, dear. I’ll see you in church on Sunday.”

    “Dear”? She never calls any of us “dear.” Just who is this girl and how’d she get on the Cone’s good side? And what kind of a name is Zella? A sight cooler than Agatha, let me tell you.

    As she runs out of the museum Trevor inadvertently almost steps in her way, making her pull up short for a moment. Their eyes lock, and suddenly it’s like we’re all trapped in a scene from a Disney movie, all soft misty light and waltz music. Then, like a spell being broken by the requisite evil witch, Chrys calls out to Trevor, making him look away and the girl shake her head and then sprint out the door. The noise of normal life spills in like a toddler’s messy effort at finger-painting, bleaching the scene of its former romanticism. But I know this isn’t the last we’ll see of this girl, Zella. I feel it deep in my bones; there’s something more strange and more compelling about this girl than just her curious clothes and hidden hair.

    It’s then that both Trevor and I see that she had dropped her notebook when she nearly ran into him. I kneel down, pick it up, and look inside. Zella Carver, Redwood Lane, #23. I snap it shut quickly as Trevor reaches out to rifle through the pages. I may not actually know the girl, but I figure if she was mortified at the thought of meeting Trevor through my introduction, she’d been even more embarrassed to have him see her little sketch.

    “Aggy, we have to find her.”

    “I know she seemed mysterious, Trev, but mysterious doesn’t always equal actually interesting. Besides, I don’t think all that conservative apparel masks some wild, randy airhead.”

    Maybe I came across as too cynical and biting, but Trevor never talks to me unless he needs help with history or math…and never about anything remotely of a social nature…at least he hasn’t since we were all in the fourth grade. Still the look of stunned and horrified shock on his face was not something I expected to see.

    “Aggy, there’s—there’s something about her.”

    “Yeah, she’s gorgeous. And…”

    “No…there’s something…something wrong. Like there’s some dark cloud hanging over her head waiting to unleash a hurricane right on top of her.”

    “That’s quite a simile there, Trev. But then you are the Wiz with English.”

    “She needs our help, Aggy. We have to find her and…and help her.”

    “Well, there’s her address. Go ‘help’ her. You can at least go on the pretense of returning her notebook. Maybe you can get a date out of the deal.”

    “No, we have to go. Me and you, Aggy. You’re the one that talked to her.”

    “And freaked her out sufficiently so that the one person who seemed to have a legitimate interest in art left the museum before the tour was over. You’ll have better luck without me.”

    “Come on. We’ll catch the next bus and head back to school, get my car, and then go over to her house.”

    “On Redwood? The other side of town? I don’t—“

    And now he’s grabbed my hand, something unheard of any boy actually attempting since we were all about seven and I started displaying my odd fashion sense. He pulls me out of the ornate museum doors (and truly the only thing remarkable about our little gem, but I digress) and down the concrete stairs before I can get out any more significant words of protest for our skipping out on the rest of this little field trip. Though I dress a little wild and punky and prefer my history with no rosy bias, I’m a pretty straight-laced school geek when it comes right down to it. My dad has conniptions if I bring home less than 98 +, even if I’m gymnickly challenged, so skipping out on the rest of this day’s school fun (sarcasm meant heavily here) seems like a recipe for detention; but Trevor’s firm, vice-like grip won’t be dissuaded, and soon I find myself sitting next to him on the almost empty mid-day local bus headed back towards our high school. Well, two good things will come from this little unplanned adventure: I’ll finally get to ride in Trevor’s classically cool Mustang while he careens around town at near break-neck speeds, and I’ll cherish the look of sheer disbelief I saw on Chrys’s face as she saw Trevor pull me outside into the bright, golden sunshine.

"Once Upon a Dream..."

2009-05-14T14:52:00.005-05:00

Finally I'm going to post some of my other writings, but this time I'll post them in smaller, more readable bits (especially since this one's not completely finished yet, but I'm working on that). Please do enjoy _______________________________________________________

Let Down… JLF
“Zella, get back in here!”
“But, Gilly, I’ll be late.”
“I said get back in here. Do what I say when I say it. Understand?”
“Yes, Gillian.”
“And what did I say about calling me that?”
“Sorry…Mom.”
“Now what is the rule before leaving the house, Zella?”
“Gi—Mom, do I really have to?”
“What is the rule, Zella?”
“Cover up completely before leaving the house.”
“And why must we abide by this rule?”
“To keep ourselves safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“From temptation.”
“Right, so take your scarf and wrap up your hair properly.”
“All right.”
“No, Zella! Do it right. If you wrap it too loose it won’t stay, will it? Let me do it.”
“Mom, I have to go. I’m gonna miss the bus. I can tighten it on there. Ow!”
“If you would stop arguing I could already have it done. There. Good and tight. Now off you go. And remember: come straight home when the tour is over.”
“Of course, Mom. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“Have fun, Zella. And don’t talk to strangers.”

"Yes, Mom.”

“In Whatever Time We Have”

2008-12-06T20:53:00.005-06:00

"In Whatever Time We Have"

JLF

My life's history is a series of accidents, sometimes happy, sometimes not even close. To say I'm accident prone would be the understatement of the eon. Sometimes my accidents are commonplace, non-threatening, even funny. But usually my accidents are far from commonplace, decidedly dangerous and/or life-threatening, and highly heart-rending. Of course, those accidents usually have at least one upside. Him. Another history of my life could be told through a series of beautiful, magical, frightful encounters with my savior, my guardian angel, my protector, the love of my life… I have been in love with him since I was five years old. Trust me, I know how weird that sounds, but it's the truth. The cold, hard, unavoidable Truth. Unfortunately for me, this love-of-my-life wasn't some local neighborhood boy who was around the same age as me; no, he looked as if he were approximately twenty-five years old. But looks can be deceiving. His name is Campbell, though he always refused to tell me whether that was his first or last name. He didn't want me researching him, ferreting out all his dark, dirty secrets. But it wasn't because he was secretive or trying to be intentionally mysterious; he was ashamed of certain areas of his past, afraid that if I ever found them out, I would never be able to look at him the same way again. He was right.

* * *

"Is this it? Is this the end?"
"No, no, no! Don't say that. Don't even think it. You're gonna be fine; you're not going to…you can't…please…please don't…"
"I—I love…I…"
"No! Please—please don't leave me. Don't leave me alone. Don't you dare! Don't…don't…oh, God…please…don't do this to me…please…"

* * *

My father used to call me "The Menace Magnet," (with a subtle nod to "Dennis", one of his all-time favorite comics) because, even before I was born, I was attracting danger and peril at every turn. When my mother was pregnant with me, only about a month on the doctors later said as she didn't have any notion she was pregnant at the time, my parents were involved in a nearly life-threatening car crash. Actually, it was almost life-ending and would most likely have negated my as yet unpredicted magnetism were it not for the attentions of another passing motorist who managed to pull both my mother and father from their burning car (cue the movie cliché, I know, but it's true). Their savior never identified himself; he merely drug them from the upturned burning wreckage of their '83 Suburban and then drove away before any emergency personnel even arrived. Then there was my Little Incident when I was five (not really a "little" incident, or even really an "incident;" more like a catastrophic near-fatality were it not for the intervention of another savior). Apparently I'd had earlier mishaps before I was five, but they were nowhere near as nearly catastrophic as my Little Incident. And yet, despite my aforementioned magnetism, my father never wanted to staunch my thirst for adventure (though my poor mother tried and later succeeded). Maybe if he'd known how that penchant for life-threatening situations would've affected him shortly after my seventh birthday, he wouldn't have… But he didn't know. And that time there was no miraculous savior standing by to rescue us.

* * *

"Do you remember my Dad? I know you only met him that one time, but…but you must've seen him when you were watching over me all those times."
"Yeah, I do remember him. He was a really good man. A good dad."
"If only you could've…"
"Could've what?"
"I don't know. Been there during the…you were always so good at saving me. Maybe you could've…could've saved him, too."
"Maybe…maybe I could've."
"Why do you seem so uncomfortable? It's not like you haven't seen me crying before."
"That doesn't mean I like it. Maybe we should talk about something else like—"
"—No. I need…to talk about it. Please…you're the only person who could understand. Mom couldn't…wouldn't talk about it. I think she…she blamed me."
"Your mother wouldn't blame you for what happened. It was an accident."
"Yeah, except for how it was my fault. I wanted to go camping so badly so…Dad took me. Mom said it was a bad idea. She had a bad feeling about it. Besides I was always getting into trouble, getting hurt; she figured taking me out in the woods with wild animals and rivers and…she said she was afraid I'd get lost. But I didn't. I didn't get attacked by wild animals either. But the river…she was right about that. And it was my fault."
"Lilie, don't say that. It wasn't—"
"—It was! I wanted something out of the backseat…I don't even remember what. So I climbed halfway back and distracted my dad because he kept telling me to get back in my seat and get whatever it was when we stopped. And he didn't see the deer that had wandered out in the road until he almost hit it. So he swerved and…and the truck…went off the bridge. I must've gotten thrown out the back window. That's what the paramedics said when they found me. I was just laying on the riverbank, knocked out, with only a couple of cuts on me. And Dad…Daddy…"
"Lilie, stop it. That wasn't your fault. It was an accident. Your dad wouldn't want you to blame yourself. That could've happened to anyone. You should count your lucky stars that you weren't buckled in, or you might not have gotten out of the car so easily."
"How…how did you know I wasn't buckled in? I didn't…I didn't say that."
"I…I assumed. Because…if you had had your belt on, you wouldn't have been thrown clear of the car."
"Unless the seatbelt broke. No, no, you said that like you knew. Like you knew that I…you…you were there? You were there."
"No, no, Lilie, I wasn't. I—"
"—Yes, you were. Yes, you were! You pulled me out of the river. They said it was miraculous that I didn't drown, but it wasn't. You pulled me out and left me so I wouldn't…so I wouldn't know you'd saved me again. … I…I saw you. Oh my God. I remember you there. I thought it was all in my head, that I was hallucinating. The paramedics told me I was; there wasn't anybody there, they said. Some hikers heard the crash and called when they found my body on the… How could you? How could you?!"
"How could I what? Save you? It's kinda my thing, don't you remember?"
"No! How—how could you save me and not him? Why didn't you save him, too?"
"I tried, Lilie. I did. After I pulled you out of the car and got you to shore, I swam back down to get him. I couldn't pull him out. The belt…it wouldn't come undone. And then I couldn't breathe and I didn't…I didn't know if I would survive without oxygen. I couldn't know; I'd never tested it before. And I wasn't sure if…if you were actually alive. I just pulled you onto the bank and then dove back in. But I couldn't pull him out and…and he was gone anyway. He hit his head on the wheel and…it was too late, Lilie. And I had to make sure you were still…still alive."
"But I…I don't matter, Campbell. He did. He was a good man. He loved my mother and…and me. And he helped people, selflessly. And you let him die! Campbell, how could you let him die?!"
"I didn't have a choice! All my life I've…well, not all my life. But since you came into it, it seems my whole life has revolved around saving you. The river, those dumb boys, the dog and the car, the car crash—"
"—What car crash? I've never been in… Oh! That car crash. I should've known. You were the mysterious motorist who saved them both. Why couldn't you save both of us this time?"
"With them, there was time. The wreck wasn't that bad and…and the fire hadn't spread too far. And I didn't know then why…why I felt compelled to stop and help them. I'd never felt that way before. I wasn't all noble and volunteering to be a medic in battle or running into burning houses to rescue kittens. I just tried to stay off the radar my whole life, hoping that no one would notice me, notice that I don't age…or, at least not the conventional way. But that day…it's like I was purposefully driven to that very spot, driven there to rescue you, even though you barely existed at that point. Ever since that day, I stayed close. It's like I knew that…that you would be in danger at some point and…and need me again. And I was right."
"Maybe… Or maybe you were meant to save him instead. You should…you should just leave. Just leave. I don't want you here anymore. I don't want you…saving me anymore. Maybe there's a reason I attract so much danger. Maybe I'm not supposed to be here, and you're just messing with the natural order of things. Maybe I'm supposed to die."

* * *

He never knew what would happen if he actually…well, if he was actually seriously injured. See, Campbell wasn’t like most other guys. Beside the fact that he was really, really old, impossibly so, he didn’t have any clue as to why he was the way he was. When I first met him at the tender age of five, I knew he was something special, someone vastly different from anyone I’d ever met in all my vast, knowledgy years. But I couldn’t really put my finger on whatever it was that set him apart from all the other adults I knew, what made him so…almost magical to me. It was no wonder that I fell in love with him on the spot. Even though he was a stranger (and I knew very well because of the diligent drilling of my mother that I was not supposed to talk to strangers), I immediately trusted him, immediately loved him, almost against my will. It wasn’t just because he’d saved me; it was more because there was just something…something indelible about him that spoke to me, called me to like some siren’s song. He used to call me that, too. His “siren.” He said he could always feel when I was in danger, or about to be, always knew just when he was needed. That didn’t stop him from hanging around, watching over me, just in case danger struck when he wasn’t close enough to stop it. The only time he wasn’t nearby was…was when I was seven. No one was nearby then.

* * *

“You can’t save me from everything, Cam. I’m not like you. I…someday you’re going to try to save me and…and you won’t be able to. You’re gonna have to find a way to—to live with that. Can you? Because…if you were…if something happened to you, and I couldn’t save you…I don’t know what I would— And I’ve had a lot less practice iat saving you from imminent danger and/or death at every turn. Maybe you should just…just give up. Just leave me alone and let…let my life take its course.”

“Do you know what would happen if I just left you alone to your own devices? You’d be in hospital as soon as I left city limits.”

“Don’t make jokes. I’m being serious. I’m not a child anymore, Cam. I know that I have nowhere near the years and experience and subsequent wisdom that you have but…but I’m not a child. I’m not some little girl who doesn’t know anything about the way the world works. I haven’t been that girl since… So, just stop treating me like a child. I’m serious about this, Cam. What happens to you when you can’t save me?”

“That won’t happen.”

“Campbell, please stop being an idiot. You’re not invincible! Or at least you don’t know for sure that you are. You’ve been too afraid to test, to experiment. Could you save me from a speeding bullet? Would they just bounce off your skin? What about a bomb? Or an explosion? A fire? An avalanche? Something else too ridiculous and unpredictable to stop? I’m the—the ‘Menace Magnet,’ remember? I’m just not safe for other people to be around. You of all people should know that.”

“You haven’t managed to kill me yet, though not for want of trying.”

“Ha, real funny, Cam.”

“Even so, I’m still here. Still alive. And I’m not going anywhere. Not until you stop attracting danger so prolifically. I’m staying around until…until you don’t need me anymore.”

“When will that be, Cam? When I’m dead?”

* * *

The Little Incident took place when I was five years old. As I said before, I was always something of an adventurous child, able to keep up with the seven and eight year old boys’ thirst for danger and general tomfoolery, which was the only reason they let me hang around. Consequently, I rarely played with other little girls my age. My mother always tried to schedule play dates with other neighborhood moms who had daughters my age, but we never got along. I was always intent on trying to climb out the window and shimmy down the tree next to my two-story bedroom window, just to see if I could do it, whereas the girls who were brought ‘round preferred to dress their Barbies in various outfits and enact bizarre plays with them. When I could be persuaded to play with their dolls, I most often found the most outlandish outfit and then tried to use Barbie as a sort of female Indiana Jones (and yes, this was all before the arrival of Lara Croft). However, the other girls didn’t like my games, especially if I tied their Barbies up and had my adventurer rescuing them. They said Ken should do that; I didn’t see why my Barbie couldn’t do whatever I wanted her to. Wasn’t that sort of the point of their little make-believe game? So I often purposefully ruined the dresses my mother forced me to wear so that she would let me change into shorts, a T-shirt, and my favorite scuffed up sneakers before running out to meet with the neighborhood boys to climb trees and build forts and have water balloon fights and other games which were not so innocuous. When I was five, our favorite game became a game of dares and bravery. Derek Grey, who lived about a block down and across the street from me, had a big backyard and a tree house that he and his dad (mostly his dad) built in a large cottonwood. There was a man who lived next door to the Greys’ and shared a fence with them. A large and vaguely frightening man who had been married a few years earlier but turned surly and mean after his wife left him (or so I later found out from the neighborhood gossips that babysat me while my mother was at work). She had left her husband and her home and her dog, a large and loving German Shepherd named Riley. However, Mr. Donovan (the man with the absent wife and present dog), grew very resentful over his wife’s desertion and took his anger out on Riley, beating him and often chaining him up to the dog house out of reach of his water bowl. Riley, once sweet and loving, longingly licking our fingers through the holes in the fence, turned mean and angry, barking at us furiously anytime we came into the yard. We could see what the man was doing, how he was systematically corrupting Riley into a vicious neighborhood threat, but we didn’t know how to tell anyone, how to make him stop. He was so much bigger than us, so much stronger, an adult, someone we were supposed to look up to and respect and not really question. I tried to tell my parents, but my mom just said it was none of our concern and my dad didn’t say anything, although I think he went and talked to Mr. Donovan, but Donovan apparently slammed the door in his face. So Riley stayed in the backyard next to Derek Grey’s house and stayed mean. Our new game started out rather innocently. We were all playing kickball one sunny afternoon, using the tree as home base, when someone kicked the ball close to the shared fence. Jimmy Masterson ran over to get it and throw it to the first baseman when Riley started barking like he was having some sort of rabid fit. He clawed at the fence, bit at it, trying to get through. Jimmy was so scared that he peed his pants and ran back to the house without the ball. Riley kept barking, kept clawing and biting, and we all retreated to the back porch. Finally Derek, the oldest of us at nearly nine years old, bravely and slowly approached the fence and retrieved the ball, running back to the rest of us at the porch after sending Riley into another near frenzy with his mere presence. And that is how the game got started. The tree house was always base, just in case Riley ever did escape the confines of the fence, but you had to climb all the way up for it to count. The only rule was to see just how close you could get to the fence amid Riley’s mad barking before you got to scared and ran away. Whoever actually got the guts to touch the fence would be the biggest winner of all (though we never really determined what the prize would be should anyone achieve this goal). The other boys admired me because I could go just as far as the biggest and oldest and bravest of them, though no one ever succeeded in touching the fence. At least, not until the day of my Little Incident.

* * *

“Were you trying to get yourself killed?! Those boys could’ve…they could’ve killed you, Lilie. And they wouldn’t have cared much if they did. What were you thinking? … Answer me, Lilie. What were you doing?”

“I was being a teenager! A dumb, self-centered teenager. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be?”

“You know that wasn’t what I meant.”

“That was exactly what you meant! What do you want from me? What do you expect me to do? To feel? You always rushing in, rescuing me from every little thing and then…then you expect me not to need you. Not to—to want you. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t…this halfway… Please, Cam, either love me all the way or—or…”

“It’s…it’s not that simple, Lil.”

“No, it is that simple. It’s as simple as you wanting me and me wanting you. You are the only thing making any of this not simple.”

* * *

Everything changed when I found out just how involved in my life he had been. Something in me…I couldn’t take it. I snapped and…and I drove him away. The love of my life, and I drove him away. Sent him packing without even a thought for what it would really mean. I guess I didn’t think he would really leave me alone. I thought he wouldn’t listen like always and insist that it was best for my own safety if he stuck around. All the arguing, all the demands, I never really wanted him to leave me. I needed him, and for more than just protection from whatever danger I managed to stumble into. I needed him like cotton crops need rain without hail. But I just had to be stubborn and hurt and stupid. I just had to drive him away. And now he’s gone…for good this time. No coming back. No more salvation. I don’t even care what kind of danger I wander into now. I just want him back.

* * *

“You’re that certain that we’re meant to be together?”

“Yeah. Nothing can keep us apart. Not even death.”

“Lilien, you’re only fifteen. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do. I love you, Campbell, and I know it’s crazy. You’re old enough to be—“

“—Your father?”

“I’d say you’re a lot older than that.”

“That’s crazy. What would possibly make you say that?”

“I may be fifteen, Cam, but I’m not stupid. You look exactly the same as you did ten years ago, when you first rescued me. Exactly the same. You haven’t aged a day. Not one day.”

“Maybe I just age well.”

“Maybe I have a picture of you that’s ten years old where you look exactly the same as you do now. And maybe…maybe I remember every wrinkle, few though they are, on your face from that day. I was pretty close to it for a good long while.”

“And you were five…and somewhat traumatized at the time.”

“Which only makes my memory sharper. Nothing’s changed. Nothing that should have changed. No extra lines around your eyes, no grey hairs. The only thing that’s different is that you have a light scar on your right forearm. And here I thought that immortals didn’t scar.”

“I’m not immortal.”

“Really? ‘Cuz I found another picture of you. A daguerreotype. I found it in the library while I was doing research for a school project. It’s a picture from 1816. And you look almost exactly the same as you do now. Maybe a few years difference, but not many. Not 192 years difference anyway.”

“Well…that can’t be me then, can it?”

“Sure it can. If you’re immortal…which I’m betting you are. My immortal guardian angel. The love of my life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re fifteen. And even if you really believe what you say, that I’m immortal and centuries old, how can you possibly love me after only having met me once?”

“Because I do. It’s as simple as that. You’re the love of my life, and you always will be.”

* * *

I try to stay out of trouble, avoid danger, something very alien to me. But still it finds me. My shoe broke while I was crossing the street yesterday. And not in the normal way, like the heel snapping or a strap popping off. No, it just…sorta fell apart. In the middle of the street. I looked around, saw no cars, so I started gathering up shoe bits, and then suddenly there’s honking horns and swerving cars and I’m dashing for the sidewalk, scraping up my knees and elbows. And there was no Campbell there to warn me, or pull me to safety. I just had to…save myself. Like I said, a bit of an alien concept.

* * *

“Your turn, Lilie. Betcha can’t do better than me.”

“Shut up, Jimmy! Can so. You just watch. At least I won’t break the tree house ladder climbing up like a bitty baby like you did.”

“Shut up! I dare you to touch the fence this time. I double dare you.”

“I will! And I don’t need to be dared to do it.”

“Come on, Lilie, why don’t you do it already?”

“Yeah, Lilie, you’re supposed to be all brave. You’re shakin’ like you’re gonna cry.”

“Am not, Robert! I can do this. I can do this. Just go up to the fence, touch it, and run away to the tree house. Then I can laugh at Jimmy with the rest of the boys and finally show ‘em that I’m the bravest one of all. Here I go. Just touch the fence and then I’m the—oh! Oh no!”

“Lilie, run! Run! Riley’s breaking the fence! RUN!”

“Run, Lilie!”

“Run!”

“Ruuuuunnnnnn!!!!!”

“Daddy! DADDY! Help! Help me! Daddy! Just run, just run for the house. Then Daddy will make the doggie go away. Daddy!!!!! Ah! Ow, ow, ow!!!! Stop it! Stop it, Riley! Stop biting! Stop—owwwwwwww!!!”

“It’s okay, Lilie. It’s okay. Come on, the dog’s gone now. Hold on tight, okay?”

“Ow, ow, I hurt all over. Riley bit me, mister, and it hurts.”

“I bet. Here, let me look at it…yeah, that’s pretty bad. Are you okay otherwise?”

“I guess so. What happened to Riley?”

“No, no, don’t look!”

“Oh, poor Riley. He got hit by that car.”

“Well, better him than you, Lilien.”

“How do you know my name, mister? I don’t know you.”

“Don’t try to get up. It’ll just hurt your leg. I’m friends with one of your neighbors, and I came by to visit them. I was just leaving when I saw you running from that dog.”

“Yeah, and then I fell down and he bit me and it hurt! And then you grabbed me and picked me up and pulled me out of the street and saved me from Riley…and from that car. I woulda gotten hit by the car just like Riley if you hadn’t of saved me. Thank you.”

“You’re awfully serious and eloquent for a five year old.”

“How did you know how old I am?”

“Uh…my friend, your neighbor, he told me.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Are you feelin’ all right?”

“Yeah, ‘cept for my leg. You know, you talk real funny, mister.”

“It only sounds funny ‘cause you’ve never heard a Scottish accent before.”

“You sound like Daddy’s favorite spy.”

“That is a high compliment, thanks. You sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, but you could kiss it and make it better. That’s what Daddy always does, even though Momma says it doesn’t really make it better, but I always feel better once Daddy’s kissed me. So you could try—“

“—Lilie! Lilien, what happened?! Oh my God, look at your leg! What did you do to my little girl?!”

“Momma! He didn’t hurt me; Riley did. And then he got hit by that car.”

“Baby, are you all right?”

“Yeah, Daddy, I’m fine. This man saved me from Riley and that car over there. He’s my hero.”

“It was nothing, really, sir.”

“You saved our little girl’s life. I’d say that’s significantly more than nothing.”

“She probably needs to go to the emergency room to get those bites treated, and she might need a rabies shot. And you should probably have them check her for shock because she’s handling all this a little too well for a five year old.”

“Right. Thanks again. Have we…have we met before?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve just got one of those faces.”

“Thank you so much, sir. Is there anything we could do to repay you?”

“No, ma’am, I just did what any other person would’ve done.”

“You should at least let us take you out to dinner. Tomorrow night maybe?”

“No, that’s all right. I didn’t do anything really special. Besides I’m leaving town tomorrow morning. And here are the ambulances so you can take her to a doctor and get her checked out. And you, little girl, you should be more careful from now on. Stop getting chased by manic dogs.”

“I didn’t mean to get chased. And it’s never happened before!”

“Right, well, you be careful from now on.”

“I will. You never told me your name, mister.”

“…Campbell. My name is Campbell.”

* * *

His name is Campbell, and he’s the love of my life. That sounds stupid, I know, but it’s true. And I know that I’m only fifteen, but sometimes you just know things, you know? You just know that he’s the right guy for you, the only guy. So you do anything to keep him near, even get into all sorts of scrapes and trouble so that he’ll keep saving you. But sometimes…sometimes the saving doesn’t always go all that well. Sometimes he just can’t see you as anything other than a child, a little girl who can’t seem to take care of herself no matter how many warnings are issued. I bet if he knew how often I deliberately seek out trouble just so he can come rescue me, he’d be sooooo furious. But I don’t care. I’ll do anything to keep him near. I’d run out in the middle of traffic, get in a fight, go skydiving and bungee-jumping! Anything. Even take a bullet. But I can’t let him know that; he would be really angry.

* * *

“Cam…Campbell, please. Please… Oh God…oh please, please don’t leave me. What am I supposed to do…what am I supposed to do without you here to protect me? What am I supposed to do without you? Just hold on. Just hold on! We’re almost there, baby, almost to the hospital. Just…don’t die. Please. You’re not supposed to die…I am. You’re supposed to live forever, remember? See everything, save other people who are accident prone, other ‘Menace Magnets.’ Fall in love with some other girl even though she’s way too young for you. Campbell…come on. Don’t you give up on me! … Don’t close your eyes. Please, Campbell, please…”

“Ma’am…ma’am…he’s…he’s gone.”

“No. No! No! Campbell, no! Do something! Save him! Please, I can’t…oh, God, please…save him! Don’t let him die! Don’t you dare!”

“Ma’am! Please, stop—you’re being hysterical. Stop! Stop hitting him. There’s nothing you can do. Nothing we can do. Ma’am, please, stop hitting the body. Mark, I’m gonna need some help back here. Ma'am, stop hitting the body!”

“Don’t say that! Don’t call him ‘the body.’ His name is Campbell. I love him and he loves me…but he only just admitted it so he can’t be gone. He can’t. I’ve waited nineteen years for him to love me back and he can’t be gone now. Keep trying, please…please. He can survive, I know it! He’s been alive for centuries, you know. He looks thirty but he’s really 450 years old. Or somewhere around there. It’s hard to calculate. But he can’t die. He can’t. He—he—he met Shakespeare and George Washington and Wyatt Earp, so he can’t be dead now. There are more famous people to meet and…and I need him. Without him I’ll end up in a coma or—or dead in a ditch somewhere. Please…do something. Save him! Save him!”

“Ma’am, stop! Mark! Mark, get back here now. Pull the damn bus over and get back here!”

“Campbell, Cam, please wake up! Please…”

“Give her a sedative, Mark! I don’t know how much longer I can hold her.”

“No, no! Please, help him. Help Campbell. Don’t let him die! Please…please…ple…”

“She’s out. Thanks man. She was really flipping out. Did you hear the things she was saying about this guy?”

“Whatever happened to the two of them must have put her into major shock. She’ll probably be fine in a few—What the hell?!”

* * *

I didn’t mean to get into trouble that night. In fact, I had done a pretty good job lately at avoiding the danger that usually followed me like an attention-starved puppy. I made sure to wear sensible shoes (absolutely no heels) and loose-fitting clothing that I could easily run in, I always kept my cell-phone on, I always walked to my car with my keys (and keychain sized mace) in one hand and a small flashlight in the other, and I made it a habit to drive with my seatbelt on about ten miles below the posted speed limit. And I had so far avoided any car crashes, falls off cliffs, or run-ins with rabid animals. But then…then danger came, tracked me down, and pounced on me. It started out like any other night, the frenetic walk from my parking space to the apartment building, the rush into the elevator and pound of the third floor button simultaneously with the “close door” button, the half-sprint to my apartment door, heavy car key clenched between my fore- and middle-finger like one of Wolverine’s claws, as I steadfastly ignored the noise of shouts and heated argument from the apartment next to the elevator, the shouts that come loud and clear through thin walls every night just as I get back home from work. Luckily my apartment is at the other end of the hall, near the stairwell, far enough away to drown out the sound. I should probably be smart and take the stairs since they’re closer to my apartment than the elevator, get some exercise and avoid the noise of the fighting couple in 1302, but the lights in the stairwell always blink as if they’re about to go out…and sometimes people hang out in them, trading things, propositioning things, staring at me predatorily as I rush by avoiding eye contact. So I take the elevator, figuring the shouts and occasional shuddering of the walls are a better trade-off than any possible unpleasantry that might occur in the stairwell. One day the scales are in your favor…and the next day they’re not. On this night, they were not.

* * *

“Get back in here, you rotten bastard!”

“I am through talkin’, Shelly. This is it! I am not stayin’ here, listenin’ to you yell at me night after night, constantly paranoid that I’m out with some other woman when I’m not home.”

“Well, that’s where you are, and don’t bother to deny it!”

“No, you crazy bitch! For the last time, I am not cheatin’ on you! Though who could possibly blame me if I was, mean as you are. No, when I’m out I’m workin’, tryin’ to help pay for all the goddamn liquor you put away every night. Well, I am done puttin’ up with your crazy shit and done puttin’ up with you. I’m gone, Shelly.”

“You’re damn right you’re gone! You won’t be running around on me…or anyone else anymore. You’ll be gone for good after I’m done with you!”

“Baby, baby, what are you doin’? Just—just put the gun down and we’ll talk about this. Come on, baby, let’s just…you don’t want to do this. Not with this nice young girl standin’ at the end of the hall watchin’.”

“I don’t care who’s watchin’, you good for nothin’ asshole. She’s probably one of the whores you been runnin’ around with. Let her watch! I’m done with you and all the grief you bring me.”

“No, Shelly, NO!!!”

“Get down, Lilie! For God’s sake, GET DOWN!!!”

“Cam…Campbell, no. What—what were you thinking? You’re not supposed to save me anymore, remember?”

“Vaguely, but I kinda ignored that. Good thing, too. You would’ve gotten shot just now if not for me.”

“Yeah, instead you got shot. But you’re gonna be all right. We’re gonna call an ambulance. You! Sir, please, call 911.”

“I think—“

“Dammit, just call 911!”

“You really don’t have to yell at the guy, Lil. He’s just stunned. It’s not every—uh—every day that you see someone get shot right outside your door.”

“Just be quiet, Cam. Don’t strain yourself. I should…I need to stop the bleeding. I need—here, I’ll use my jacket. Here’s where all my training comes in handy.”

“Wh—what training?”

“My ‘Menace Magnet’ training. I should know a good bit about triage by now, don’t you think?”

“It’s a—agh! Ah, that…that hurts.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s a stomach wound. Those are almost always fatal.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I’ve learned a bit about wounds and triage, too, Lil.”

“Really, how’s that? Are you some kind of expert even though you’ve never been really wounded?”

“No, but I’ve watched a fair amount of ER and old war movies.”

“Right, ‘cuz TV and movies are always totally factual.”

“Sometimes they are. Stomach wounds are supposed to be the worst, aren’t they?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re gonna be fine. I’m still gonna need a lot more saving, you know?”

“Whatever you’re doing, I think it’s working. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore. I don’t think I can feel it at all. Wait…isn’t that supposed to be bad?”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Just hold on, Campbell, please. Where is the damn ambulance?!”

“They say they’re on their way, miss. Is there…can I do anything else to—to help?”

“Yeah, maybe some towels or something for the…the bleeding. I need to…I have to stop this bleeding.”

“I want…I have to tell you something, Lilien. Something important. But I—I can’t think of it right now. My head feels so…I can’t think straight.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cam. You can tell me whatever it is later, when you’re feeling better.”

“I don’t…don’t know if I’ll be feeling better, Lil.”

“Yes, you will! Don’t talk like that. You’re gonna be fine. The ambulance is almost here and they’re gonna fix you and you’re gonna keep saving me and I’ll keep loving you and we’ll just make the best of the time we have. Please, just hold on, baby. Just—“

“—This sounds cliché but…but is it getting dark in here?”

“No, Cam, it’s still—"

“—I can’t…I can’t see your face anymore, Lil. I can’t…”

“I’m still here, Cam. I’m…just hold on, please.”

“Is this it? Is this the end?”

“No, no, no! Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. You’re gonna be fine; you’re not going to…you can’t…please…please don’t…”

“I—I love…I…”

“No! Please—please don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t you dare! Don’t…don’t…oh, God…please…don’t do this to me…please…”

***

When I opened my eyes, the world was not as I had thought it would be. There were no glaringly bright hospital lights or claustrophobic hospitals walls surrounding me, no nurse or doctor checking my vitals or whatever it is they busy themselves with; instead, there was a clear night-sky full of stars staring down at me, that distinct smell of snow in the air even though it had just recently turned cold and was far too early for such weather, and I could vaguely see a man’s slightly strained face rising and falling above me in a very odd fashion. It took me a second to reconcile what I was seeing with the last thing I remembered. The ambulance, the paramedics, …Campbell.

“Campbell…Cam, what’s…how…I don’t…”

“Shh, it’s okay, Lilie. You’re fine; we’re both fine.”

He had slowed down, coming to a stop before gingerly laying me down on the ground. He brushed my hair from my face, smiling reassuringly as I took in the trees and well-manicured grass.

“Where…where are we?”

“That park you always talked about going walking in but never actually did…thank goodness. You probably wouldn’t gotten abducted or at the very least mugged. It was close and I figured the most inconspicuous place we could be since it’s late and no one’s here. How do you feel?”

“Woozy and confused. What about you? You were…you were…”

“Yeah, I was. Guess you were right all along after all. Though I think I can go another 400 years without having to find that out in such a vivid way.”

“What happened? The last thing I remember the paramedics were…they said they couldn’t save you. You were gone. You were gone! And then I freaked out and they sedated me. And…how did this happen? You just woke up?”

“Yeah, it gave those paramedics quite a shock. One of them fainted dead away…pardon my speech, and the other one…well, I had to knock him out to get the both of us away. I figured we probably shouldn’t go to hospital what with my new exciting talents. I don’t exactly fancy being some sort of E.T. government experiment.”

“So…so what does this mean?”

“I am…immortal, I guess.”

“Ugh, thank you Christopher Lambert.”

“No need to be exasperated, luv. It is what you predicted several years ago, you know.”

“I meant, what does this mean for us? What happens now? I can’t exactly go back to my apartment and my job and my life without having to answer some pretty tough questions…unless you just want me to say I just woke up here alone and have no idea what happened in the ambulance after they sedated me.”

“Why would I want you to do that?”

“So you could…could go back to whatever it is you’ve been doing since I told you to leave me alone.”

“Lilien, despite your usual intuitiveness and intelligence, sometimes you can be completely daft. If I was off doing something other than what I’ve made my job since before you were born, do you think I would’ve been there tonight to save you?”

“I just thought you’d had one of your bad feelings and known I would need major rescuing.”

“I’ve been here, the whole time, watching you, making sure you didn’t need ‘major rescuing’. I never actually left, just…I pretended that I was gone to make you happy. You have no idea how hard it was to sit back and watch you almost get hurt and not…not intervene. But this time I couldn’t. I knew there was no way you would…come out of that alive if I didn’t do something. And you were right: I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“So you decided to test your longevity by throwing yourself in front of a speeding bullet for me? Thanks a whole bunch, Superman.”

“No, I…I thought that was it for me. I knew I could be injured so I thought…I didn’t want to try and live in this world if you weren’t in it. So I figured I’d already had plenty of time to live and experience the world.”

I pushed myself off of the ground, brushing past Campbell and steadying myself on a tree, ignoring his hands.

“What’s wrong, Lilie?”

“You’re an idiot, that’s what wrong!”

“What?”

“You figured it was best to kill yourself?”

“I wasn’t exactly alone in the murder attempt if you remember. Someone named Shelly was doing her damnedest to help me out.”

“What if you—you hadn’t come back? What would I…you thought it would be easier for me to lose you than for you to lose me? That’s…that’s ridiculous. I don’t want a life if you’re not in it. Don’t…don’t you ever do anything like that to me again!”

“I wasn’t planning on it!”

“Besides, what the hell would I have done if you had actually…what would’ve happened the next time I was shot at or nearly run over by a speeding car and you weren’t…”

“Is that all you want me for? Saving you from your stupid mishaps? Is that all I’m good for?”

“What other reason do you have for sticking around other than your insane need to protect the basically unprotectable?”

“Because I love you, you idiot!”

Before I consciously remember making the decision, I was suddenly kissing him just as I had always wanted to kiss him but never had because he was always pushing me away or because I was afraid of him rejecting me. Campbell seemed stunned by my sudden turn, but this time he didn’t push me away or tell me it was wrong or a bad idea (perhaps because I was kissing him so forcefully). When I finally pulled back, he finally seemed just as disconcerted and flustered as I usually felt after being in his presence.

“I’ve been waiting a really long time for you to say that.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting. If it’s any consolation, I’ve been wanting to say it for a really long time. And I’m planning to keep saying it for as long as you want to hear it…if that’s all right with you.”

“What happens when…when I get older and it starts to look weird that I’m dating a much younger man?”

“Then we move somewhere no one knows us, or somewhere isolated, and just live our lives as best we can. We’ll just see where that takes us for now.”

“Good enough for me.”

He swept me up into his arms again, surprising a laugh from me.

I think I can walk on my own, Cam.”

“Absolutely not. You are far too accident prone; you might trip and inadvertently cause my death again. That was bad enough the first time.”

“Don’t joke about that! And really I can walk on my own.”

“I’m not taking any chances with you, ‘Menace Magnet’. I plan to make the best of the time we have together. Now where to?” “

Well, I always wanted to see Scotland. It does hold a certain charm for me.”

“Easier said than done. You don’t exactly have your passport on your person, do you?”

“I figured you’d know more covert ways to travel.”

“Maybe I do, but they’re not exactly pleasant.”

“As long as we’re together, I don’t care.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do. I love you, Lilien.”

“I love you, too, Campbell. Any chance you’re ever gonna tell me your full name?”

“Hmm…maybe.”

_____________________________________________________

Works Cited and Consulted

Schwartz, Stephen. “In Whatever Time We Have.” Children of Eden: Highlights. RCA Victor Broadway, 1998.

Niffenegger, Audrey. The Time Traveler’s Wife. Orlando: Harcourt Books, 2003.