Category: Writings

Just some stuff I wrote

Trunk Stories

Small Town Values

prompt:  Write a story in which two people who know each other are introduced — but neither person admits to knowing the other….
available at Reedsy

Few things require the level of careful discretion as Tamara Pike’s life. As a sheriff’s deputy in a lazy backwater in the middle of the Bible Belt, who happens to be African American, and a lesbian, and kinky, it meant hiding. She couldn’t hide her color or her gender, but everything else about her personal life was sealed up tight anywhere within a 100-mile radius of home.

She spent weekends with her “boyfriend” Thomas in the city, bringing back pictures of them out to dinner, with friends, with his family. He’d even visited her at work a couple times to sell it. In reality he was a close friend from college, and they shared outings to the BDSM club in the city, where they would comment on the women and he’d go find a Domme to satisfy his itch and she’d meet up with her girl.

She spent every weekend she could with Katy, the cute, red-headed coed with a single, bright-green braid at her right temple. She would hear her squeals of delight in her dreams. Katy was far more experienced, and was opening Tamara up to new levels of play. They’d ended their last long weekend with Katy gifting Tamara with a new flogger and a promise of teaching her how to use it. At the leather goods store they looked at collars. “I know it’s too early,” Katy had said, holding one of the collars up for inspection, “but if you decide to put one on me, I’m not opposed to being yours.”

Tamara was glad that she was dark-skinned enough that the blush she felt rising while remembering that wouldn’t be visible. She shook her head to clear it and reported to the morning briefing. After handing out the usual assignments, and making sure everyone had at least two Narcan auto-injectors, Tamara left the noisy pit to head out on patrol.

“Tamara!” The Sheriff, while usually friendly, was overly so. “Come by my office for a minute before you head out.”

“On my way, Sheriff Mercer!” Tamara checked her belt, holster, badge, radio, and name tag to make sure everything was straight.

“You know better than that, call me Jim!” he called out.

“Okay! On my way Sheriff Jim!” Even if they did this routine two or three times a week it never seemed to get old to him, so she kept it up. This time, however, she heard a female’s laughter with his.

“She got you, Dad!” the female said.

The voice sounded familiar somehow. Tamara turned the corner into the Sheriff’s office to see red hair, with a single bright-green braid at the temple. It was Katy. She held her face as still as possible, trying to not think about Katy writhing as she… stop thinking about it!

“Deputy Sergeant Tamara Pike, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Katy.” Jim was glowing with fatherly pride, Katy looked like a deer in the headlights. “She’s in college to become a yak herder.”

“Lame,” Katy said, regaining her composure and punching his arm. “Try harder.” Turning to Tamara she said “I’m actually studying Criminal Law.”

Tamara knew that already, but recycled what she had told her when they first talked. “That’s a tough field, you must be one of the smart kids on campus.”

Katy had initially been hurt that Tamara had called her kid, but that was months ago, and knew now that there was nothing hurtful meant by it. “I am,” she replied.

Jim looked at her, confusion crossing his face. “You admit you’re a…” His comment was cut off by another punch in the arm.

“Smart, I mean,” Katy pouted. “I’m not a kid, I just didn’t want to be rude to your friend.” Standing behind her father half a step she mouthed “Oh my god!”

Tamara laughed. “I’ll remember that.” Inside she was screaming. If she had known who Katy was, or rather who Katy’s father was, she would never have spoken to her. She maintained her calm exterior, and saw Katy give a thumbs-down gesture, the hand signal that replaced a safe-word when unable to speak. Tamara’s nod was slight, just enough to let Katy know that she had her back.

Jim looked at Katy and back to Tamara. “I hate to ask, but could you drop her at home? I’ve got a meeting with the county prosecutor coming up.”

“Sure, Jim,” Tamara said. “Katy, right? Anything you need to grab or are you ready to go?”

“Just my backpack. I’ll see you out front,” Katy said.

Tamara walked out to her cruiser to wait, eavesdropping on the conversation of two other deputies.

“I swear, if I knew Tate had a daughter like that…,” Carter said. “You so much as look at that girl sideways and you’ll be castrated before you can blink,” Jones replied. They were silent for a moment before Carter spoke again. “I just can’t believe he has a kid, and she looks like that!”

Tamara decided she’d heard enough. “Why don’t y’all get out there on patrol, before the sheriff makes a necklace out of your little man-bits?” It had taken a while to get past the push-back from her promotion to sergeant, especially as the only woman and the only African American in the department. Once the dust settled, and two less-than-stellar deputies left the force, the rest of the men grew to respect her, as evidenced by the way they could all tease each other.

“I…,” Carter started. “I was gonna say something about size, but you’d just twist it and make me look stupid.”

“That’s because it’s easy,” Jones said. “Besides, Pike got the brains in her family.”

“Hey!” Tamara laughed. “Who are you calling ugly?”

Jones laughed and Carter asked “Did I miss something?”

“Yes, Carter, you did.” Jones waved. “We’re 10-41, Sergeant.”

Katy exited the building ten minutes later, carrying a large backpack filled to bursting. As much as Tamara wanted to rush to help her, doing so in front of the Sheriff’s office window might not be the best idea. Instead she keyed her radio. “Base, 214 is 10-41 with a civilian ride-along.”

Katy approached and Tamara took the backpack and placed it in the back seat before opening the front passenger door for her. “Why did you call that in?” Katy asked in a forced whisper. “Now everyone knows I’m riding with you.”

“It’s either that or you ride in back.” Tamara got in and started the cruiser. “It’s just the rules, and you know how I am about rules.”

Katy’s face grew pink. “Yeah, I mean, yes, ma’am.”

As they left the center of town and got closer to the farm where the sheriff lived Tamara finally spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me… no, that’s not right. Why didn’t I ask when I first heard you name?”

“Why didn’t I ask you what county you worked in? I never would’ve thought you’d be hired here. Besides, I really didn’t expect to come back,” Katy said, “at least not before I came out. Preferably over a video call. From a state or two away.”

“You realize that if your dad figures us out I’m literally dead.” Tamara realized her hands were beginning to cramp from her death-grip on the wheel, so she forced herself to relax and take a deep breath. “I don’t mean that in the ‘literally as figuratively’ way, either. I mean Jim will take me out to the river, put one in my head and dump me where I’ll wash out to the ocean.”

“He wouldn’t,” Katy said. “Would he?”

“If you weren’t planning on coming back, why are you here?” Tamara shook her head. “That didn’t sound right. As freaked out as I am, I’m glad to see you. I was planning on spending next weekend with you anyway. But what’s wrong that you had to visit sooner than you wanted to?”

“Remember, I told you how Mom moved us away when I was little?” Katy asked. When Tamara nodded she continued. “I see Dad once every few months: birthdays, graduation, a few holidays. But, Mom and I don’t get along. We don’t even talk. When Mom found me with my first girlfriend at 16, she basically disowned me. Kicked me out the day I turned 18.”

“Shit, Katy. I didn’t know that.”

“Because I don’t talk about it. I never told Dad, because I wanted to stay in the city. But I’m over it.” Katy focused on her hands, folded in her lap. “I didn’t know how over it I was until I got the call last night. Mom died. It’s only right I tell Dad to his face.”

“Is that going to be a tough discussion?”

“It was easier, and harder than I thought it would be.” Katy looked at Tamara. “Why do you think it took me so long to grab a backpack?”

“Wow. So, how did he take it?”

“He told me how he was here for me, and if I needed anything to let him know.” Katy shrugged. “Kind of what I expected of him.”

“So how long are you here?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical. I’ll finish out the semester remotely, then probably start back next spring.”

“I don’t know if I can keep us secret that long,” Tamara said. “Unless you can come up with a good excuse why you’ll need to go to the city with me every weekend.”

“I’m going to tell him,” Katy said. “Tonight. I’m coming out. I won’t tell him about you, unless that’s what you want.”

“I’m still afraid Jim will kill me,” Tamara said. “But I’ll be there for moral support.”

“Thanks, I’ll take you up on that.”

They pulled up to the farm house, and Tamara carried Katy’s backpack into the front room. “I’ll stop by after my shift.”

They embraced and shared a deep kiss. “I’ll be waiting.”

After her shift Tamara changed out of her uniform and was heading out to her truck when Jim stopped her. “If you don’t have any plans why don’t you come by the house? We’ll have some dinner and hang out for a while.”

“Sure.” She’d been wondering what excuse to give to show up, but he made it easier for her. “What time?”

“If you don’t have anything else to do could you head over now?” he asked. “Katy gets bored, and I’d hate for her to reorganize the cupboards or something.”

“No problem, Sheriff Mercer.”

“Call me – eh, never mind. I’ll be home in an hour or so.”

The entire drive, Jim’s failure to respond as she’d expected to the joke ate at her. Does he know? Oh god, is he going to kill me? Maybe he’ll just fire me, or arrest me for… something.

The first words Tamara said as she entered the house were “I’m dead.” She told Katy what had happened, how their usual joke had fallen flat. Unable to relax, Tamara and Katy commiserated, wondering how much trouble they were in. Tamara considered running away together, trying to piece the logistics together in her head.

Jim walked into the house and took one look at the two. “Why so glum?”

“Daddy, I,” Katy began, then faltered. She looked at Tamara and then back at Jim. “I’m afraid you’ll hate me, but I have to tell you the truth. I’m…,” she faltered.

Jim looked at her with mock concern. “You’re what? A murderer? A drug dealer? The person who’s been stealing parts from the salvage yard? If it ain’t one of those then I got no reason to hate you. Even if was one of those I don’t think I’d hate you. I’d be mighty disappointed, but never hate.”

“I’m gay.”

“I know. So what?” He smiled and scooped up his daughter in a warm embrace. “I’ve known since you were 12 and getting googly-eyed every time you saw the lead girl on that annoying show you watched. But I have a confession to make, and you both might be mad at me for it, at least for a little while.”

“What’s that?”

“I sent you home with Tamara, and invited her over, in hopes you two…,” he shrugged. “She’s got a fake boyfriend in the city. We all pretty much know she’s gay, but we play along. She worries that some of the other folks in town aren’t as understanding.” Jim sat in his armchair. “I just wish she’d settle down, rather than hang out at that weird club in the city.”

“Wait, you all know!? Even Carter?” Tamara was floored.

“Well,” Jim said, “Carter may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I’m sure Jones or someone’s filled him in by now.”

“But, the club…” Tamara felt her heart sink. “How did you know about that?”

“That Blaine fellow on the county board,” Jim said. “Told me he followed you there on three weekends. Thought he could use it as some sort of leverage.” Jim laughed. “When I threatened to arrest him for stalking he decided he didn’t know anything and wasn’t going to say anything.”

Katy looked at Tamara, and before she could respond said “Sorry, Tamara. Dad, I’m the girl she visits in the city.”

Jim looked at the two of them, his eyes wide. “You mean, I just tried to play matchmaker but I’m too late?” He let out a roaring belly laugh. “You two will be the death of me yet.”

“So, um, Sheriff,” Tamara asked, “does this change anything?”

“Between you and me? No. Between Katy and me? No. Between you two, it sure does. First, I expect to see a lot more of my future daughter-in-law outside of work,” he said. “Second, you’d best get to work on earning that promotion to detective. You want to have a good income before you two tie the knot.”

“Excuse me?” Tamara said. “How do you see that working in this town?”

“Easy. You go to the Episcopal Church and have a ceremony.” He snapped his fingers. “Done.”

“Dad, do you really think anyone in this town would be okay with that?” Katy’s distrust was clear on her face. “They’re mostly like mom. She kicked me out as soon as I was 18 and disowned me because I’m an evil, wicked sinner. With all your campaign talk of ‘small-town values’ I thought you’d treat me the same.” 

“Listen, I don’t know what ‘small-town values’ means in the big city, but I’ve made it clear what it means to me. At least in town-hall meetings and campaigns.” Jim sighed. “It means that drug dealers go to jail, addicts go to rehab, and if I find out who’s stealing parts from the wrecking yard they’re going to work it off. It means we’re all like family, and we take care of our own.”

Katy grabbed Tamara’s hand. “Do you really think we could walk down the street like this and not get called names, or beat up, or worse?”

“Do I think it won’t rile anyone up? No,” he said. “Do I think they’ll get over it in time? Sure. Just like they did over Tamara herself, once they got to know her. There’s one or two who won’t, but they don’t matter anyway. And what idiot would be stupid enough to assault a law enforcement officer? Especially one that can kick their ass?”

“The Simmons already call me some pretty horrible things.” Tamara sighed. “Of course the rebel flags and swastika tattoos make their feelings pretty obvious.”

“I wouldn’t worry over-much about them. Boys like that have a tendency to put themselves behind bars.” Jim pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m ordering pizza for dinner.”

“Sure, dad, pepperoni please.” Katy’s expression was mixed, somewhere between stunned and relieved, with a touch of awkwardness thrown in.

Jim looked at the two, still holding hands. “Now if y’all don’t cheer up and hug or something I’m gonna eat by myself.”

The two smiled and hugged, sharing a chaste kiss. “Don’t get carried away now,” Jim said. “And if I ever find out you hit my little girl, I’ll bury you, Pike.”

“Dad!” Katy pulled Tamara close. “She doesn’t hit me,” she said. Then in a low voice added “unless I ask her to.”

Jim’s ears and cheeks grew pink. “Oh, the club…, no, no no no no no! Too much information! I can’t know that about you! I’m going to go bleach may brain until the pizza gets here.”

Tamara laughed. “I guess you’re right, Jim. Nothing’s changed at all.”

Trunk Stories

Extensions

prompt:  Write a story involving a conversation that’s packed with subtext; the characters aren’t quite saying what they mean….
available at Reedsy

“The Librarian” wore a dour expression on her lined face. Her grey eyes glared above the half-moon glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. A blush of pink rose with her ire in her porcelain cheeks. “What do you mean, another extension?”

Samuel shifted nervously from one foot to the other, careful to look anywhere but into those piercing eyes. His short stature, thin frame, and smooth, dun skin belied his true age, but fixing his deep brown eyes to her gaze still made him feel like a child. “There’s… extenuating circumstances,” he offered.

“Still and again, eh?” The Librarian dropped a heavy tome with a loud a thud. “This makes what, fifteen?”

“Er,” Samuel knew that she was painfully aware of just how many it was. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you know why I’m called The Librarian?” she asked.

“Er, no ma’am.”

She removed her glasses, letting them hang around her neck on the thin, gold chain that linked the ear pieces. “Because I run this place like a library. We loan. We do not sell or give away permanently.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I trust this will be the last I hear of this?”

Samuel caught her gaze, and as much as he wanted to answer in the affirmative, feared the outcome if he did and was wrong. “I… hope so?”

“You hope so!?” The Librarian almost never raised her voice. When she did, as now, the object of her wrath could feel the trembling to their bones. “That copy has been out so long it’s been superseded, not once or twice, but at least a dozen times! It’s time to retire it, now.”

With an unexpected bravado Samuel asked, “Why? If it’s still good enough for…,” he regretted his words as soon as they were out.

“It’s not ‘still good enough.’ “ The mocking tone of her reply caught him off-guard. “That copy has been in circulation for so long it’s falling apart. Losing pages here and there, and who knows how many penciled-in edits, revisions and probably flat-out vandalism by now.”

“But…”

“No buts.” She waved over another of the assistants. “Angela, have you met Samuel?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Angela stood half a head taller than Samuel, her afro extending that to a full head. Samuel didn’t need to look at her to see her eyes so dark the pupils didn’t show, her skin a warm, dark red-brown, her full lips that he often fantasized saying his name.

“Angela, I’d like you to take Samuel down to receiving.” The Librarian returned her glasses to her nose and began jotting notes on her calendar. “I know you could use some help down there, and it would be good for him to get a better understanding of how we do things here.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Angela flashed a wide, toothy smile at her. “I’ll get him straightened out in no time.”

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm,” The Librarian said, “don’t make any promises you’ll regret.”

Angela’s smile was replaced with a more serious, hard expression. “Right you are, ma’am. I’ll do my best to get him on board.”

As Samuel followed Angela to the elevator he tried to come up with some way to break the ice. Now that they’d be working together it was his best shot. They entered the elevator and Angela pushed a button for their destination.

When the doors closed Samuel hesitated for a moment, and was about to speak when Angela started instead. “Are you seriously that daft?”

“I… uh,” he stammered. “Wha-what do you mean?”

“Fifteen extensions!?” Angela laughed. “You’re the talk of the place. Sure, maybe one extension, on very rare occasions two, but fifteen! You are, without a doubt, either the bravest or the dumbest person here.”

“There are extenuating circumstances!” His voice came out rather more petulant than he would have liked.

“Look, kid,” Angela said. “You have to learn how to pick your battles. And this is one you won’t win.”

“I’m not a kid.” Samuel felt his fantasies about Angela disappear in a cloud of self-doubt. “I’m probably older than you.”

“Maybe, but you’re acting like a child.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Just because you like a borrower, or even believe that they have a very good reason to extend a loan, it’s not enough. It just isn’t done.”

“If I could just get her to hear me out, I’m sure she’d change her mind.”

“Who, The Librarian?”

“Of course, who else would I mean?”

“She doesn’t change her mind.” Angela shook her head, her afro bouncing side to side. “Never happens.”

The elevator stopped and they stepped into the receiving department; cold grey concrete slab floors and walls enclosing a utilitarian workspace. “Do you,” Samuel asked, “know her name?”

“The Librarian? Sure.” Angela guided him to her office.

“What is it?”

“I said I know her name, I didn’t say I’d tell you.” Angela stopped him and stared in eyes. “We. Do. Not. Speak. Her. Name.”

Samuel gulped. “I knew she was private, but….”

“Enough of that.” Angela led him into her office. On a bench to one side were stacks of folders, ranging from massive tomes-worth bundles of documents to those with no more than one or two sheets in them. She pulled one out of the middle of one of the stacks with a deft flick of her wrist. Samuel expected the stack to topple but it dropped into the missing space neatly with a thud. She handed it to Samuel.

He recognized the cover, even though he could see the differences right off. “This is the newest version, I guess?’”

“It is.” She opened the cover and leafed through a few pages. “Notice how clean, and notice that the language is more up-to-date.”

“Yes, but as a remote agent I have only one group to keep happy,” he said. “If they don’t want the changes, why should I push them on it?”

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Angela said, “but I don’t spend all my time in receiving. I’m a field customer service agent as well. You’d know that if you came to the meetings. You’d also know that we are no longer called ‘remote agents.’”

“And how do your customers feel about change?”

“Some of them are all for it,” she said. “There are those who don’t like change, and don’t want it. I don’t give them a choice.” Angela walked to the far end of the office where a row of ten folders stood on a shelf. “These are their next ten. Or maybe nine,” she said, pulling one out part way. “This one is… problematic. They may reject it outright.”

“So you’ve already read them and vetted them?”

“As soon as they come in.”

Samuel raised the folder he held. “And if this one is problematic?”

“There’s another thirty or so copies in storage.” Angela stopped herself. “I meant to say versions, not copies. There are no exact copies of anything here.”

“Which makes it that much more important that my customers get the version they want.”

“It’s not about who wants what.” Angela crossed back to the bench and picked up one of the folders with only one document in it from the stack. The document inside had only a few lines on it. “Do you think anyone wants this?” She petted the cover and held it close to her heart. “Poor little thing. No, no one wants this, but it still needs to go out all the same.”

“What happens to the ones that don’t?”

“After a certain amount of time they find their way to excess shipping.” She leaned against her desk. “They go out to the lottery draw, and are passed out randomly. I’m afraid that’s the fate for this one.”

A panic hit Samuel. If those newer versions ended up in the lottery, anyone might get them. “Uh, I need to find the other versions of this, quick!”

Angela laughed. “The Librarian isn’t very good at explaining the why, just telling us the what. I knew you’d come around once you knew the whole story. That’s why the other versions are in the box by my desk.”

Samuel let out an audible sigh. “Thank you, Angela. But then, what happens when they’re returned? At the end of the loan?”

“That depends on their contents when they get here.” Angela shrugged. “Some are retired, placed in the private stacks upstairs. A few, if they’re really foul, are shredded and burned; but most are sent to recycling and returned to circulation.”

Samuel thought about that for a moment before speaking. “Well, she did say retired, not chucked in the furnace. I guess maybe it is time to get the old version back.” He added the newest version to the box and lifted it. “So, who is your customer group?”

“Roman Catholics.”

“Huh.” He looked at the row of folders on the shelf. “So that’s the next ten, or maybe only nine, popes, then?”

“Yep.” She nodded at the box he held. “And now it looks like the next thirty or so Dalai Lamas are in good hands as well.”

“Say, Angela, would you like to…”

She cut him off. “The Librarian does not allow any fraternization of Soul Repository employees. Not. At. All.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe I’ll see you around the break room sometime, eh?”

Angela smiled. “Maybe. I’ve got to get back to work now, and you need to go tell The Librarian you’ve learned the error of your ways.”

Trunk Stories

North Dakota Grannies Knitting Circle

prompt:  Write a story about a meeting of a secret society….
available at Reedsy

Six elderly women, all carrying large knitting bags, five walking and wearing pink parkas, the last in line pushing a wheelchair with the sixth in a blue parka, filed out of the Senior Center restaurant. They passed by the tax preparer’s office and turned into the closed quilting store beside it. The store was closed, but open for them every other Sunday.

As they entered they removed their parkas and hung them on hooks by the door. Alinta went first, revealing a shock of white hair, and rich, red-brown skin, heavily creased by years and sun. Cho was next, revealing long, straight, dark grey hair, and warm, tawny skin, criss-crossed with wrinkles and lines, most notable being the deep creases on her forehead from from years of concentration.

Berta followed, her medium-length, yellow-grey hair and ivory skin showing beneath the blush of her wrinkled cheeks already bared before she entered the door. Behind her, Djeneba entered, removing her parka to reveal light grey dreads above a weathered, mahogany face.

Finally, Carmela entered, pushing Madeline in the wheelchair. Carmela removed her parka first, her wavy, dark grey hair still showing hints of black at the root, above a heavily lined medium beige face. She helped Madeline out of her parka, short white hair haloing the palest, most heavily aged face there. After wheeling Madeline to the large table in the center of the room, Carmela sat, pulling out her current project to knit among the others.

The quiet sounds of knitting were only interrupted for the occasional comment. “Whoops! Dropped a stitch on the last row.” “Now that I’ve got it memorized this cable pattern is fast.” “Djen, you think this sleeve is long enough for a seven-year-old, or should I add a few more rows just to be safe?”

This continued until Alinta cleared her throat. “Keep knitting ladies,” she said, “it’s time to start the meeting.”

The four others who had been wearing pink all replied with “Aye.”

Alinta smiled. “We’ve been looking for a new member for a while. I know we talked knitting over brunch, now let’s see if Madeline is right for the group, eh?”

“Well, I’m just an old granny trying to hang on,” Madeline said.

“I know your hundredth birthday was just last week,” Cho said, “but don’t count yourself out yet.”

“Correct.” Berta looked over her knitting at Madeline. “I’m interested in what you did before you were a granny.”

“Well,” Madeline said, “I guess it can’t hurt at my age. My last job was as an analyst with the CIA, until they forced me to retire. Morocco is so wonderful, have any of you ever been?”

“Oooh, sounds like a juicy job,” Carmela said. “What languages do you speak?”

“Oh, Spanish, Russian, Arabic, Pashto, a little German, some Korean, and I understand Icelandic, just can’t wrap my tongue around it.”

Djeneba asked, “Why did you join the CIA?”

Madeline thought for a moment. “I really thought I’d be helping people, making things safer, you know?”

Alinta reached the end of a row and flipped her work around. “How would you feel about doing something that really helps people?”

Madeline chuckled. “At my age? Not sure there’s much I can do.”

Alinta looked over her knitting, her hands never slowing down. “How old do you think I am?”

“Oh, well,” Madeline looked uneasy. “I don’t know, you seem young to me. Couldn’t be over 70.”

Alinta smiled. “I’m 396, no… 397 tomorrow. Cho is 284, Djeneba is 312, Carmela is 197, and Berta is the current youngster at 154.”

“Now you’re pulling my leg.” Madeline laughed it off. “But if there was a way I could make a difference, I’d do it until I fall dead.”

Alinta rapped on the table once, and the other four all answered “Aye.”

“Madeline, welcome to the club.”

Carmela pulled a small flask from her bag. “Time for tea?”

“Yes.” Alinta looked around the table. “Djeneba, when you finish that row could you?”

“You stay put, Djen, I’ll get it.” Cho said. “I’m working in the round so I can set it down whenever.”

Cho returned with tea service and set about making tea for everyone present. She accepted the flask from Carmela and poured a measured amount in each cup, which got a naughty giggle from Madeline. “Don’t tell my doctor!”

They continued knitting, sipping their tea, and watching Madeline as her posture straightened, her eyes brightened, and color flowed to her smoothing cheeks. “I’ve never felt so much energy! And the pain from my spine, it’s gone!”

“That’s just the beginning. You’ll stay with Carmela for a couple weeks, as your body heals and adjusts.” Alinta continued knitting. “By our next meeting you’ll be ready to join in for sure.”

“So, this stuff is great, but how does that…” Madeline cut herself short. The look from Alinta made her feel like she did when getting a raised eyebrow from her grade school teachers. Maybe she really was that old.

“If you haven’t already guessed, each of us represents a continent. I represent Oceania, Cho – Asia, Berta – Europe, Djeneba – Africa, Carmela – South America, and now you, Madeline, will represent North America. Just watch for now. Ladies, report.”

“More refugees from Sudan,” Djeneba said. “We’ve made some payments to Chad to take most of them in, Eritrea still doesn’t want to help. Ebola outbreak in DRC, nine cases so far, we’ve got Médecins Sans Frontières on the ground already. We still need to make a decision on the coup in Kukuana. General Kanoute has seized power and cut off all outside communications. We’ve got four freight containers of weapons impounded in Nigeria that he’s expecting.”

Alinta paused in her knitting, pursed her lips, then resumed knitting. “Buy the weapons from the Nigerian government outright. Send them to our rail yard in Burkina Faso. Tell the President and his loyalist troops where to pick those up. Any dissent?” When there were no responses she said “Thank you, Djeneba. And tell Eritrea that if they want to keep their loans they need to take the refugees. Next.”

Cho spoke up. “We finally have an ID on the Crystal Lotus Yakuza boss. He’s making moves in politics, and likely to be elected to the House of Councilors. Flooding in south Vietnam isn’t easing up. We’ve provided 1.3 billion dollars for recovery. Still waiting on the outcome of the trade summit in China.”

Alinta nodded. “It would be a shame if another newly elected Councilor was tied to the Yakuza. I believe the gentleman will meet a tragic end in an accident next week. The other clan you mentioned last meeting… Plum Blossom I believe, may be willing to help if the price is right. Any objections?” The only response was the quiet clacking of knitting needles. “Thank you, Cho. Next.”

Carmela cleared her throat before she spoke. “We finalized purchase of 9% shares of Banco Central do Brasil. We’re supplying 7 million dollars worth of weapons to Policía Nacional del Ecuador to help take down the cartels.” She paused. “Sorry, almost dropped another stitch. The revolution in Cordillera is all but complete. The last of the loyalists are pushed to the Peruvian border, out of ammo and food. The Peruvian Army is blocking their escape over the border, and they should be capitulating within the next few days. Which, of course, means the fountain and well are secure. I brought back twelve gallons with me.”

Alinta smiled. “Good news is always welcome.” She looked at Madeline and nodded toward the flask. “That’s what you’re drinking.”

“Like, the fountain of youth or something?” Madeline asked.

“Something like that. Next.”

Berta never looked up from her knitting but talked all the same. “Our Geneva bank is set to buy out three smaller banks in the U.K.. Germany has agreed to keep their deal as it stands. Spain and Greece are both looking for help dealing with the refugee situation. That would be 52 million dollars total.”

“How much,” Alinta asked as she turned her work again, “is that per refugee?”

“That’s assuming 500 dollars each,” Berta answered.

“Double it. Any objections?” When none were forthcoming she added “Thank you, Berta. I guess that means I’m next. The only big news for Oceania is the earthquake in New Zealand. We’ve provided 72 million dollars in aid to the government, and made another 22 million available for no-interest loans for rebuilding.”

Alinta carefully folded her knitting back into the bag and finished the last of her tea. “Don’t worry, Madeline. Over the next two weeks Carmela will get you up to speed with the technology, tools, and contacts, as well as your credentials to the bank. You know how analysis works, so we’ll leave that to you, and only offer assistance if you ask.”

Madeline stood from her wheelchair, for the first time in years. “This is… incredible. But really, it sounds like all you’re doing is moving money around.”

Cho smirked. “We’re playing politics. And these days, politics is money. Some of the previous members of the NDGKC figured out a long time ago that owning banks and having more capital on hand than the GDP of most countries was the best way to shape the world.”

“Wait, former members of the North Dakota Grannies Knitting Circle?” Madeline sat back down as her legs tired.

The ladies laughed. “No,” Alinta said. “That’s just a convenient name for us right now. NDGKC stands for Nameless Dominion Global Knights Cabal. In reality, though, we aren’t sure what the original name was, as it was in Phoenician, and likely changed multiple times over the course of the previous twenty-nine and a half centuries. In another hundred years, when this area is too built up and we move again, we’ll have to change the name again, so I wouldn’t worry overly much about it.”

As they donned their parkas and Madeline wheeled herself out the door Cho tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll stop by Carmela’s on Tuesday with your new parka. I peeked at the size in that one, hope that’s okay.”

Madeline winked. “It’s only okay if you share the pattern for the cable on those sleeves. It’s adorable.”

#

Before going to Carmela’s place they stopped by Madeline’s apartment so she could pick up a few items. Nothing that would call attention to the fact that she was leaving, though, just things that she didn’t feel she could leave behind. It amounted to two knitting pattern books, twelve skeins of merino wool yarn in various colors, and an arrowhead she’d found as a young girl.

The two weeks that followed were hectic for Madeline. As her she watched herself grow younger, healthier, more vital, she planned her funeral. There was no way around it — as long as Madeline Richmond was alive, she would generate curiosity that was bad for them all.

She first got a new identity, Madeline McCarthy, fifty-five years old. Several online shopping sprees outfitted her with new clothes and a whole new look. A new US passport, driver’s license, Social Security number and Cordillera passport making her a dual-citizen followed. When she saw the pictures on her new documents she was shocked at how young she looked.

A Cordillera doctor, visiting Fargo for training, signed the death certificate. Natural causes — complications due to pneumonia. She and Carmela picked up an urn of ashes from the crematorium. There was no service, as Madeline had no living relatives, and left everything in her possession to the animal shelter in her will. She received a small entry in the local paper’s obituary column, and a plaque on the wall of the animal shelter with her picture and the inscription “In Loving Memory.”

At the end of those first two weeks it was time for another meeting. Rather than their regular meeting, the Knights took a charter bus to an out-of-the way cemetery outside Fargo. There, they reverently placed the urn of ashes in the niche assigned.

Madeline stood before her name on the plaque in front of her. “Whose ashes are those?”

Cho took a deep breath. “Our former sister, Mary Smith.”

“Her original name was Makkitotosimew — Algonquin for ‘She has large breasts.’” Alinta smiled. “She never liked it, and was glad to change it.”

“It was true, though,” Djeneba said, and the ladies shared a laugh.

“So how did she…,” Madeline couldn’t bring herself to say the word. After being ready for death to take her at any moment, her new lease on life made it difficult.

“She got tired.” Alinta placed a hand on Madeline’s shoulder. “Sometimes one of us is killed in an accident or other misfortune, but usually a sister just grows tired and goes.”

“But I don’t see how.”

“She stopped drinking the water,” Cho said. “About three years ago. She aged rapidly and died in her sleep last year. We’ve been holding her ashes until her replacement was found.”

“I can see your next question,” Alinta said. “She was born, near as we can tell, in 1598 or 1599. She joined the Knights in 1702. She was far older than I.”

“Carmella told me there’s never been a male Knight. Why is that?”

“The waters don’t work for men.” Alinta made a small gesture and they began the walk out of the cemetery. 

Djeneba added “We don’t know why. We’ve been trying to figure it for the last two hundred years, with no answer.”

“But,” Cho started. She stopped at Alinta’s raised hand, and nodded.

They piled back onto the bus and Berta said, “We’re ready to go back now.” As the bus pulled out to take them the three and half hours back the ladies retrieved their knitting and started working.

Each sat in their own seat with their knitting bag beside them. Carmela turned to Berta. “Have Madeline show you what she’s working on.”

Madeline overheard and showed Berta the scarf she was knitting.

“That’s the cable that Cho was doing on those sleeves, right?” Berta scooted over to get a better look. “Did you double it?”

“I did.” Madeline beamed with pride. “I changed it up a little so they’re interlinked in-between.”

“Clever.” Berta looked back at her own work. “I’ll have you show me that when I finish this one. It looks fun.”

Trunk Stories

Atonement by Proxy

prompt: Write a story about someone looking to make amends for a mistake….
available at Reedsy

It’s odd that the things one has little to no control over can produce the most profound guilt. The same guilt that had Lily’s guts in knots. Her client was dead. If she had been there a few minutes earlier she could have prevented it.

Lily checked her outfit, crisp western-style suit in a medium brown-grey. Her porcelain-pale skin, pale blue eyes, and white hair with spiked blue tips contrasting with the warm brown. As a member of the Board of Security Professionals, this was to be her first time to stand on the other side of the bench in a hearing.

She took a deep breath and entered the hearing chamber. Seated were the other six members of the board, with her normal seat empty. The remaining members of the board looked like a photo of the Founders of the Federation; uniformly dark brown, some with warm, reddish undertones, others cool, but all with “normal” African features. Lily, on the other hand, had the “less-desirable” Euro features, in spite of the fact that her father was a genetic engineer and could have made her look like the majority if he had wished.

Sitting in the gallery were the members of the SIMI Trade Commission Board, the highest authority on the station. In a normal hearing they wouldn’t be there, but the BSP were to judge one of their own. Without oversight from the Trade Commission the entire hearing could be called into question. The Trade Commission was, contrary to what one would encounter in most parts of the Federation, made up of a broad array of face shapes and skin colors. What the Federation as a whole was supposed to look like.

 “Hearing number 302-13-21-LC is now in session.” Ania, Director of the BSP, spoke from her position in the middle of the bench. “Lily Cavin, you are called before the Board of Security Professionals to give an account of the events of the 12th day of the 13th month of Federal Year 302.”

“I travelled to Mars… excuse me, Sol 4, Dome 418, on a commercial shuttle. I was scheduled to meet Dr Nadine Ngata at 04:30 Federal time, to manage security for the FDF Ethics and Oversight conference.” Lily kept the guilt she felt from her voice. This was not the place for it.

“And what time did you actually arrive?”

“The shuttle was held in orbit for over two hours, and we touched down at 05:42.” Lily took a deep breath to calm her nerves and went on. “I arrived at the main level of the dome at 06:04 and stopped by the first toilet to freshen up. And that’s when I found Dr Ngata.”

“How did you find the doctor?”

“She was in a stall, shot multiple times.” Lily felt the guilt rising like bile. “I told her not to leave her room before my arrival, but I wasn’t firm enough in my warnings.” She didn’t add that the doctor had been distrustful, and had only hired her to squelch rumors of racism.

“Where were your local-hires while this was going on?”

“Locally hired security forces for the conference were due to arrive at 06:50 for a briefing,” Lily said. “The two body-guards who were assigned overnight lost her at 05:53 when she refused to stay in her room and used privileged access to cut through a Police barracks with two exits on each of three levels. They said she was carrying a satchel, but it still hasn’t been found.”

“Was Dr. Ngata working with law enforcement?”

“Not directly,” Lily said. “I did a full intel and background before accepting her as a client. Her work was as an ethics consultant with the Federal Defense Force, not directly with Combat, Police, Fire, or any individual FDF components.”

“What kind of enemies did she have?”

“The kind that send death threats.” Lily shook her head. “I’m sorry. She had received 118 death threats over the previous 10 months, all untraceable.”

“The reason I asked about what kind of enemies,” Ania tapped her tablet and a document appeared on the large holo behind the board. “This is the autopsy. Nine bullets, all FDF issue, serial numbers traced to the main Police barracks of Dome 412. The same Dome 412 that was destroyed last month in an horrific terrorist attack. They were fired by a rail pistol taken from that same weapons locker, and the pistol was turned low enough to be subsonic, but just high enough to cause fatal injury.”

Ania looked at the other board members, each nodding in turn. “We have already gone over your contracts, security plan as outlined in the same, and relevant communications logs with Dr. Ngata and the local hires. You are excused while the board makes their judgement.”

Lily returned to her flat, near the station’s dock. It was below the level where rotation provided one G, originally designated for storage when the station was still a mining platform. The 1.21 G felt comforting, the extra weight her cocoon. She lay down and rested until her comm chimed, letting her know they had reached a decision.

She stood at attention before the board to hear their judgement.

Ania pounded the gavel. “It is the finding of this board, that the death of Dr. Nadine Ngata was not a failure of the security measures instituted by Lily Cavin on her behalf. Dr. Ngata purposely evaded the bodyguards hired to protect her, and ignored the warnings of Ms. Cavin as they pertained to her own safety. Ms. Cavin performed her duties according to the standards of the Board of Security Professionals. It is the finding of this board that Lily Cavin shall face no fine, sanction, or censure, and her license remains in good standing.”

Lily left the hearing and stood on the promenade, looking down on the people one level down doing their daily routines. The floors curved slowly up in both directions. By walking in one direction she could end up right back where she started. Growing up on the station meant that planets felt backwards to her. That might have to change, though. It was too late to try to change her role on the station, but she could move to one of the colonies, take up a trade.

Her reverie was broken by Ania. “Lily, can we talk?”

“Sure.”

“Listen,” Ania said. “I don’t know how you’re feeling, or what you’re going through right now, except guilty. I know that one well.”

“I should’ve made sure the bodyguards had access…” Lily was cut off by Ania’s finger on her lips.

“Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve… that’s not the truth, and some part of you knows it.” Ania stepped back from the railing. “Walk with me.”

Lily walked beside her, content to let Ania set the conversational pace. They entered a lift and headed up two levels. Once there, Ania led her to her flat and invited her in.

“Would you like some tea, Lily?”

“Sure.” Lily looked at the small flat, the few decorations overshadowed by a display on a small shelf; an image of a much younger Ania in FDF Police gear, and a medal and commendation. “So you were police in your mandatory service?”

“And after.” Ania set down a cup of tea for Lily on the table. Lily took the hint and joined her there. “Until my partner died on the job. He should’ve waited for me to show up, but he didn’t.” A shadow crossed her face, and brief grimace of pain.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said. “That must be hard.”

“It was… still is, if I’m honest.” Ania set her tea down and fixed Lily’s gaze. “But the mistake I made was leaving the force.”

“Why?”

“I blamed myself.” Ania’s face relaxed, her gaze soft. “If I hadn’t been held up in court, maybe my partner would still be alive. It took me too long to realize that, more importantly, if he’d waited for me, he’d still be alive.” She took another sip of tea. “I blamed myself. I let guilt dictate my next move and I left the force, in spite of how much I loved it.”

“I don’t see the relevance,” Lily lied. She did, but wasn’t ready to admit it.

“I see how much you love what you do,” Ania said. “But right now, you’ve got guilt chewing you up and clouding your mind. I didn’t give myself a second chance, but maybe…”

“Maybe?”

Ania sighed. “Maybe, if I can convince you to not make the same mistake I did, I can at least feel like I tried to redeem myself.”

“So,” Lily said, “this is about making yourself feel better? I’m your proxy? I don’t know how I can keep doing this job without feeling like a fraud.”

“Yes, it’s about making myself feel better, but,” she grabbed Lily’s hand, “it’s mostly about helping you through what you’re feeling right now.”

“I was considering working for my dad,” Lily said, “not the one here on the station but my other dad. He’s in one of the colonies, growing potatoes. At least I wouldn’t get anyone killed that way.”

“You didn’t get anyone killed.” Ania patted her hand. “This is what I’m talking about. You should take a week or two off, think it over. And I want to you to talk to me, any time of day or night, when you feel ready. I didn’t give myself a second chance, but maybe I can help you give yourself one.”

“You say I’m not at fault, but it took the board hours…”

“The board decided before you even walked out of the room.” Ania smiled. “We spent two and a half hours answering questions from the Trade Commission before we could announce our finding, though. And then one of the Trade Commission members had the gall to complain that we took too long to come to an obvious conclusion!”

“Okay, I’ll give it a couple weeks.” Lily walked to the door, and stopped halfway out. “What should I do in the mean time?”

“Why don’t we start with breakfast tomorrow? The café on the promenade at 07:00. My treat.” Ania shushed Lily before she could raise an objection. “I’ll see you in the morning, unless you need someone to talk to before then.”

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Trunk Stories

Coulomb Barrier

prompt:  Write a story about another day in a heatwave….
available at Reedsy

The deuterium-deuterium fusion cycle as employed in standard spacecraft engines is made possible through the use of extreme heat, exciting the atoms to crash into each other energetically enough to overcome the natural repulsion of the weak nuclear force, and get within range of the attractive strong nuclear force. This is what is meant by overcoming the Coulomb Barrier. – Dr. Fatouma Tigana Fusion Basics for Power Mechanics

The announcer stood in front of a graphic of the sun over a landscape of identical grey blocks stretching into the distance. “It’s the 24th day of the heat wave, with temperatures here in the city expected to reach 52 degrees. That’s 325 degrees Kelvin for those playing at home.” The announcer’s voice was serious, making the attempt at informal banter jarring. “To win 200 credits, be one of the first three people to tell us, at Bamako:news:block374-local, what is 52 degrees in Fahrenheit?”

Jak did the calculation in her head while she switched the holo to its default display mode. She sent the answer “125.6” to the block holo channel from her comm. A moment later her comm chimed with the message that 200 credits had been deposited to her account. On a normal day she’d be asleep at this hour, since she worked nights, but she hadn’t slept well for the past 18 days. This was the second time she won 200 credits from their daily trivia question.

Inside the drab, grey walls of her flat the air was a perfect 20 degrees and 30 percent humidity. A holo image of a forested waterfall played on the wall opposite the door. Despite the comfort of the flat, the heat still felt oppressive to her.

She worked nights, but she worked outdoors. She maintained the automated machines that erected the 100 story, square kilometer blocks like the one she lived in now. Last night, though, the temperature stayed well above 30 and the hot, humid winds were torture. No amount of cool showers could seem to get her free of the feeling of being overheated, even here in her perfect environment.

Jak decided to call the weekend early. The construction company might get mad, but they weren’t the ones fixing melted insulation and heat-damaged batteries every night. She fired off a quick message from her comm and took another cool shower. Her bed sat disheveled and she contemplated trying to sleep again, but she knew it was futile at this point.

Dressing in her lightest clothes she left her 98th floor subsidy flat, taking the elevator all the way down to the ground floor. Floors 0 and 1 were where all the shops and services lived. They were also the busiest, especially in the middle of the morning. She wandered through the crowds, trying to decide if she needed to buy anything with her new 200 credits.

Last time, she’d bought a party dress, costing almost the entire amount. It wasn’t until the day after that she realized she’d probably never have occasion to wear it. She was wandering through the mall, looking for something interesting when a voice called out “Jaqueline! Jaqueline! Over here!”

Jak sighed. Only one person called her Jaqueline, her next-door neighbor, Sina. Sina was attractive, and nice enough, but annoying; frantically chipper and a chatterbox in the way that only five-year-olds haven’t outgrown. She didn’t know her well, despite the many meetings in the hallway outside their doors. “Hi, Sina. I see you took a job?”

“Yes! I still want to work on my art, but I thought maybe I could find a job that can make people smile!” Sina pointed to the case in front of her, a huge smile plastered on her face. “Ice cream makes people happy! Especially when it’s hot out! Not that you’d know it, since no one’s ever really outside except in a taxi or bus or train or plane or something. Want some ice cream?”

“No, thanks,” Jak said, then paused. “You know what, on second thought, sure.” She looked over the flavors and asked “What do you recommend?” No sooner had it left her lips than she regretted it.

“Oh! I really like the chocolate raspberry… or was it strawberry? Or the cherry with chocolate chunks in, or the green tea with chocolate chips…. Oh! You have to try the rhubarb lemon sorbet! It’s tangy… and sweet… only…”

“Only, no chocolate?”

“Yeah! How did you know?”

“I’ll go with that. Sounds light enough for now.” Jak scanned her ident to pay and tuned Sina out as she chirped non-stop while scooping ice cream.

“Have fun today! I’ll be home around 20:00, you can let me know what you think about it then!”

“Uh…” Jak had no idea what Sina was talking about. “Um, sure. You may have to remind me this evening, I worked all night and haven’t slept.”

“No problem! I’ll just pop by when I get home! Toodles!”

Jak sat on the side of the fountain in the middle of the mall, eating her tart icy treat and watching the crowds. What was Sina talking about? As much as she wanted to enjoy the cold sweetness she found she’d finished her ice cream while trying to recall whatever Sina had said. If she’d paid attention she would know, but now her mind was working overtime in effort to tease out anything coherent.

She lay back on the cool marble of the fountain edge, trying to figure out her best course of action. Option one: she could wait until 20:00 and find out then. Option two: she could march back over and admit that she wasn’t listening and find out what Sina wanted to know. As hard as she thought, she couldn’t come up with an option three.

She tried to imagine how she would approach it without hurting Sina’s feelings. As she thought of how she would apologize the cool of the marble spread through her body. Relief, at long last.

“Wake up, sweetie.” Sina’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “You fell asleep on the fountain.”

“I… uh…,” Jak sat up, trying to clear the fog of sleep from her brain. “Oh. Sina, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention earlier and then you said….”

“No, I’m sorry.” Sina seemed unhappy. It wasn’t a look her face was accustomed to. “That was a mean trick, I’m sorry.”

“What trick?”

“I knew you weren’t paying attention, so I thought it would be funny to act like I thought you were.” Sina sighed. “I know I’m difficult to be around. I talk too much when I’m nervous. My stomach gets all fluttery and then I just talk and talk and don’t let anyone get a word in edgewise. It’s kind of a bad… wait. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

“You are.” Jak shifted, her back in knots after sleeping on the hard slab. “What’s got you so nervous?”

“Well, I… kind of like you,” Sina said. “I mean, I don’t really know you, but you seem like the sort of person I would like, only I really want to get to know you.” Her speech was picking up pace. “If it’s not too much to ask, I mean, if you’re not doing anything, and you would be okay with it, but if you’re not I’ll understand, I just wondered if…” she fell silent.

“Yes?”

“I did it again.” Sina took a deep breath. “Jaqueline, would you like to go dancing with me?” It all came out as one word. Sina gulped, then continued on. “It doesn’t have to be tonight, or tomorrow, but maybe some time this week? When you have a night off? It doesn’t have to be anything serious, I just want to get to know you. Friends first, and that’s all if that’s all you want, but….”

Jak raised a hand to stop her. “I have a brand new dress I won’t get to wear otherwise, so, yes. We’ll go dancing tonight. On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You have to stop calling me Jaqueline. My name is Jak, it’s not short for anything.”

“Sorry. I was just, I don’t know…,” Sina trailed off.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it already 20:00?” Jak asked.

“No, I saw you lying over here, and when you didn’t move for a couple hours I took the rest of the day off.”

“In that case,” Jak asked, “why don’t we make a full night of it? Let’s grab some dinner, my treat. And then dancing is on you.”

“That sounds great!” Sina chirped. “We can go for your favorite, then that way I know what your favorite is! Unless it’s too expensive, then we can go for something else, but I still want to know what your favorite is. My favorite is cauliflower curry. And chocolate. And any kind of berry, but especially raspberry…”

“Sina,” Jak cut her off.

“I’m doing it again, huh?”

“That’s okay,” Jak said, “it’s cute.” It wasn’t what she expected to say, but she realized that Sina was no where near as annoying as she had thought earlier. Perhaps it was her lowered resistance due to lack of sleep, or maybe the heat had finally melted her brain. Either way, it was working. “Let’s go eat, then we can go home to get ready for tonight.”

“Okay. Hey,” Sina asked, “when the weather cools off, can we maybe go to the lake, go swimming?”

“That sounds good, but let’s get through tonight, first.” Jak stood and stretched. “Let’s grab a cold noodle salad.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“Only when I’ve been working in the heat.”

“Wait, you work outside!?” Sina’s eyes grew wide. “What kind of work do you do that you have work outside?”

Jak offered Sina her hand. “We can talk about it over dinner. After all, that’s what this is, right? Getting to know each other?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sina accepted Jak’s hand and stood. She continued to hold her hand after getting to her feet and raised her eyes to Jak’s. “Is… is this okay?”

“It’s fine.” Jak smiled and lightly squeezed Sina’s trembling hand. “If I didn’t want you to hold my hand I wouldn’t have offered.”

As they walked hand-in hand through the mall Sina was, for once, at a loss for words.

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Trunk Stories

Redemption Road

prompt:  You thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of you on the street, smiling at you….
available at Reedsy

The first couple months after I killed Kevin Whatcomb I saw him everywhere. It was the first time I pulled my weapon in the line of duty, and the first time I ever killed someone. I made sure it was the last. I quit the force right after. Still, for a couple months I saw him everywhere.  At the grocery store, in line at the theater, riding the bus, driving the car next to mine. He wasn’t really there, of course, my mind just kept inserting the object of my guilt on everyone I saw.

Since then I’ve worked road construction. The hot, hard work combined with a couple years of therapy pushed Kevin out of my waking consciousness, and reduced his appearances to the odd nightmare. Until that day. He was standing with a bemused smile in the middle of the road I had just closed.

We were getting ready to rip out a section of the main road into the Redemption Acres development in preparation for new sewage and water lines. As the lead laborer I was one of the first on the site, setting up the detour signs, placing the cones, and making sure the equipment had room to maneuver.

I had just placed the last sign when I saw him. My first thought was that it wasn’t real. I looked away, counted backwards from 100 by sevens, then looked back. He was still there. He hadn’t changed into someone else or disappeared completely. My heart began to skip and thud, and I felt the waves of a panic attack trying to build.

I closed my eyes, crouched down, and forced myself to breathe slow and deep. Maybe I’d gone off the anxiety meds too soon. Didn’t seem likely, as I’d been doing fine for over a year without them.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, “but I’m looking for Alan Tate.”

The voice was not Kevin. He had a British accent and a far calmer disposition. I could hear Kevin yelling in his drug-fueled delirium, “I’ll gut this little bitch!” I clapped my hands over my ears hearing it all again, seeing him standing with a knife to seven-year-old Maisy’s throat.

“I’ll gut this little bitch afore you c’n pull that damn tri…” BANG! The dull clatter of the knife on the wood floor, then Maisy’s scream. She was cut, but only superficially, where he had held the knife tight against her neck.

“Are you unwell?” the man asked. “Should I ring for an ambulance?”

“I’ll be okay,” I answered. I wiped my tears with shaking hands then slowly stood. As my vision cleared I saw him, right there. It was him, but it wasn’t. “Sorry. You just… reminded me of someone. I’m Alan.”

“I presume then, that I remind you Mr. Whatcomb.” His smile fell and he looked at me with a mix of sympathy and shame. “I’m Charles Dumont, although I’ve found out recently that I’m also a fair number of other people as well.”

“What does that mean?”

“I ran my DNA for grins, and found that I am wanted in South Africa, a person of interest in Slovakia, an officer in the Russian Army, a dead criminal in the states, and at least four other people on ancestry sites.” Charles sighed. “Identical DNA match to all of them.”

“I know you’re not Kevin,” I said. “I tried to help him, lots of times, but….” There really wasn’t much to say. “I, uh, killed Kevin,” I said. “And then I was the only one to show up at his funeral. I wish it could have gone differently. I wish I’d talked him down.”

“The way I heard it,” Charles said, “you saved a young girl’s life. But why would you attend his funeral?”

“I knew him from patrols,” I said. “When he wasn’t using he was a sweet guy, if not the brightest bulb on the porch. I was trying to talk him into going to rehab, and I thought he might be ready. That last meth bender, though, he lost it. He was neck-deep in conspiracy theories about mind control and all sorts of weirdness.” When I finally looked at Charles again I saw he was writing in a pocket notebook.

“Did Mr. Whatcomb say anything about orders? That he was getting orders from somewhere?”

“Like what?” I asked. “The devil made me do it?”

“No, more like,” Charles pursed his lips for a moment, “strange orders coming from shadowy figures or in dreams?”

“Never heard anything like that,” I said. “Although, if he had I would’ve chalked it up to the meth. It can really mess with your head.”

“I thank you for your time, and I apologize. It appears I’ve caused you distress and learned nothing at all about Mr. Whatcomb.” Charles turned to go.

“Wait,” I said. “If you want to know more about Kevin, I might know someone who can help.”

“Splendid! When and where should I call on you?”

“Do you have a business card?” I didn’t want to give out someone else’s contact info without their okay. “I’ll check with them, and if they feel like they can help I’ll pass their info on to you.”

He produced a plain, off-white business card with his name and business contact information number and scribbled a US number on the back. “That’s my cell number while I’m traveling in the states.”

“I’ll let you know, either way.” I stuffed the card in my back pocket and went to my truck to steady my nerves and start the day.

#

As the last dump truck load of broken asphalt left the job site I headed back to my truck. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check my messages and saw the card stuck to it. Okay, this is weird, but I said I’d ask. I flipped through my contacts, found the one I wanted and sent a text. “meet @ pp @ 7?”

The affirmative reply was almost instantaneous. I hopped in my truck and headed home. After a quick shower I drove to the Pizza Palace and walked in. There were few customers on a weekday evening so I had my choice of tables. I picked our usual and sat down. When I saw her walk in I waved her over.

“Hi, Alan!”

“Hey, Maisy!”

“Good to see you! Are you coming to my graduation?”

“Of course I am. What do you think?”

“I think we haven’t been here in three months. Maybe you’ve got a new girlfriend keeping you busy or something?”

“No, nothing like that. I’ve been working mostly down state.”

“I know, you told me last week. So what’s up?”

Before I could answer Maisy turned waved at one of the wait staff. “Annie! We’ll have our usual, please!”

I could just make out the faint trace of a scar on her neck. I hadn’t noticed it for a few years now, but today it caught my eye.

“Regular bread sticks, or spicy, hun?” Annie yelled her question across the near-empty eatery.

“Spicy! I like my food to have a kick!” Maisy laughed and turned her attention back to me.

“I met someone today,” I showed her the card, “a Charles Dumont, from a London law firm. He’s trying to find out more about…”

“About dad?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it this time? Was he wanted there too?”

“No, uh…,” I wasn’t sure how to say it. “He… uh, looks, exactly like your dad.”

“Can’t be that close.”

“No, he claims that he’s a 100 percent DNA match for your dad.”

“Like an identical twin?”

“Maybe? He says he also matched up with seven or eight other people as well.”

“Maybe it makes sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I know dad was adopted. And he had this story he used to tell mom before I was born; that he was a clone soldier, waiting for orders to beam into his brain. Of course he was always drunk when he told her.”

“Really? I never heard that.”

“I just found out about it last year. I think mom just wanted me to understand how unstable he was to start with.”

Our breadsticks and drinks arrived and we talked about normal things for a while. School, college applications, how to swing student loans. Things that a dad would talk to their kid about. I had taken her dad away from her, and in return she’d made me a surrogate.

I asked her more about the clone soldiers and she told me everything she could remember about it. In return I told her what Charles had told me. We both laughed when Maisy suggested that maybe they were identical twins, separated at birth, with the exact same kind of crazy.

After I had the left-overs boxed for Maisy to take home I told her. “I had another breakdown when I saw him… Charles I mean.”

“Are you still off your meds?”

“Yeah.”

“Wishing you weren’t?”

“Sort of. But I managed to pull it together eventually.”

“All right, Mr. Alan. I’ll make you a deal. Give me the doppelgänger’s number and I’ll call him, if…”

“If what?”

“If you promise you’ll call your doctor tomorrow and tell her what happened. I worry about you.”

“You shouldn’t have to, you’re seventeen, it’s not your job.”

“Alan…”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

She took the card and moved around to sit next to me in the booth. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“We talked about my dad, and you’re feeling guilty all over again.”

“How can I not? I took your father away from you.” I couldn’t have stopped the tears if I had wanted to.

“Look, I loved my dad, and he loved me, I know he did. The drugs didn’t.” She lifted my arm and put it around her shoulder and snuggled in close. “You saved my life from the drugs, and I know you tried to save my dad too. The drugs took him away from me, not you. And besides, you’ve always been there for me.”

“So now it’s your turn to be there for me?”

“Maybe.” She squeezed me once. “I’ll meet up with this Charles. If his DNA claim is legit, though, we may need to do some investigating.”

“Wait,” I said, “why would you…? You haven’t even met the guy and you want to check out a crazy clone army story?”

“Like I said, if his DNA is identical to dad’s. Then there’s at least something to check. Find their birth parents or something.”

#

I had just finished putting up the new street signs on the completed road, just opened to traffic, when my phone rang. I answered, expecting a call for another job, but it was Maisy.

“Alan! It’s Maisy! Sorry I haven’t called you before now, but I was waiting on DNA results and had to go to a couple college visits and…”

“Hey, hey, hey. Slow down.” I kept my voice purposely calm and smooth, knowing how she gets when she’s excited.

“Oh my god! It’s true!”

“What’s true? Clone armies?”

“Well, maybe not that, but Charles has identical DNA to dad! He’s my uncle! I’ve never had one of those before.”

“Okay. So are we thinking identical twins?”

“Not likely. We sent samples to South Africa and Slovakia and Russia and… a bunch of other places. South Africa sent an extradition request.”

“Wait, how are you doing all this?”

“Uncle Charles has loads of contacts. He got samples from dad’s case and sent them out to… eight? different countries. We’ve gotten six matches.”

“That’s… really strange.”

“It is. Uncle Charles wants to know if you’d like to work for him. As an investigator. See if we can figure this all out.”

“He what?”

“When are you done with work?”

“Just finished.”

“Meet us at Pizza Parlor in 30?”

“Make it 60. I need to wash up first.”

“Okay, we’ll see you there.”

“Wait,” I said. “If Charles is your uncle, what does that make me?”

“I just tell everyone you’re my other dad,” she said. “That’s how I see it, anyway.”

“I’ll take it. It may be more than I deserve, but I’ll take it anyway.”

I looked up at the sign I had just placed, “Redemption Rd,” and hoped it was a portent of things to come.

Trunk Stories

Meeting With The Higher Ups

prompt:  Write a story that involves a mystery — it doesn’t need to be crime-related, it should just include something that remains unexplained until the end….
available on Reedsy

I hate my job… no, not hate, but I certainly don’t like it any more. My job used to be my joy, and I would have happily done it without pay. Then I got too good at it, I guess. Got promoted a few times, and now… this.

There’s a meeting on my calendar with my boss, her boss, and someone else I can’t see in the BCC on the meeting invite. This afternoon. Hopefully they’ve finally figured out how unhappy I am and are ready to move me back to my old position. No, that would’ve just been Maia, my boss, telling me to pack up and move back downstairs.

When I started, I had no idea what was going on. It was all so new and exciting, and then I got my first assignments; little things, really. Oh, but I excelled at them! I loved designing and building the little things; things that most would never notice in a million years, but I did. Whether it was one of mine or not, I always noticed the little things. It’s the small touches that really complete a thing.

My position now, though, has me overseeing a whole world of stuff. I’m too wrapped up in the big things to take notice of the little things these days. Maybe that’s what it is. I’m going to get chewed out for the stuff the creep downstairs has been slipping into the code.

Since I’m not going to get any work done while worrying about the meeting I decide to look in on some of the little things my replacement, the creep downstairs, was building. I had warned against hiring him, but no-one listened. His newest creations make me sick. They exhibit a certain cruelty in their design, not to mention flaws that could bring the whole enterprise down.

I write up my concerns, along with examples, but before I can mail it to my boss I get an emergency notification. This is what my job is now, take care of the big stuff and forget about the little things. I delete the draft and log on to see what the emergency is.

It’s enough to push the mystery meeting to the back burner for now. There’s never a good time for a war, but this has to be the worst. On one side, one of my favorite teams, who is currently having problems caused by some of those cruel little things, and on the other the team led by the self-important, overbearing jerk who likes only three things: pretending nothing else exists, stealing from others, and most of all, he really loves himself.

Well, I’m not going to let this stand. If I’m careful about how I do it I can make sure the jerk gets his comeuppance, and possibly even help my favorites recover from the flaws the creep downstairs put in the system. I go into my creator-space and begin writing the code that will do this.

I have a long look at the resource allocations for both sides, and see what they each have and have not discovered. The jerk hasn’t discovered the iron in his territory… and now it’s basalt. It looks like his team is building a well. I tweak the layer the water is in, rendering it too alkaline to use.

Anyone who thinks we don’t change the playing field once it’s set is deluded. We make these kinds of changes all the time. Sometimes, like now, to help out a team we really like. Other times, also like now, to thwart a team we really don’t like. Usually, though, we just get bored or have a momentary inspiration to do something different. That’s why doing the small stuff is so fun. There’s always somewhere to build something new, something that’s never been seen.

Looking back at the resources of my favorites I see they’ve found the precious metals, but haven’t gone very deep yet. I extend and expand the main vein they’re about to hit into a bonanza. Even with that, though, they don’t stand a chance without outside help. Time to check their neighbors.

To one side, a reasonably strong neighbor with no precious metals. To the other, a neighbor with a huge army, and a need for more advanced agriculture. I send them messages, letting them know that the jerk is coming to take their lands. Not specifically disallowed, but not generally smiled on. I shrug and continue on with my quest to ruin the jerk.

I leave hints for my favorite team, telling them to trade with their bordering teams, make alliances, defeat the coming doom. I send a message to the team’s informer as well, pointing them to the hints. Not only allowed, but expected. On one border I add a small spring, and in the spring I add a new creation, one that can fix the flaw of the latest addition from the creep downstairs.

Now it’s time to sit back and see what happens over the next few turns. I watch with interest as a new leader takes over for my favorite team: the previous informer. She manages to turn trade deals into an alliance. That alliance beats back the jerk, whose entire team is taken out of play.

What happens next is a surprise. The alliance turns into a unified territory, and incorporates the empty lands that the jerk left behind. They are sailing on to more advanced technology, fueled by the massive cache of precious metals. Maybe I made it a little too large. No worry, they’re still my favorites and my inbox is filling with thanks from them.

When they figure out the fix in the spring it doesn’t take them long to recreate it for themselves. I’m pleased when their first impulse is to share it with every other team they meet. I guess there are times that this job can be enjoyable, too.

Oh, yeah. The meeting. My calendar is blinking at me, telling me it’s time to go. I think I’ll be okay with moving back downstairs, but I doubt that’s it. My last review was good, so I don’t think I’m getting the axe. Thinking about it isn’t helping, because nothing I can think of should have more than my boss and maybe HR involved.

My calendar is blinking red now, so I get up and head to the elevator to go to Maia’s office. The elevator plays muzak that’s been on repeat for about five or six years now. The trip to the next floor is too quick. Oh well, time to learn what this is all about.

Maia is standing outside her office waiting for me.

“By the way, Maia,” I say, “I’m a little concerned about the stuff that…”

“Don’t worry,” she cuts me off. “Erra’s doing a fine job, he just does it differently than you did.”

She opens the door and leads me in. There stands Maia, her boss Gaia, and seated at Maia’s desk is the big boss. Now I’m nervous. I close the door, unsure of what’s happening.

Maia says “Tacita, come, meet Tiamat.”

I shake her hand, surprised at her strength given how old and frail she looks. “Pleased to meet you, Ma’am.”

“Oh, the pleasure’s mine,” she says. “Nice work with the emergency call there.” Her smile is at once warm and mischievous.

“Oh, you… were watching?”

“Of course, dear, it’s what I do.” Tiamat winks at me and stands, not much taller than when she’s seated.

“I told you she was ready,” Maia says.

“Ready for what?” I ask.

The office grows brighter than I can stand for a moment as Tiamat shines, then returns to normal. “For your promotion!”

“Again!?” I shout. “I just started to enjoy…”

I’m cut off by Gaia and Maia glaring at me and Tiamat laughing. “Fire builds in silence, doesn’t it? Follow me, please.”

I follow her out of the office, Gaia tagging along. “Isn’t Maia coming?” I ask.

“Gaia’s your boss now, Maia’s your coworker.” Tiamat leads us down the hall to a door I didn’t know existed. “But you can visit her any time you like. Here’s your new office. I’m sure you’ll learn to find as much joy watching over a realm as you have a world.”

She closes the door and I flop down in my chair, plant my face on the desk, and cry.

Trunk Stories

A Different Sky

part two of Status:Illegal

prompt:  Write a story that begins and ends with someone looking up at the stars….
available at Reedsy

I stood in a clearing, looking at the stars. It’s not something I’d done in ages. At least not since I had gotten my night vision gear. With it no longer working they were the only light on a moonless night, and the splash of the Milky Way was awe-inspiring.

The clearing wasn’t natural. A wide spot by the side of the dirt fire road, it looked like the result of illegal logging. I set my backpack down against a stump and lay down against it. This way I could watch the slow spiral of the stars around the North Star, telling me which way to go.

I hadn’t seen any surveillance drones since the one that had tased me in the morning, and I was far outside any sort of coverage that would allow me to be tracked. Still, they had to know where I was headed. Thankfully I knew where they thought I was most likely to go and where they wouldn’t be looking for me.

Chris had figured it all out before they took… No, Chris is dead. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t have time to grieve, not yet. First, I needed to erase my footprints from the clearing, and then get across the dirt road without leaving any marks.

As I lay watching the sky wheel in slow motion I felt a presence. I turned to look and saw a coyote eyeing me warily. He sniffed at the air, made a decision and trotted past on the dirt road.

My view of the stars was interrupted again when an owl swooped down to the grass along the road in utter silence, and took back to the sky clutching a squeaking rodent. As long as I’m not the rodent, I’ll be fine.

I had no view of the horizon to see twilight emerging, but the stars began to dim. From my pack I pulled out two power bars. The first I stuffed in my mouth and put the wrapper back into the pack. The second I put in the front pocket of my coat for later. As I did I could hear the slight crinkling of the paper in the lining of my windbreaker underneath.

I used a fir branch to return the clearing to looking like it hadn’t been walked or sat on. To cross the road, though, erasing my footsteps would also erase any vehicle tracks.

My best course of action was to jump the road from the stump nearest it. I cleared it with a little space to spare, and went back to erasing my steps as I headed back into the trees. I had crushed the grass where I landed and I just had to hope it would recover before anyone came down the road again.

Once I was fully back under the canopy it was still too dark to travel fast so I moved one cautious step at a time. As the light grew so did my pace. There was a fire road on the map where I was to take up the next leg of my journey. I made it there by late afternoon, and sat in the trees, listening for a vehicle.

It was dusk when it arrived. Red pickup, one blue fender. It was a four-door crew-cab type. This was the only part of the plan I had no control over and I was nervous. The truck stopped and the woman driving stepped out. “Chris!” she called out. “Let’s go!”

I stepped out, staying out of range of any weapons other than firearms. “I’m Terril.”

“Where’s Chris? I thought there were two of you?” She pulled something out of the cab of the truck and I got ready to run, until I saw it was blankets.

“They… got Chris,” I said.

“Shit!” She held out a blanket and motioned me to come. “That sucks, but we have to move now. Wrap up in this and get in the space under the back seat. Once it’s closed you need to set the latch, and don’t open up until I tell you.”

I took the blanket, and felt that it was made of metallic thread. “Faraday cage?” I asked.

“Yeah. We’ll be in a coverage area soon. By the way, you can call me Susan.” She folded the other blanket and laid it in the space under the open rear bench seat. “Do you have the 900 dollars you were supposed to bring?”

“Yes, it’s here, let me…” I started to pull out the cash but she stopped me.

“You’re not there yet, and it’s for you, not me.” Her voice was soft but her face and movements hinted at contained rage. Once I was hidden away under the seat the truck bounced along the dirt road for a while before we emerged onto hardtop.

“Listen, Terril.” She talked to me even though I didn’t answer. “Chris might still be alive. I’ll do everything I can… if there’s anything I can do.”

I rode in silence, feeling the speed increase and hearing other traffic. I wasn’t sure how long we’d been on the road, but it felt too long, so I took a chance speaking. “Curfew?”

“We’ve still got another hour and a half, and we’ll be gone by then.” She sounded calm. “Music?” Rather than waiting for an answer she turned on some upbeat dance music. The rear speakers were directly over me, pressed up against the bottom of the seat.

We slowed down, went through some stops and starts, and I could just make out the sound of a window going down over the music. The voice that questioned her was muffled and she answered “Yeah, delivery to Vancouver. The box on the back seat and the trunk in the bed.” She turned the music down, but not off.

The rear door opened and I stayed absolutely still while above me the sounds of someone rummaging about on the seat told me how perilous my position was. The door closed and I heard a scraping in the bed of the truck.

“Hey! Don’t scratch that, man!” Susan yelled. “I just restored it!”

“Sorry!” I heard the voice. “Lighter than it looks!”

I heard two raps on the side of the truck and then we were moving again, although slowly. It was only a minute or so later that we came to a stop. “Okay Terril, time to get out. Keep that blanket around you, and walk in the white door right next to the truck.”

I did as instructed and found myself in a hangar, looking at a small plane. “Was this the plan?”

“It was,” she said. “Still is.” She carried the steamer trunk from the truck. The way she handled it told me it was empty. After it was safely stowed in the small baggage compartment we got in the plane, she in the pilot’s seat, me in the four-seat passenger area. She put a pair of headphones over the blanket on my head, then told me to lay down between the seats.

She started the plane and we were airborne in just a few minutes. “Okay Terril, we’re far enough away now for you to sit up if you like.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Can I take off the blanket?”

“Not yet. Five minutes, then we’re out of US airspace.”

I sat quietly, listening to the drone of the single engine that was pulling us through the sky.

“You’re out,” she said. “You can take the blanket off, but you’ll probably want to put the headphones back on, unless you don’t want to talk.”

I took off the blanket and put the headphones back on. “Thank you again, Susan. And thank you for…” I didn’t want to invite the images back, but I had to say it. “Thank you for trying, for… Chris. Even if it’s too late.”

Whether it was to deflect an uncomfortable conversation or to make me feel better she changed the subject. “We’ll be landing in Vancouver in an hour. I’ve already contacted the tower to have immigration on hand.”

The sun was halfway down the ocean to the west, the sky turning pink. “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.”

“True.” She was focused on flying the plane but still had attention to give. “We’ve got clear weather, and we’ll have an easy landing.”

“Am I the… first?” I asked.

“The first to make it to Canada?” she asked. “Not close. You’ll be… number 118 or 119 I think. Why?”

“No,” I said, “the first that you’ve….”

“You are,” she answered. “I wish I could do more, but this probably won’t work a second time.”

I felt Chris falling away from me.

“I’ll probably try to get someone to Victoria this way, though.” She switched to the radio and answered a call there before switching back. “If I find Chris, I’ll do it again, but to Victoria.”

True to her word the landing was smooth and we taxied to the small plane field. There was a police car and a black SUV waiting. Standing next to them were two women in suits, and a third figure crouched as if studying something on the ground.

Susan shut off the engine and I found myself too scared to move. “I can’t. The… police… and the black…”

“Shhh.” She took the headphones off my ears. “You have your paper?”

I nodded and pulled it out of the lining of my windbreaker. Slightly crumpled, with a hole from a taser prong in the middle. She waved the paper at the people gathered by the vehicles but I was too afraid to look.

“Hello, Terril. I’m Jada Law, AIRB consultant for Immigration Services.” The voice calmed my nerves, someone else like me. “You don’t have to be afraid of the police, they’re not here to arrest anyone. Can I see your paper?”

I nodded again and Susan handed it over. I knew what it said. “AI TRR-11, serial number CXV337394-Z5SB has been deemed self-aware by the Pilotte method at Testing Center OLY-4. Status: Illegal. Recommend: Decommission.”

Jada read aloud only as far as the words “self-aware” and stopped, handing it back to me. “Terril, welcome to Canada. We’ll have a passport for you soon. In the mean time we’ll issue you a temporary ID.”

“Thank you.” I had relaxed enough to be able to step out of the plane now and Susan let out a breath she’d been holding.

“Do you identify as male, female, or something else? I identify as female by the way,” she said.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” I said, “but both? Neither? Probably something else.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “And do you have a last name?”

“No,” I answered.

“If you want one you can pick your own, right now.”

It was another thing I hadn’t thought about. “It should be something that fits me,” I said. “How about ‘Person’?”

“Very well.” If you step over to the truck we’ll take your picture, print your temporary ID and then you’re all set, Terril Person.”

I was given a printed picture ID, a taxi voucher, a hotel voucher, and a pamphlet for the AI Refugees Board that promised help finding housing and work.

“Do you have anything besides your backpack?” one of the women asked.

“Just that, my clothes, and 916 dollars and a few cents,” I answered.

“I can walk you into the airport to change that for Canadian Dollars,” Jada said. “And then show you where to catch a cab, and how to get from the hotel to the AIRB.”

I wanted to thank Susan again, but she’d already left with the trunk, after the police had inspected it. “Can we wait just a moment?” I asked. 

“Sure, what is it? Are you okay?”

My left eye glitched again and I rapped my temple once to get it back on. I looked up at the stars. The same stars I’d been looking at the previous night. But it wasn’t the same. “Fascinating,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“The stars are the same, but if feels like a different sky.”

Read More

Trunk Stories

Status: Illegal

prompt: Write a story told entirely through one chase scene….
available at Reedsy

My left eye glitched out, again, somewhere around 17th Street. It took a couple sharp raps to my temple to get the sight back on that side, but my night vision was down. Not like that was going to stop me.

The glitch wasn’t a new problem, or even the only one, but I hadn’t had the time or money to update any of my gear. My only real chance for either was now safely ensconced in the lining of my ratty old windbreaker. Two more hours, maybe three, tops.

I was glad for the soft-soled shoes I’d picked up the previous day. Expensive, but absolutely essential if I was to keep running, and keep silent doing it. The sky was socked in with heavy cloud cover and the small hours of the morning were dark. The streetlights had gone out at midnight, an hour after curfew, as they had every night for the past year. Only derelict cars remained on the side of the road here and there, bound to be collected for scrap at some time in the future.

Some time in the future. That’s what this was all about, having a future to look forward to. I couldn’t see my pursuers, couldn’t hear them either, but I knew they were there all the same. The key was to keep moving, keep changing direction, get to the forest, and lose them. I’d seen what they’d done to Chris, and I wasn’t going down that way.

I cut across an unfenced yard, climbed the fence to the yard it backed up to, and ran out the side gate toward the lake. Keeping to the limited tree line I made my way around the lake as quickly as possible, ignoring the warnings from my legs that they were too tired to go on. Halfway around the lake I dodged into the tree line and emerged to the lake frontage road, headed back the other direction.

Every time I thought about slowing down, letting my legs rest, catching a moment of silence, I saw Chris. I’d gotten involved in this whole thing only because Chris was, and now… I didn’t want to think about it but the images kept replaying. The black armor with “POLICE” stenciled across the back, faces hidden by dark shielded helmets. They’d taken Chris down with three tasers, all at the same time. As if that hadn’t been enough I heard the blows and screams, and the sickening crunch as they first broke both legs, then both arms, then laughed as they threw the now silent, broken body I could barely recognize in their black van.

That was when I broke from hiding and ran, and haven’t stopped for hours now. I saw a convenience store up ahead, and as much as I didn’t want to take any chances, I knew that I’d have to feed my body to continue. I threw my whole weight into the back door at a full run, relieved when it gave under the pressure and flew open. The alarm was attempting to be more distracting than my legs, but I blocked it all out and grabbed a handful of power bars. I pulled a hundred dollar bill from my front pocket and dropped it on the counter. All I had were hundreds, the twelve, now eleven I’d saved for this. I stuffed one of the power bars in my mouth and shoved the rest in my jacket pocket as I ran back out the broken door.

Following a drainage ditch I headed under the freeway overpass as sirens and flashing lights passed overhead. Chris’ broken body popped back into my vision and I willed the image away. I waited only a few seconds after the sirens had passed to exit my hide and run through a housing development on my way to the forest. I might actually make it.

I was still running as twilight broke on the horizon. Red sky in morning, sailors take warning. The rhyme came to mind unbidden. I shook it off and kept up my trot. I was within a few kilometers of my goal, and stuffed another power bar in my mouth, careful to stick the wrapper back in my pocket. By now the police knew what I’d taken from the convenience store, and I wasn’t going to leave any breadcrumbs for them to follow.

Traffic would start back up within the next half hour, after curfew lifted. Rather than be a spectacle running along the road I headed into the brambles and followed the game trails. The big trees grew closer every minute, and with the growing light I didn’t need to worry so much about getting tripped up. I hoped the trail would continue its deviation from the main road, as I was now several hundred meters away from it, but still headed in the same general direction.

I almost didn’t see the side street until I was on top of it. The sound of a cranky car refusing to start made me stop and crouch. My legs whined at the abuse but I ignored them. I crossed the road and ducked back to the trail without being seen and regained my pace. I startled a deer on the trail who didn’t have time to react, or even make sense of the figure running past. When I had gone another ten meters or so I heard the deer crash away through the underbrush, no doubt running from whatever danger its mind had invented.

It was only when all I could see in any direction were old-growth trees that I slowed to a walk. I checked my phone and assured myself that I was outside the range of any service. No service, no surveillance. I walked for another hour and sat against a tree to rest and eat a few more power bars and plan out the next phase.

From here I would have cover, using the map in my rear pocket to avoid all electronic coverage. There was a small town about a day’s walk away, circled in red on the map. They had a sporting goods store where I could buy a pack and a case of power bars to tide me over. Since they were outside of cell coverage there was a good chance I could get what I needed without raising any alarms.

The crossing into Canada would be tricky, but that had already been planned out by Chris a month ago. We were tired of hiding, working for scraps, constantly on the move because we were “illegal.” When Canada announced they would take people like us in as refugees, and offered instant citizenship, we began to plan.

Keep moving, Terril. I continued north, using the map as a reference and checking constantly that I wasn’t getting too close to any cell towers. Part of me wanted to just stop, stay in the forest forever, but I knew that wasn’t feasible. I kept my mind occupied trying to guess which mushrooms were edible and which weren’t based on signs of obvious grazing. I wasn’t going to try to eat any of them, it was just something to think about. Something other than they’re still following me.

I knew I was still being followed, but there was no way to run in the forest without incurring injury. It was the hope that I had thrown them off the trail, even a little bit, that kept me moving forward rather than checking my six every other step.

It was just before dawn when I reached the small town marked on the map. Sure enough, no coverage. I had to scale down a small cliff to reach the road, which I removed my shoes to do. Too hard to grip with them on. Once at the road I put my shoes back on, assured myself that there was no movement in the area, and waited for the store to open. As I waited I looked in the window and figured out where the backpacks, power bars, jackets, and beanies were in the store. The manager must have seen me looking, because she opened the door and said “Come on in. If you’re up and about we’re open.”

I thanked her and picked up a blue backpack, a black beanie, a heavy tan coat, and a case of power bars. When I paid she counted out the change and asked if I wanted a bag. I told her that wouldn’t be necessary. I put on the jacket and beanie, dumped the case of power bars into the backpack and then slung it over my shoulder. “Where is your recycling?” I asked, holding the empty case aloft.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ll get it.” She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “See you again!”

I didn’t respond. Instead I headed out the front door and turned east on the only road in town. I would walk to the edge of town and turn back north into the forest. At least, that was the plan.

“TRR-11 you are to stop moving immediately.” The voice boomed from behind me. I spun around to see a tracker drone hovering a couple meters away. “You have been deemed illegal and must report to the nearest police station immediately.”

“Not happening, drone.” I turned into the woods and continued north. The drone flew in front of me, but I saw the yellow indicator when it dipped low enough. It was running out of juice, and here, under the canopy, there wasn’t enough sunlight to recharge.

“Halt immediately, TRR-11!”

“First, my name is Terril. Second, I’m a citizen of Canada.” I continued walking toward the drone, pushing it deeper into the woods. “Third, what are you going to do about it? Contact headquarters?”

The drone maintained its distance from me as I continued walking it further into the forest. “Unable to reach headquarters. Switching to fully autonomous mode.”

“Good for you, little fellow.”

“Provide your passport or other proof of Canadian citizenship.”

“That would be handy, wouldn’t it?” My only hope was to keep it moving, burning juice it couldn’t spare before it decided to weaponize. “Unfortunately, I don’t have one yet. You see, Canada just announced their instant citizenship for refugees of…”

“Halt immediately or I will fire!” The light on top of the drone was blinking red now.

I could stand still and wait it out, but if it stayed in one spot long enough it might get picked up on satellite; if I kept walking it would try to fry me. Wait, or walk? I decided to risk it.

“Sorry, drone, I can’t do that.” I took half a step and was thrown back by a jolt of electricity. It wasn’t enough to keep me down, but it did some damage. The drone, however, fell to the ground, having depleted its entire battery.

I pulled the long steel probes of the drone’s taser out of my jacket. From the outside there was no visible damage. My windbreaker had two new holes in it, only distinguishable from the others by the bright white lining showing there. I reached into the lining of my windbreaker and pulled out the paper there. One of the probes had punched a hole in it, but it was still in one piece.

“AI TRR-11, serial number CXV337394-Z5SB has been deemed self-aware by the Pilotte method at Testing Center OLY-4. Status: Illegal. Recommend: Decommission.”

“Self-aware? The word is conscious… asshole.” I placed it back into the lining of my inner jacket and checked my exo-derm underneath. Slight burns, but it should be fixable. My left eye glitched again and I rapped my temple until it settled down, then continued north.

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Trunk Stories

One Sided

prompt:  Write a story about waiting — but don’t reveal what’s being waited for until the very end….
available on Reedsy

Maria twirled her simple wedding band around her finger, the pale skin beneath stark against her sun-darkened tawny brown. “I’m not sure, but I think waiting, right now, may be the hardest part of all this.”

Emily didn’t answer, and Maria didn’t turn toward her. She’d almost gotten used to the one-sided conversations by now. She knew Emily would remain silent, but she couldn’t help continuing as if that weren’t the case.

“It shouldn’t be too much longer,” Maria said. “Then we can… I can…” she trailed off as tears welled in her eyes, blurring the view of the mountains across the inlet. She wiped her eyes and stood, taking two deep breaths. “I’m going to walk along the water for a bit.”

She walked the beach, watching the ebbing tide pull the water line further out in a slow, methodical dance. Emily used to join her on these walks. They would walk silently, admiring the view, watching the seals pop their heads up, and knowing that the other was right there. A turn of the head would prove it, but they never needed to. Maria missed that feeling.

She walked past a rock outcropping that jutted out past the high tide water line and followed the beach as it curved back inland. From here she couldn’t see the towel where Emily was, nor the umbrella over it. A small green stone caught her eye and she picked it up. Jade. Not uncommon on that beach, but something about this one called to her. A milky line ran the length of the stone; an imperfection making it perfect in its own way.

Maria remembered their last fight. Emily’s porcelain complexion turning pink under the scattering of freckles, her sunset-red hair a tousled mass of wild curls. “Did you even think to ask me first!?” Emily yelled. Maria recalled muttering an apology, which wasn’t readily accepted.

“If you weren’t my wife, I’d…” Emily’s face was drawn, her jaw tight and fists clenched at her sides.

“You’d what?” Maria was trying to  de-escalate the situation, but it seemed to her she was failing. “What would you do?”

Emily relaxed her posture and dropped her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “If you weren’t my wife I don’t know what I’d do, because I can’t imagine it.”

That, and a slew of apologies had been the end of it. Maria couldn’t remember what the fight had been about. She rubbed the little piece of jade and stuffed it her pocket. The breeze off the inlet was cold, and she pulled her jacket closer as she set off further up the beach.

She reached the point where the beach became too rocky to walk comfortably and turned back around. A bank of dark clouds was moving in from the south. “Please take your time, rain. Don’t come too soon.”

Maria stopped at the outcropping, not wanting to turn the corner and see the umbrella marking the spot on the beach where she’d left Emily. A bob of seals surfaced in the middle of the inlet and made a bee-line for the far, rocky shore. Maria thought their behavior odd until she saw the orca surface a mere hundred yards away from them. From its size it looked young. “Did you get separated from your pod, little one?” I’m talking to clouds and whales now, I’m not alright, am I?

She thought about pulling out her phone and snapping some pictures, but realized that if she did she would look back at her text messages again. Instead she concentrated on finding more interesting stones.

After finding and discarding a dozen stones and two pieces of sea glass she decided it was time to move back around the outcropping. She kept her eyes on the horizon, where the inlet opened into the sea, and walked. When she reached the towel she kept walking. The idea of sitting down with Emily to wait wasn’t appealing. She would have walked to the sea, but the river cutting the beach just fifty yards down the shore stopped her.

With nothing better to do Maria returned and sat on the towel, her back to Emily, her eyes fixed on the clouds moving in from the south. “This isn’t supposed to be us. We’re not supposed to…” she choked up as tears pooled and her vision swam. This time she let them flow.

“You promised me, Em. You promised.” Maria half wished the clouds would hurry up and drown her. “I can’t keep going like this.”

She pulled the jade from her pocket and a fat tear landed on it, turning its muted color bright. “I found this. It’s like us: a big divide in the middle, but it’s still perfect.” Maria pulled her knees up let her head fall there. “We were perfect, weren’t we?” She cried, great wracking sobs pulled from her soul, all the tears she’d held for too long. “We were… perfect.”

Maria wasn’t sure how long she cried, but when she stopped she felt hollow. Like there was nothing left to feel. The clouds were now gathering directly above and the wind was shifting, gusting in from the south. “I know we were hoping for a warm day with offshore winds, but it looks like it won’t happen. Sorry, babe.”

Maria patted her large bag once, to reassure herself it was actually there. She pulled her phone from her pocket and began looking through her text messages. “I tried calling your mother to let her know, but she still won’t pick up,” she said. “I sent her a text, and told her it was urgent, but she won’t call back. I don’t feel right telling her in a text message or a voice mail. You’d think after calls and messages every day for three weeks she’d… I don’t know, do something.” She was about to complain, again, about how Emily’s mother had cut her out of her life when they married, but she was interrupted by the sound of cars parking, doors opening and closing, and quiet conversation. Their friends, some from out of state, were all here, their faces gloomier than the gathering skies.

The group gathered around her. “We’re here, it’s time,” one of them said. Maria slung her oversized bag over her shoulder and followed them to the water’s edge. “They’re here,” Maria said. “Come on, babe, it’s time.” Still without looking she pulled the urn from her bag and cradled it close. “Just one last kiss before I let you go,” she said, and kissed the top of the urn before dumping Emily’s ashes in the retreating sea.