{"id":2831,"date":"2025-12-07T17:34:30","date_gmt":"2025-12-08T00:34:30","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/?p=2831"},"modified":"2025-12-07T17:34:30","modified_gmt":"2025-12-08T00:34:30","slug":"storm-season","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.evardsson.com\/blog\/2025\/12\/07\/storm-season\/","title":{"rendered":"Storm Season"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

prompt: Start or end your story with a character standing in the rain.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

available at Reedsy<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The rain came down in sheets. Having given up on keeping the rain from her eyes, Taylor McAllister stood unmoved as the deluge soaked her faster and more thoroughly than the shower stall in the cut-rate hotel. The gloom of the red dwarf sun hidden behind the thick clouds did nothing to lift her mood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Summons were one thing, finding the executor of a will and notifying them \u2026 well, it never got easier. She never knew what to say beyond what her job required. Sometimes they had known it was coming and wept soft and silent. Other times it came as a total shock, resulting in outbursts and clinging to her as sobs tore through them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She wasn\u2019t certain, but it was likely that the person she was looking for wasn\u2019t human. The will came from the estate of an orange, crab-like alien with a name that wasn\u2019t pronounceable by humans, if the transliteration on the paperwork was anything to go on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Whoever it was moved around a lot. This was the sixth \u201clast known location\u201d for them. At least this one was on the same moon as the last. She\u2019d been through two planets, a station, a ship, and now this moon. Getting here at the start of the \u201cstorm season\u201d was just one of those luck things, she guessed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A bus stopped in front of her and the doors opened. Taylor stepped in, water pouring off her to disappear through the porous floor. \u201cDoes this route go by the Grenthouse Building?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure does,\u201d the tall, blue-grey alien driver said. \u201cYou want me to let you know when it\u2019s coming up?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat would be helpful.\u201d She pulled out her comm to pay. \u201cHow much?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo charge in the city.\u201d The doors closed behind her as the driver motioned for her to find a seat. \u201cCrazy humans, could be making a lot more by charging for all rides, but whatever, I still get paid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSounds like us crazy humans are rubbing off on you a little.\u201d Taylor sat in the first empty seat and felt a rush of warm, dry air from an overhead vent, even as any water she shed was pulled through the seat to somewhere she couldn\u2019t fathom. It was as though every inch of the bus interior was designed to deal with dripping, soaked passengers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taylor watched the alien pilot the bus using a heads-up display on the windshield. Without it, nothing outside the bus would be visible through the deluge. She was contemplating how good the drainage systems had to be to account for the fact that since landing her shuttle at the port, she hadn\u2019t seen a single puddle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGrenthouse Building, Sacker Street, next stop,\u201d the driver called out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taylor stood to move to the door. She was almost dry, she realized, and her hands were tingling as the feeling came back to her cold fingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bus stopped and the door opened. \u201cIt\u2019s the next building down, on the other side of the street,\u201d the driver said, pointing in the direction of her target.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThanks,\u201d she said. She took a deep breath and stepped off the bus into the downpour, marching toward the building with purpose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the tenth step, Taylor was again soaked through to the skin. She stopped as the bus drove past her and crossed the street. She saw no sense in rushing, as it had no effect on how wet she would or wouldn\u2019t be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The building \u2014 like all the others she\u2019d seen on this moon \u2014 had a dry entryway with an air curtain to keep out the rain and a strong down-draft that helped one shed the rain they carried with them. She pushed the button for flat 4-M. At least this one still had the name of the residence-hopping person she sought, \u201cPat Smith,\u201d along with the other name on they were identified by on the paperwork, \u201c#*\/\/-+?:\u2019!~.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d The voice on the intercom sounded distinctly human, female, and either very tired or possibly intoxicated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m Taylor McAllister from AllWhere Services, looking for Pat Smith. I\u2019ve got some important paperwork concerning, um, \u2018asterisk, hash, plus, question-mark, question-mark, tilde, single-quote, dash, slash, colon, slash\u2019 – I, uh, don\u2019t know how to pronounce it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The reply was a series of clicks, pops, and ticks followed by, \u201cWhat happened? Why are you looking for Pat Smith?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m, uh, trying to find the executor of his will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was long moment of silence, followed by the door buzzing and opening. \u201cCome up.\u201d The voice on the intercom sounded choked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taylor followed the green lights on the floor to the lift, then off the lift at the fourth floor to door 4-M. Before she could knock, the door swung open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taylor stepped in as the door closed behind her. She removed her jacket and looked for somewhere to hang it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a hook on the door behind you, dear,\u201d Pat said. \u201cDo you prefer coffee or tea?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taylor hung her drenched jacket from the hook on the door and looked at the small woman standing in the corner kitchenette of the one-room flat. The woman had light brown hair, greying at the temples, pale green eyes, surrounded by the lines of years and shadowed with rings of sleeplessness, and a complexion of pale brown that spoke of too many years away from a generous sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was in the act of pouring herself a mug of coffee, and Taylor said, \u201cCoffee\u2019s fine, since you already have it made.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat poured a second mug, then picked up a bottle of whiskey and put a splash in her own mug. She held it up toward Taylor with a questioning look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, I could do with a drink.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat placed the mugs on the small table in the center of the flat and sat on the single bed that also served as a couch. Taylor sat in the only chair and opened the case she\u2019d been carrying and cleared her throat. \u201cI, uh, know this is a difficult time for you, but I have\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTaylor, right?\u201d Pat interrupted. When Taylor nodded, Pat continued. \u201cI\u2019m a retired probate lawyer so I know what\u2019s involved. But Petey \u2014 that\u2019s his human name \u2014 I\u2019m at a loss. How \u2026 if you know, how did he\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taylor pulled out the copy of the death certificate and handed it to Pat. There wasn\u2019t anything to say, so she picked up her coffee and took a sip. The splash of whiskey was far more liberal than she\u2019d expected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat read the paper and set it down with a shaking hand. She took a sip from her cup, closed her  eyes for a moment, and a tear rolled down her cheek. \u201cPetey, you were supposed to let me know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m guessing you knew about his diagnosis, but not his choice for euthanasia?\u201d Taylor asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe was supposed to let me know what he decided, but then all contact stopped.\u201d Pat wiped her tears with the back of her hand. \u201cFor Ketaikans like Petey, Tarok\u2019s Syndrome is a slow decline into dementia, leading eventually to death. He was diagnosed about eight years ago, but he stopped responding to my comms last month.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m so sorry.\u201d Taylor took a larger sip of the coffee. \u201cHow did you know \u2026 Petey?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat drank more of her coffee. \u201cI grew up in the Little Ketaik neighborhood of New Yelm, Mars. I was clicking and mandible popping right along with babbling. By the time I was a teenager, I was babysitting Miss May\u2019s brood. Petey was the only male with eleven sisters, which is pretty typical for them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe girls pretty much took care of themselves, and they were already twice his size. He was kind of my favorite. Quiet, a little shy, and determined to speak English without a translator.\u201d She finished her cup and took the three steps to the kitchenette to bring back the bottle of whiskey. She didn\u2019t bother with the coffee at all, pouring half a mug of whiskey for herself, and topping Taylor\u2019s mug with it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou kind of watched him grow up, then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat nodded. \u201cHe didn\u2019t think he had a chance to be anything but someone\u2019s trophy breeder. I convinced him he was more than that, and he took it to heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe made it through law school, passed the bar, and came to work for me thirty years ago. When I retired, he took over the practice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you know he selected you as his executor?\u201d Taylor took another sip of the now mostly-whiskey coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. It doesn\u2019t surprise me, though.\u201d She sniffled. \u201cHe was supposed to be my<\/em> executor. Now I\u2019ll  have to change it, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat read through the stack of papers in silence as they drank. When she finished, she stacked them all neatly and signed the receipt. \u201cHe made it easy for me,\u201d she said. \u201cEverything\u2019s air-tight, no debt, a solid choice to take over the practice, and all his liquid assets go to the university hospital in New Yelm for TS research.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat stood and opened the big window. The rain continued to sheet down, the smell of ozone and petrichor wafting through the flat. \u201cI miss you, Petey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have to ask, did Petey ever manage to speak English without a translator?\u201d Taylor asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, but you have to listen close, kind of like a parrot.\u201d Pat flopped down on the bed. \u201cI don\u2019t know about you, but I\u2019m drunk. If you want to sleep here tonight, feel free.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taylor stood and felt the floor sway under her before collapsing back into the chair. \u201cYeah, I think I\u2019ll just sit here for a while.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo problem. It reclines, if you want.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taylor looked out at the rain. \u201cHow long does storm season last?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat laughed. \u201cIs that what they told you at the port? This is just a normal day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt rains like this all the time?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMostly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy here? You?\u201d Taylor asked.  \u201cI mean, why would anyone want to live here? Sorry, I blurt when I\u2019m drunk. That\u2019s not normal whiskey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not. It\u2019s a bottle that Petey gave me when I retired. A special reserve, 140 proof from somewhere in Scotland.\u201d Pat sighed. \u201cSeemed appropriate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry, again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s fine. As to why, well, the Aquilarians \u2014 the tall, thin, blueish guys \u2014 love it; reminds them of home. For me, it\u2019s cheap, and all I can afford these days. I spent my retirement savings on research into TS. It was worth it, though. That research produced the drugs that kept Petey going for the last year and a half, long after he would\u2019ve been gone without it.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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