Vijay pulled his car to the pavement with a grumble. The noise and chaos in the market overwhelmed him. Cars honking, carts rattling on the uneven mud pavement, motorbikes revving with fumes, and people’s loud voices filling the air. The narrow streets were packed with vendors selling their harvest. Buyers weaved their way, examining fruits and vegetables and looking for bargains. The smell of wet mud and the soil from the roots of vegetables filled the air contrasting with the sweet fragrance of fresh flowers and the aroma of ripe fruit, creating a potent blend that pricked his nose. His chin twisted with a frown as he grumbled with disdain at the idea of buying flowers. "I don't understand why people bother spending their hard-earned money on flowers," he muttered. "It's a complete waste if you ask me. Flowers belong in nature, on plants and trees where they're meant to be. That's where they're born. That’s where they blossom and mature. Why pluck them and bring them indoors to wilt and die? It's senseless," he wiped the sweat on his forehead and looked away from Rani, his wife, daring anyone to disagree with him. “Well, you don’t know how to admire beauty,” Rani retorted. “Flowers are a gift to humanity. They symbolise beauty, grace, and purity. Their vibrant colours and fragrances transpose you to another world,” she snapped back and got out of the car to the flower stall vendor, who was busy screaming his bargains. He could see her admiring those flowers. She picked a pink rose with soft petals, savouring its fragrance and texture, and turned around with a twinkle in her eyes. Oh, she is doing that to annoy me. He turned away as if something more important caught his attention. Driving home, he gripped the steering wheel tight and manoeuvred the traffic recklessly. His heart was beating at a high pace. He was agitated. He didn’t know why. Was it the noise and chaos of the market or the flowers? He wondered. Later at home, he stared at the package lying lazily on his desk. It was from his parent company in Japan. Every year they give a gift to all their employees. He doesn’t care much about them. He ripped it open and saw a calendar inside. He was curious to see the images. The first one intrigued him. It’s so beautiful, he exclaimed. He brought it under the daylight and looked closer. The pastel pink flowers with small petals against the blue sky looked stunning. He was mesmerised by its beauty. He flipped to the next page, and the photograph had zoomed into the flowers, unveiling intricate details of a deep pink base and thin filaments holding precious saffron-coloured pollen ever so delicately in a tight bulb. He moved to another page and was more astonished at the velvety carpet spread on a hill covered in pink. That is a beauty, he marvelled. He read the one-liner note underneath about the significance of Sakura and Cherry Blossom for the Japanese people. He gazed at the images, lost in thought. He realised how these small delicate flowers could emanate so much beauty, purity, and new life, entwined into spiritual life and celebration for humanity. These flowers have the magical powers to bring a smile and uplift a wilting soul. As his lips stretched wide with a sense of bliss, he couldn’t help but think about how we use and abuse flowers. We pull each one ruthlessly from the stem and tie them into a knot like a bunch of criminals punished for being beautiful and weave them into a garland. And we garland idols and politicians with these. Women use flowers on their hair to enhance their appeal beyond. Flowers are used in functions to show the surrounding freshness and vibrancy of colours to distract. As his concerns for flowers were battling in his mind, he turned around and looked at the flowers his wife had bought. The bouquet was leaning against the wall of the vase. Rani hurriedly ensured it was in the vase with water before she rushed out. He took the bunch out of the vase and stared blankly at them. A deep sigh came out of his lips as he shook his head. He couldn’t bear to see them held tight by a rubber band. He felt they were throttled in a cage with a tight noose suffocating them. He sprang into action and quickly loosened the noose by snapping the rubber band. His mind drifted to the realities of the world. He thought of all the people trapped in misery and looking for freedom. If he had the power, he would do everything to free them. His eyes gazed back to the bouquet. The stems had just come out of a noose. He had the power to do something about this. He took a rose stem and brought it close to his face. The sweet fragrance flooded his nose. He closed his eyes and savoured the moment. His lips extended wide into a smile with an air of pity. He whispered, “As I free you from this noose, I am thinking of all people trapped in human misery, poverty, and senseless wars, and with the power I have, I am freeing you from that.” He then trimmed and tidied the stem and placed it in the vase. He did the same ritual for all the others, thinking of all enslaved people because of human greed. He would then set each one free. Though symbolic, it gave him a deep sense of satisfaction. He trimmed them all to perfect symmetry and positioned them into the vase. Each flower stood high and found a unique place in the arrangement. As he continued doing this, he whispered softly to them, “You and I have a limited life in this world, like the Sakura. This is your freedom. You have been brought here for a purpose, to emanate your unique beauty. I am still searching for mine.” With a gentle touch, he carefully placed the last stem. He leaned back to admire his work and felt goosebumps. A sense of satisfaction adorned his face. He carefully placed the vase on the coffee table as a centrepiece. It was prominently visible to anyone who entered through the front door. More importantly, he wanted Rani to notice it when she returned.


Where Were You? I had never made a therapist cry before. “Inappropriate” was the word Judith, my therapist, used to describe my father. I sucked on that word as if it were a lifesaver, but not the good cherry kind. This was a yucky green one. I had always known something was not right in our family. I had witnessed the interactions of my friends with their families and relished sleepovers where I could feel like part of another family, even if just for a night. At one sleepover, my friend Laura’s father had yelled at her, but then apologized a few hours later, driving us to Chinatown late at night for a conciliatory meal. It was strangely wonderful and a favorite memory I bring out and savor from time to time. In elementary school in the 1970s, I watched reruns of “The Munsters” and identified with Marilyn Munster, the niece who lived with the ghouls. She was a beauty by societal norms, but unattractive by the Munsters’ standards. Though Marilyn was not a very well developed character, I felt in tune with her outsiderness, living in a family of werewolves, vampires and other monsters. Marilyn was my soul sister, sometimes even more so than my real twin sister was. *** It was hard to be honest with Judith in therapy. My grandma said, “When you speak of your troubles, people look down, not up.” My family was like a skein of yarn knotted with secrets that we kept from others and ourselves. My older brother was not mentally ill -- he was just lazy . That heroin rig I found in the bathroom and showed to my parents did not belong to my sister - it was her friend’s . In time, I was able to play for Judith the cassette tape that ran in my head. “Y ou’re a prude ,” dad said when I told him to stop making comments about my budding breasts. “She wouldn’t even know what to do with him ,” dad chuckled when mom did not want me alone in the apartment with my high school boyfriend. (You think you’re) “Smart, smart, smart -- but you don’t know anything. I would never take you on a bank robbery,” dad spat whenever I said anything that proved that I did not have “street smarts” like he did. He was a scammer, putting scotch tape on counterfeit coins to use in parking meters, ditching his non-working car and reporting it stolen for the insurance, and sneaking into a second movie for the price of one ticket. *** My parents, my twin sister and me, my older twin brothers, and our Cairn terrier occupied a two-bedroom apartment in a pre-war building in Brooklyn. Years of too many coats of paint meant that no door ever closed completely, not even the bathroom door. My sister and I stuffed socks in our bedroom door to help it close, but mom always told us to stop stuffing shmatas in the door. Growing up in this household, I knew nothing about boundaries, but my body knew. I kept guard constantly for perimeter breaches by my father. Doorways featured in every one of my recurring childhood nightmares -- like the one where I went to open the apartment door and a big, amorphous blob-man fell on top of me, smothering me. In another, little men would enter my bedroom, put me on a conveyor belt and handle me roughly while my mom and sister would be watching from the doorway, unable to hear my pleas for help. The truth is that in my day-mares, Dad’s eyes were always piercing my sister and me through the crack in our bedroom door. He made no bones about his constant surveillance and would say things like “You sleep with your butt in the air” to my sister. “Stop dad! You’re lying,” we protested. Nevertheless, the next morning my sister awoke to find a Chiquita banana sticker placed on her butt cheek and a smirking dad at the breakfast table. *** I wish I could say it was not always this way, but it was. I buried a lot so that I could survive. My sister has an eidetic memory, well able to see things long after they happened. She has a catalog in her mind, an easily accessible collection of injustices, and dad and mom always said “ That never happened.” when she brought out her memories. When I would tell my sister I could not remember what she described, she would shake her head and utter three words: “Where were you?” I know what you are thinking. How was my mother complicit in all this? How did she not do anything? How did she not know? All I can say about that is that the science of gaslighting is serious business. Dad manipulated us all. *** As a child, I had frequent nosebleeds. When I had my tonsils out in elementary school, the surgeon cauterized the inside of my nose, sealing blood vessels to stop the bleeding. But it did not stop. Mom had a bad neck after being mugged. After that, dad did more than just leer through the door crack. He slithered into our beds many nights so that mom could “ sleep bette r”. He reminisced years later that we used to fight over who would sleep with him. However, when I play the cassette for Judith, she hears me fighting with my sister over who had to sleep with him, our skinny little bodies unable to move under the weight of his legs wrapped around us. I would smash my nose into the wall trying to escape his breath on my neck, his greasy skin pressed against mine, leaving drops of blood on the wall and staining my nightgown From then on, when my mom removed the long green pillows from the living room daybed my brothers slept on, she placed them on my bed to cushion the wall at night. Problem solved. My sister ran away at fourteen to follow the Grateful Dead on tour. I can’t blame her. Two years later, it was my opportunity to run off to sleepaway college. Before she left on her real trip, my sister first took a bad acid trip. She was in our bedroom when, suddenly, the two drama clown masks hanging on the wall above my bed terrified her. Tragedy clown had a tear falling from one eye, its lower lip pushed out in a pout. Comedy clown had crescent moon eyes and dad’s grotesque smile - mocking, contemptuous, and smirking. I admit I could be projecting here, like the Ancient Greek actors did when wearing the masks to exaggerate emotions. Whatever it was, my sister fled. *** I thought going to college meant leaving my family, but I brought them all with me. I started therapy senior year and then tried psychoanalysis with Judith after college. It was the whole shebang - Judith sat behind me and I laid on a couch talking to the paintings on the wall in front of me. During one session, I heard her sobbing behind me and she confessed that hearing my story moved her deeply. She taught me the vocabulary of abuse, but it was a long time before I could even utter that word. Though it was not as comprehensive as my sister’s catalog, I explored my own catalog of memories, played my cassettes for Judith, and started the work. *** After a couple of years with Judith, I started seeing Linda. Linda was like a mother to me, only one who could see. Linda encouraged me to face my childhood clowns. I started by writing apology letters to myself from my father as practice. I was an FBI profiler, trying to understand his manipulation, his deception, his narcissism. It helped some to read the apologies I wrote from him, but I wanted the real thing. In my mid-20s, Dad took me to Chinatown. We ate Lo Mein and shrimp with lobster sauce and at the end my dad had us do a dine and dash and leave without paying, which, as always, exhilarated him but embarrassed me. Over the meal, we talked for the first time about my sister’s accusation some years earlier. She had been jailed briefly in Toms River being caught with heroin in her purse at the front gate of New Jersey’s Six Flags Great Adventure park. As part of her release, she had to enter a drug treatment program and attend family therapy. After a few sessions, she announced matter-of-factly to the family therapist that our father sexually abused her. Dad said, “ That’s not true. How could I abuse one daughter and not the other ?” He then asked me directly if he had abused me. All eyes on me, I choked. I did not have the language yet to describe what happened. I shook my head no. Just like my sister fled into the night years earlier, she fled again out of the room and out the door. We never returned to family therapy. I was complicit with my father in my sister’s abuse, even though I, too, was abused. I could not let this continue and gave him one last shot to make it right. I told my father over Chinese food that he did and said a lot of things that made me uncomfortable - made both my sister and me uncomfortable. He said neither of us could take a joke and that he was only teasing when he did and said those things. When he gave us “the business ” by pinning us down on the floor and pressing his face and his prickly mustache all over our bodies, that was just tickling . I guess I had my day in court and I did not get my closure then, or ever, but he did acknowledge that my sister and I may have been uncomfortable. Uncomfortable . My sister does not speak to me anymore and my parents are both dead. When my father was riddled with cancer, I remember helping my mom change his diaper days before he died. He was aware that I was doing it, and I could feel his humiliation at having his daughter wipe him like a baby. His defeat was a small victory for me. Now, I listen to Leonard Cohen’s song, “Anthem” and it feels like he wrote it for me. The chorus goes: “Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack in everything That's how the light gets in” I am still confronting my brokenness, the crack in my door. To this day, I bolt awake screaming if anyone touches me while I am asleep. Sometimes I still find myself putting my arm behind me when I walk up stairs so no one can touch my rear. Life is flawed, and while those eyes peeking through my door terrorized me, that crack also let some light in. Wading through sewage is sometimes necessary before you can allow joy and hope to come in through the cracks. You’ll never know unless you try.


He watched in his rearview mirror as the dusty sand swirled behind their SUV. The home they shared for the first five years of their marriage quickly faded as they drove away for the last time. Sneaking in as many glances as he could before it disappeared, taking in the last glimpses of their street. How many times had they traveled this road together? He drove along, reminiscing when they first walked through the house, before it was completely their own. How in love they had been, with each other too. Now, their house keys rested in the hands of the realtor. He sighed. The sun was hot and bright, sending bursts of blinding light through the tropical trees. Reaching for the visor was tempting, but he didn’t want to miss a single view, in any direction, from any angle. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Brilliant blue without a speck of white. Punching off the AC, he rolled down the window, letting the warm breeze rush through his sun-kissed, blond hair. He closed his eyes behind his aviator sunglasses, only for a moment, to feel the wind on his face as if he were still at the beach. As a direct reflex, he wiggled his toes within his shoes, wishing there was sand between them. He sighed, again. “Jake!” His wife yelled from the passenger seat. He veered the SUV back into their lane. “Sorry, I had my eyes closed.” He didn’t have to look over to know she was glaring at him. He could feel her stare burning hotter than sun rays into the side of his face. The oceanic byway connecting to the mainland stretched out before them. The slight incline brought more of the bright sky into view. Seagulls squawked overhead. With two fingers guiding the steering wheel, his arm rested on the sill of the door in the hot sun. The wind tossing their hair about. Soaking up as much as he could before the temperature would drop, the sun would cease to exist, and the clouds would block the blue sky forever. At least, that’s how he painted it in his mind. Northern Vermont, the brink of Canada. The bridge was congested. Without letting his wife notice, he flashed his eyes around in all directions every chance he got. Taking it all in for the final time. As the vehicle descended down the other side, the island sunk out of sight in his mirrors. He looked out at the water, the gentle waves, one more time before gliding onto the mainland. The ocean was gone. He knew not when he’d see it again. While Jake let out another sigh, his wife took a deep breath, reinforced with elation. What he couldn’t understand was how she was unperturbed to leave this beautiful island. Their beach life, the salt life. Weekends spent in the sand and seasons in the sun. Kissing in the waves at sunset. Midnights whispering on the shore. Just them, and the ocean. Their balcony door would lay open while the ocean breeze rolled over them in their slumber. His chest tightened with emotion. If he glanced back in his rearview mirror now, there would be no sign left of what he was already missing. Jake loved the heat. The hot sand. The hot sun. The sweat. The humidity. His tan skin turned bronze in the summer with a sheen of blond hair over his body. Emma could never understand what there was to love about being hot all year. Even though she grew up on the island, she never got used to it. Sure, beach life was wonderful, but the heat was not. The only break she got from the heat was from November through March. It wasn’t nearly long enough. Now, they were heading north, where three months a year would reach the upper 70’s. It would be cool or cold for most of the year. She could hardly wait. Each mile felt like a hundred. Every molecule in her body was swarming with excitement. Autumn, she would finally experience autumn! Winter and snow. They'd be arriving right at the beginning of the fall foliage. Emma reached over, placing her hand on his arm. “I know this is hard for you. I know how much you love the ocean. But we’ll be happy in Vermont. You’ll see. As long as we have each other, our home is wherever we are together.” Gently giving his firm forearm a squeeze, she offered an encouraging smile. She was right. He flipped his hand over, palm up, and she entwined their fingers. Emma had an unfailing ability to see the positive side of anything they faced. With her, and God, there was nothing they couldn’t get through. Though this hurtle made his heart ache, she was with him. That was all that truly mattered. They took their time heading up north, turning the twenty-four hour drive into several days. There was no rush. Emma was anxious, of course. Nevertheless, they wanted to enjoy the journey. Jake had plans to stop along the coast, anywhere they could, to use up every last chance at a glimpse of the ocean before Vermont. He loved his job, but now he resented it for uprooting his feet from the sand and planting them in the mountains along the upper edges of the country. Landlocked. Except for maybe a lake. There would be no more pristine, white beaches. Just mucky waters littered with dead fish. At least, that’s how he painted it in his mind, again. He tilted his head, “You know what isn’t fair?” He said to his wife. “That two blonde beach babes had to move to Vermont.” He tittered. Emma let out a huff of laughter. “Oh stop it,” she smiled, “you’ll be fine. You love your job, you’ll love it up there too. Now we’ll be blonde lake babes.” Laughing at herself, she snorted, making her laugh more. A smile crept across Jake’s face, he adored his wife. He snuck a peek at her, she was more beautiful than the ocean. What was he complaining about? Once they entered into Vermont, their journey home would be three more hours. Neither of them were willing to stop until they reached their new house. They wanted their first steps in the state to be on their own property. As reluctant as he was, he couldn’t deny the nipping sensation of adventure. Emma made the suggestion of stopping just before entering Vermont so she could change into a new autumn outfit. Thrilled she had been when shopping for her new wardrobe for the new seasons they’d experience here. The drive grew increasingly more beautiful. Even for Jake, it was hard not to notice. Nearly at every bend Emma would say, “Look how picturesque!” The repetitiveness of the statement grinded his gears. If she says ’picturesque’ one more time... he thought to himself as he clenched his teeth. The green leaves slowly faded the more north they drove. Emma’s face was nearly glued to her window, mouth gaping, as they wound through the hills and passed through mountains. “Look, Jake! Look how beautiful that tree is!” She shouted as she pointed to a tree which turned to shades of golds and reds, earlier than the rest. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” He chuckled to himself and looked at her, her face pressed against the glass. “Yes.” He said as the corner of his mouth tipped up. She was. They rode in silence once they turned on to their new street. For several moments they both stopped breathing as the numbers on the mailboxes grew closer and closer to theirs. Emma gasped when their home came into view. Placing her hand against her chest, “Oh, Jake, just look at it.” He marveled in her excitement before turning his gaze to their homestead. He sucked in a breath. It was beautiful. A white, colonial home towered over him, with blue shutters and a white picket fence lining the yard. Much more stately than in pictures and videos they'd seen of it. It was the kind of house and yard people imagine when they hear the words American Dream. Shoving the door open, her boots hovered over the freshly fallen leaves on the driveway as she slowly slid off the seat. She heard the crunch of the leaves under her feet for the first time. Closing her eyes, she took in the moment. Jake watched her from his driver’s seat, cherishing her child-like innocence. Letting out a puff of air, he opened his door and stepped out. Surprisingly, the leaves had a satisfying crunch. The slamming of the door was the only sound. It was so quiet . The air was different. Thicker. Richer. On the wisp of the back end of a breeze, there was no scent of sunscreen, tanning oil, or lemonade, but of leaves, pine, and earth. He filled his lungs and closed his eyes. There were no crashing waves, or lapping of water. No voices of mindless chatter. No seagulls screeching. He turned in the direction of fluttering wings. A bird he didn’t recognize flew away, probably secretly mocking the newcomers. Looking down his light-colored, ripped at the knee jeans, to his canvas boat shoes, he kicked an acorn across the driveway. Then noticing the sticks, twigs, leaves and other natural debris that littered the driveway and yard. His shoulders slumped. He’d have an actual yard to maintain now. They walked the red brick walkway leading to the front door. He slid the key in, pushed the door open, and gestured for his wife to enter first. But she didn’t, she gave him a blank stare. “Aren’t you going to carry me over the threshold?” She asked. He opened his mouth to protest, and thought better of it. Just because he was miserable, doesn’t mean he had to drag her down too. Scooping her off her feet, he carried her in. A smile couldn’t help but fill his face. She would always be his bride. As Jake unpacked his suitcase in their bedroom, his eyebrows flickered. “Hey, Emm?” She stepped out of their master bathroom. “Hmm?” He raised his hands, a fistful of plaid shirts in each grip. “Where did my regular shirts go?” “Your regular shirts are beach shirts, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb out here. I packed them away and replaced them with attire you will actually need.” “But I’m going to look like a lumberjack.” He whined. “We’re not beach bums anymore.” She said with a smirk. Over the next several weeks, they unloaded, unpacked, and unboxed their belongings. Slowly and surely, their house turned into a home. Emma picked the paint, he picked the supplies. She hummed and buzzed around the house. Her happy spirit and her outlook on life began to trickle into him as well. One afternoon she overheard Jake whistling, an expression of happiness. It had been months since she last heard his pleasant tunes. Every morning there was a chill in the house. Even the chill felt different. Not the kind of chill from an AC unit, but one that came with the changing of the leaves. The kind of chill that made a spouse want to curl up with their loved one under the blankets. Jake scooted over, and Emma, sleepily and instinctively, nestled into him. He liked this newfound chill. Never had either of them ever had a fireplace in their house. Keeping up with chopping firewood was a thought Jake dreaded. Much to his surprise, little by little he enjoyed the task. The days he didn’t work, he lumbered out to the backyard to do his lumberjacking. The misty mornings brought a sense of calm and tranquility. Much like the crashing of the waves once did. Out here he was in the wilderness, not on a crowded beach. The silence from the hills engulfed him. It was the sound of silence he was beginning to appreciate. Comfort in the quiet. With each swing of the axe, and the cracking of the wood, he felt more manly. Two slices of wood flew to each side, he swiped his beading forehead with the back of his hand. He felt something staring at him. Probably some wild beast ready to pounce and sink its teeth into him. He looked around. No beast. A figure on the porch caught his attention, and he turned sharply. His wife was leaning against the wooden rail of the porch. With that look in her eyes, she looked ready to pounce. “Why are you smiling?” He asked, wondering how long she’d been watching him. Emma took a sip from the warm mug between her hands before answering. “I knew those handsome beach muscles weren’t just for show.” Rolling his eyes, he dismissed her comment, and continued chopping. She took the opportunity to take in her fill of her husband. His black v-neck hugged his body. His broad shoulders tapered into a trim waist. With every swing of the axe, the short sleeves snugged around his biceps. And those jeans. They hugged his thighs during his axing stance. “Let's explore something other than the town today. I heard about a hiking trail.” Hiking? He thought to himself. “Do we have to?” She arched an eyebrow. He huffed. “You’re right. Let’s explore.” The trail winding through the forest was beautiful. The cliffs. The rock formations. The autumn colors. The leaves covering the pathway. All of it. Whether he liked it or not, Vermont was growing on him. The thought perplexed him. He couldn’t stop it, and could no longer deny it. This was his life now. They rounded a horseshoe bend in the side of the mountain. A wall of rocks and ledges jutted up out of the ground along to their right. And on their left, was a long way down. Jake leaned over, and gulped. They came across no other hikers. Jake felt oddly alone. Did everyone else know something they didn’t? What if they got lost? What if they got attacked and eaten by a bear? Emma’s perky voice pulled him from his unsettling fears. “Autumn has the most gorgeous colors I have ever seen!” She turned to him, her face written with pure joy. “These colors didn’t exist where we came from. Look what we’ve been missing.” She said, looking up at the trees growing out from the rocks towering over them. It was nearly impossible for Jake not to appreciate what she adored. Her enthusiasm reached the depths of his being. Ever since they received the news his job was relocating him, her zing for life made up for his dispirited moods. His current entertainment came from watching her discover her autumn soul. A rumble of thunder stopped them dead in their tracks. No wonder there were no other hikers, all must have known there was a storm brewing. How foolish of him not to think to check the weather before venturing out. He put Emma at risk because of his carelessness. Emma turned to him, as the thunder trembled the ground beneath their feet. A worried look replaced the jovial smile. “We’re in the middle of a mountain, what are we going to do?” No sooner did she finish her question when the rush of rain could be heard sweeping through the trees. They whipped their heads around in the direction of the sound to see the rain coming for them. Jake grabbed her hand and began running the way they just came. Did he really think they’d outrun the rain? Seconds later the cold rain hit their backs. Darting under the nearest rock ledge, he and Emma attempted cover. For a moment, Jake was in awe of the sight unfolding in front of him, the rain pouring from the clouds through the center of the horseshoe bend. He saw through the rain as if he were behind glass. Watching the rain plummet through the gorge. The moment of awe ended when the rain water began to spill over the rock ledge, splashing fresh mud on their new hiking boots and trickling water from the rocks soaked their heads and shirts. Staying dry was out of the question. Something let loose in Jake that changed him. He relinquished. His life came to fruition. All that he’d been trying to deny erupted through the surface. How could anyone not love a life such as this? A life of change, as with the seasons, he would now come to enjoy. With every season comes change and acceptance of the inevitable. So gone was his life of predictability. Eager to look ahead. Eager for the next mountain to climb. Rain water rushes forward, and never looks back. His sudden outburst of laughter startled Emma. She stared questionably as he laughed harder. Pushing himself off of the rock wall, he stepped out into the pouring rain, threw his hands out to his sides, palms up, and tilted his head back. Smiling, he let the cold rain soak through to his soul. Everything was out of his control. He was at peace with his new life. Emma remained under the rock, baffled. “Have you gone mad?” She shouted over the rain. “No, just the opposite.” He looked at her. “Come here.” He tugged her wrist, pulling her into the rain with him. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her with all the passion he’d been lacking. Emma melted. Nothing existed but them, the rain, the mountain, and God. She pulled from his lips. “What’s gotten into you?” She asked as she fingered his hair dripping with mountain rain water. “All of this has gotten into me. This is the great outdoors. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” Her eyes widened. “Even the beach?” “Even the beach.” A life looking forward, instead of wanting the reflection in the rearview mirror.


He moved briskly on the path to his home,thrilled with the refreshing air and his performance in school with the test he took, he sang joyfully. On getting to his home's doorstep after opening and closing the compound's gate with his spare key, he happily pushed the door open and greeted mum as he entered, although having not set his eyes on her. He moved further into his house as he closed the door behind him and there was mum coming through the back door and heading for the kitchen( always in the kitchen) with some vegetables in her hand. "I'm back mum" James said as he greeted once more, smiling. Mrs Smith just looked at him, smiled as she noticed the kind of unusual aura around him. James continued smiling and Mrs Smith had to speak out "Why are you so happy?" Mrs Smith asked. "Nothing really...just happy" he answered as he followed his mum to the kitchen. He took his seat on the kitchen's dining table as he left mum to continue her cooking. "I passed awesomely in the school test I took today" he told mum willingly " That's good of you...what was your score?" Mum asked him. He immediately unbaged his bag and placed it on the dining table, almost hitting a bottle of ketchup that was left to cool off on the table by mum. He immediately unzipped it and brought his test result out and immediately ran to show it to his mum. She saw it and was "Wow....that's good...almost 100 percent good" Mrs Smith said and returned her attention to the vegetable soup she was preparing. He returned to his seat and redid his bag to it's former. "Let me change and come down to eat your delicacies" he said as he alighted. He ran upstairs with the speed of joy, counting the steps up his room with style and finally pushing his door open widely. She covered the pot and absently inhaled the aroma coming from the hole in the pot's lid. She shifted to the pot of rice and realized it was ready to be sieved..as she moved towards it she heard a door bang and immediately realized and recovered after halting, that it was from James. She smiled and halted again, placing her gloves hands akimbo.. "I can't believe I am a mother" she said aloud to no one in particular. She smiled again as she stopped the fire under the rice cooker as she unseated it, she immediately moved it to the sieve that was already placed in a suitable position for the action to take place successfully, she sieved it hastily but perfectly. She returned the sieved rice into the pot after braining the water from it successfully then placed it on an inactive position on the gas cooker. She checked the vegetable pot and realized she still have to wait for 5 minutes till it gets cooked finally. She took this moment to dish the rice. While preparing the dishes she heard James sing loudly and then he was not heard again. Suddenly soaked and stuffed with the joy of motherhood she smiled once again and suddenly fell into a throwback as she held a dish in her hand *** "Why did you say I'm on a fifty-fifty chance of having a child" Mrs Smith asked the doctor " You have a problem with fertility" the doctor replied with expertise. Mr Smith looked at Mrs Smith and "Hope it is not what I am thinking.." Mr Smith told the doctor as he slowly shifted his gaze to him "No it isn't... Abortion right.?.. whether I have had an abortion in the past...firmly NO!" Mrs Smith replied with confidence, almost standing "Yes Mr Smith...it is not abortion..it is a cervical issue..it can be solved" "Okay" Mr Smith answered as he patted Mrs Smith to calmness.... **** "Thank God" Mrs Smith said as she came back to the present. Her attention was suddenly moved to the food on the fire. She placed the held this on the table and headed for the food on the fire. She immediately halted the fire burning beneath and headed to dish the rice. As she was about to start this she saw James appear behind her,already dressed in his house clothes. She took a look at him and she saw the look of a James ready to eat. "How's the food going?" James asked her and she answered " It's ready... love" she answered, smiling Ben closed his room door behind him and waltzed to through the sitting room where his mum and his dad were watching TV, his dad has a day off and as he do with his off days, he is spending it in front of the TV with his wife beside him. Ben looked at them and focused back on his goal, as he passed the doorway that led into the dinning area he crushed his phone against the pathway but was lucky it was not damaged. He recovered and moved to the unsheathed a dinning chair, took his seat and placed his phone on the table. Since his mum did not serve his food he had to head to the kitchen and help himself ' she could not even serve my food even though she knows I just arrived from school's he thought as he headed to the kitchen. After dishing his food he returned to the dining table, carrying a glass of water alongside his plate of baked beans. He took his seat carefully as he placed his victims on the table, ready to consume them. But first he took his phone and read some pending telegram messages from his friends. And after that he settled down to eat his food in silence, taking one spoon after the other in an almost simultaneous but balanced manner. Few minutes later he drank from his glass of water and had an interference as he returned the glass cup to a seating position; his mum came to him and "We need to reach somewhere real quick...I and your dad" she told him and then continued " We'll be back soon..." as she said this he could see his dad walk out of the door from a space left by his obstructing mum. Going to prepare the car, he thought.. "Hope you understand?" His mum asked "Ma?" Ben asked,he was lost already "What were you thinking?...let me repeat myself... don't leave the house" " I ain't going nowhere" Ben answered as he continued eating. Not paying attention to his mum anymore he heard her footsteps walk out the door and then the bang of a closing door. "There you go again" he said as he returned his full attention to the lunch afront him


“What’s the matter with you today?” That’s what my boyfriend asks me as I, irritably, pace around the room, shoving keys, cards and my works name badge into an already over-packed handbag. The last thing I want to do is fight, especially on the eve of a 13 hour shift for which I anticipate having 6 hours sleep beforehand but that’s only if I can get all my shit together and drift off in the next 30 minutes. “Is it cause I asked you to do something?” I can’t tell if he does it on purpose but he always seems to know the exact words to drive me crazy. I have to assume I’m overreacting, it’s what girls do after all and more often than not these kind of petty discords always come to a resolution with rolled eyes and a knowing smile: typical woman getting worked up over nothing. We’ve been together for 8 years now. That’s an estimated number because I can’t pin point the exact date when we became “official”. I had been desperately smitten with him for many years before our relationship developed. We worked together and became friendly almost instantly. I liked his humour and the way he wore his hair and how he showed both rows of teeth when he smiled. I used to tell myself I was in love with him and, don’t get me wrong, I still do. The day he asked me in an offhand, noncommittal way; “so...do you wanna go out then?” I was sure I would never feel happiness like it again. People talk about stomach butterflies but my own gut seemed to habitat a pack of excited puppy dogs, all leaping around one and other and yapping, giddily. I cherished every touch, every moment of close proximity, every smile he bequeathed on me. This was it, I had found my soulmate, I was sure of it. I never saw anyone else, could never notice the friendly gestures of male co-workers and friends as anything more than that. Funny how time changes everything. It certainly changed me. I never realised how much I hated the word “love” until I was sure I was “in love”. It’s such a stupid term; something tossed around so often and carelessly it was filled with tattered holes through which all meaning and sincerity would trickle out. Any time he told me he loved me I cringed. It’s not that I don’t reciprocate the feeling, more that I don’t connect to the word. I had the sensation; the uneasy tickle and almost panicky rush from my stomach to my chest. I knew I “loved” him but I could never bring myself to say the word. Maybe that’s where things really changed for us. Maybe he felt that resistance and misconstrued it as something more literal. His response was to tell me, all the more, that he loved me and I was able to repeat the phrase back but my hesitance always tumbled out with the words. We were still affectionate. I enjoyed his embrace and the warm, comforting feeling of having his thick arms wrapped around me. I could drown in his hold, could live right there wrapped in his existence. Those were the good moments. The times when we would be close and enjoy being close with one and other. Other times we fought. I maintained that all couples fought occasionally while he insisted it wasn’t right. We spent a lot of time around the house occupied in separate endeavours and he tried, so stubbornly, to pull me into his pastimes. “We have different interests,” I would say, unconcerned. “We still do stuff together but we can’t be in each others company all the time.” He disagreed and soon I found him at my heels, all big, watery eyes and petted lips like a neglected animal yearning for attention. It got on my nerves and I would tell him so but it just spurred him on all the same. He seemed to gather most humour in his days from winding me up, poking and prodding until I snapped and let the frustration and exasperation burst out of me. He would laugh most of the times but other days he would look pained and implored that he only wanted my attention. But he didn’t have it, undivided, anymore. I had started a new job and my workmates talked, ceaselessly about a man in an opposite unit who had worked with them all for quite some time and seemed to be the most bizarre, awkward, clumsy and clueless person they’d ever come across. I was hooked on him at once. I listened to their tales of his embarrassing endeavours with rapt attention. I had never laid eyes on him, never stood in the same room but he occupied my mind fleetingly throughout the day, making brief appearances whenever I never read much into it until I was asked to cover staff shortages in the other units for a week. I was sat in the office of the opposite building one day when he walked in. There they were again; the puppy dogs cavorting around inside me. When he introduced himself to me I could feel that excited tightness in my chest, the familiar thud of blood in my ears. It all happened so quickly and soon I had it all played out in my mind; our first date, introducing him to my parents, kissing in the dark corners of work parties, our first home together, pets, marriage, children... ...and guilt. The guilt came over me so suddenly and unexpectedly I was sure it had been held being a rotting damn somewhere at the back of my mind for some time now. Well the damn had broke and the hot, stinging shame flooded every inch of my being. I felt sick at myself and filled with an overpowering grief at the thought of turning away from my boyfriend. How horrid could I possibly be? What a cruel and disgustingly selfish person I was. So there it had happened. Love. I could accept it now. I felt pure and undying love for the man I had shared so much of my life with and I told him so at every opportunity. He seemed pleased with my newfound heartful-ness and our relationship maintained. I forgot about the thrilling mystery man from the other unit as quickly as I had conceived the entire course of our imaginary relationship together. That should have been it. Happy ending and all that but time, once again, is like an endurable parasite nibbling away at the foundations of my emotions. A whole day of affection and enjoyment came crashing down in a heartbeat. All I had wanted was to watch the end of my show. It was nearly there, only six minutes left and then I could get everything prepared for work tomorrow. He had been talking all the way through it; he hates most things on TV and, somehow, this culminates in having no understanding or awareness of other people’s enjoyment. Now, suddenly, he appears before me with a laundry basket filled high with clothes. “Can you do me a favour and fold these while I switch the clothes over to the tumble dryer?” Far from feeling any resistance to coming away from my TV show now, I had been the one to put the very pile of clothes in front of me into wash in the first place and that was after I had washed, dried and folded two other loads. I told him so and earned a whiny lecture about helping each other out and joint responsibility and a whole host of other condescending life lessons that bore, quite effectively, through the last moments of the show. So I did the only thing that seemed reasonable at the time. I flew into an exasperated rage of exaggerated actions and irritable grunting. Clothes became folded so violently I was surprised none of them ripped. He was so mesmerised by my display of mad righteousness he didn’t even switch the other load over to the tumble dryer. So I did that too, just to prove a point and when it was done I began gathering everything together that I would need for work the next day while he followed behind and rambled off a ceaseless chorus of anxious questions. “What’s the matter with you today?” “Is it cause I asked you to do something?” “Are you mad at me?” “Is it cause you have to work tomorrow?” “Are you sad?” “Are you angry cause your show finished?” How many times can I expect to fall in and out of hopeless infatuation with one person? Love. I really do hate it.


The End “How am I supposed to sleep after that?” “RAWR,” I shout, making several campers scream themselves, “That was the scream of a Black Panther. It may or may not be the demon of legend, but I wouldn’t want to find out. Now, time to go to bed.” I heard one camper say, as they all huddled together, as they walked back to the cabins, “That sounded like a woman screaming bloody murder,” A spooked camper stuttered in awe. “The demon remains and now and then, a couple of campers that wander off by themselves disappear, never to be seen or heard from again.” Just then a scream rends the air. “So why can’t we go into the woods, if everyone was arrested?” “We subdued the guards, obtained the key to our freedom from one of them, and made our escape. Long into the night we walked, until we were in the next town, where we made our way to the police station. We told our harrowing story, and they started an investigation into proving it. Everyone involved was arrested, and they sealed the prisons up for good. The cabin, on the side of the mountain, still stands there, but deserted. Eagle Ridge came under new management, because every adult was arrested.” “I worked, when the overseers were standing guard, but when they took a break, I would talk to some of the other prisoners and I found the adults had been there since they were children. There were even some, I was told, that had died of old age, so that told me it had been going on for a very long time, even before Eagle Ridge was established. I got the idea one day to get the others to start a revolution, with me, and that we would take down the guards, by any means possible. I told them I refused to die down there without a fight, and they agreed. The ones that were in charge of the wood, secretly made weapons and the ones that sewed made restraints. We waited until the time was right, then, we attacked.” “I crept forward and encountered the door, which had a handle, and when I tugged, the door opened. I was being blinded by light, and when my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I saw several children and adults. They were doing a lot of different menial chores, and all the chores were being monitored by overseers. Some chores that I noticed immediately were sewing and mending stuff like sheets, pillows, and camping tents. One was making wooden items such as benches, picnic tables, and bunk beds. I was in a sweatshop, of sorts, for Eagle Ridge.” “The other campers did not believe them, so they did not turn me over to them. We made our way back to our cabins, and they took me to the camp nurse. She removed the stitches, from my mouth, and told me not to tell anyone how this happened. When my parents came to pick me up, they were told the same. She whispered to me about the prison that tellers would go to, if they told, but I knew that someone needed to tell, so that the authorities could arrest everyone that did these atrocities. I told a cop, whom was my dad’s best friend, and in the middle of the night I men that I didn’t know came and took me away, from my home. I was blindfolded and when the blindfold was removed, I found I was in a dark void. Had I dreamed my escape, I thought, but when I felt the wall, I found it was cement blocks. I felt my mouth and found no stitches, only healing wounds.” “I saw moving lights, further down the side of the mountain, and I headed for them, as hard as I could run. It turned out to be the rest of the campers, returning to the campfire pit, as we had planned. After I made it to them, one of them was about to untie my hands, when my pursuers caught up, and told them to give me to them. They were told no and the shortest, of the two men, told them they didn’t understand; That if they, the men, did not offer me as a sacrifice that we all were doomed. He said a demon lived in a cave at the very top of the mountain and that it enjoys eating people, but that it only eats two people every week.” “When I felt I had gone far enough, I started digging above my head, trying to make a shaft that would bring me to the surface. I made footholds to aid in my ascent and I kept going until I had to stop. The bone struck something solid, and when I reached my bound hands up, I found more wood. I surmised my prison had been in a basement, under the cabin. I turned to my left and dug along the wooden cabin floor, until I encountered more dirt, then I started digging upwards once more. Then I was out in the open and running down the side of the mountain, falling over roots, rocks, fallen trees, and other unseen things, with the sound of running feet closing in on me.” “I felt around for anything that to use, as a weapon, and found what felt like a bone. Cringed at the thought of it being a human bone, I steeled my nerves and I brushed the side, of the end, of the bone against the wall, opposite of the door. Doing that a few times, trying to make the end into a sharp point, then when I touched it I found not changed. I felt the wall and found that the bone was gouging out a hole, because the wall was dirt. I began rubbing faster, and the dirt began falling away. Before long I had a hole big enough to crawl into, which I did and kept digging.” “There were some for a long time, after I escaped the camp prison, but my parents paid a lot of money to have a plastic surgeon fix my mouth. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t. A noise came from somewhere behind my prison door and I slowly made my way through the black void. Keeping my hands held out, my fingers touched wood. Groping for a door handle, but there was not one. I banged on the wood, until my hands bled, then a dim light appeared around the edge of the door. I hoped that someone let me out, but a raspy voice on the other side, warned me that my time would come soon enough.” “If someone had sewn it shut, then you would have scars,” Scoffed a camper. “They had sewn it shut.” “What was it? What had they done to your mouth?” “I went to yell for Josh, but found my mouth unable to speak. I raised my hands, which were shackled together, to my mouth, but what I touched there had me very frightened.” “Well, I looked over to tell Josh to run, but he wasn’t able to. The man had his giant hand holding the top of Josh’s head. He was squeezing Josh’s head until Josh stopped flailing his arms, trying to hit the man. His eyes rolled back until all you could see where the white of his eyes. I shouted to the man to stop that he was killing Josh. I was looking back up at the man’s chin, when he slowly looked down and grinned. His mouth had no teeth and his eyes had no irises; And, what should have been white was a light yellow, as if he had yellow jaundice. He opened his mouth, wide enough to look like he was going to bite something and sharp teeth sprang forth, from his gums. I screamed and when I came to, I was in the dark, by myself.” “Where was Josh?” “I’m getting to that, just be patient,” I answered, “I went to take a step forward, when a twig under my foot snapped. The music stopped, as if someone were listening for another telltale sign that there was someone outside the cabin. I turned to run, but found myself nose-to-chest, of a giant man. He was so tall that I had to look up, in order to see his face, but even then I was staring at the underside of his chin.” “It will be happy then? What is it and what will make it happy?” “Josh and I made our way into the spooky woods. I forgot to bring batteries for my flashlight, so when mine died, we only had Joshua’s. We came upon a cabin that seemed like it was deserted, except there was a haunting song coming from it. The music sounded out of tune and gave me the creeps,” I said and then I sang the words, “One two... I hear you... Three four... I’ll get some more... Five six... Just for kicks... Seven eight... leave them at the gate... Nine ten... It will be happy then.” “We met, right here, beside the darkened campfire pit and hatched a plan, one that was sure to shed light on the mysterious disappearances. We partnered off, so that we could scour more ground. Most of the teams had three or more campers, but there was one team that had only two. I and Joshua Baker were the ones that made up the two-person team.” “A week later two more campers disappeared, without a trace, and some of us older campers formed our own search party. So, after the official search party came back and went to bed, we snuck out, into the darkness, of the night; Much like the way it looks tonight.” A piece of firewood popped, making us all jump, although I pretended to. “I had been there when, one night, a girl and her brother went missing, from this very camp. A search party was formed, but it was told that they could find nothing, not even a footprint. It was like they just vanished.” The kid next to me gasps and, in a hoarse whisper, asks what happened to the offenders, “There are asylums, which are under the ground beneath our very feet, that they’re admitted to. I know about them, because I was in one, but I escaped.” “As you know, the counselors have advised you to stay out of the woods. They give no reason, except to say that it is unsafe and that it is very easy to get lost. That is not the only reasons, but it is taboo to speak of the real reason. If someone’s caught telling the reason...,” I shiver for their benefit, “that person’s sent away and never seen again; By anyone, not even their families.” “Let me just start off by saying that you must never, ever, tell let the counselors catch that you telling what you are about to hear this night.” I held up the story stick, and all became quiet, except for the crackle of the fire. Even the frogs and crickets hushed, so that they could hear the story. “Did they get lost?” “What happened?” “Enough,” I commanded, as the two girls argued, “I think you all need to hear this story; Especially the two of you, Rachelle and Betty, because it was an argument, among the campers, that perpetrated a night of terror, for a boy and girl.” “We’re not babies, Betty,” Rachelle Dimwitty rebutted, with an equally mocking sneer, as she said Betty’s name. “Tell us, Carolina,” Betty Rankin said, “the babies can just go back to the cabins, if they don’t want to hear the scary story,” She put an emphasis, with a very mocking sneer, on the fifth word and the last two. “Tell us,” Micah MacDonald said, and several others agreed with him, although a few others did not. “What I learned when I was camper, at Eagle Ridge, when I was your age, is scarier than any urban legend.” I shiver, although the temperature is a nice, balmy seventy-five degrees and I wrap my arms around my midriff. “Why not,” Veronicka Balducci shyly queries. “I know what it is,” I tell the group, “However, I don’t think I should tell you guys.” “I don’t know,” Replies Adam Rizzoli, as he peers into the darkness, “but it sounded huge.” “What... was that,” Angelina Braxton asked, as she holds her hand to her heart. I am a counselor at Eagle Ridge, a youth summer camp, and this is my first time being a camp counselor. My name is Carolina Stokely and I am about ready to hand the story stick to Jerrod Hemsley. A noise from out of the darkness, beyond the circle of firelight that is created by the campfire, has made us all about to jump out of our skins. The Beginning


“Faster!” A gun against his head, Carl filled the bag with bills as fast as he could, then handed it back to the hooded man over the counter. The police sirens could already be heard outside in the far distance. “The watch too!” screamed the assailant. The clerk glanced at the golden watch on his wrist and swallowed with great difficulty. “It has sentimental value,” he replied in a shaky voice. “THE WATCH TOO!” Betty, the bank’s financial advisor, crept up from behind her desk, her square glasses sliding down to the edge of her nose. “Give it to him Carl,” she pleaded. “Give it now!” Under pressure, Carl complied and mechanically tossed the golden watch into the bag. The assailant’s female accomplice grew impatient. “C’mon, we have to go! The cops are almost here.” Both robbers dashed out, leaving the bank’s employees and clients trembling like leaves in their frozen positions. “Are you insane?” yelled Betty as she tried to put one foot in front of the other to walk towards the counter, putting her glasses back into place. “You never refuse to do something when there’s a gun to your head.” “It was my father’s watch,” replied the clerk. “It’s all I have left of him. All I had left.” “At least you’re alive! These guys were going full on Bonnie & Clyde, they were not to be messed with.” The policemen arrived, brandishing their revolvers left and right, oblivious to the fact they were much too late. Sergeant Harris took both the clerk and the financial advisor apart in the loan manager’s office to get their depositions. “Did you notice any detail that could help in identifying them?” “No,” replied Carl. “They were dressed in black from head to toe, there was barely an inch of skin visible.” “What sum of money did they take out?” “Roughly twenty thousand, plus my watch.” “How much was the watch worth?” “It was fake gold, so probably six hundred tops, but it had sentimental value.” The Sergeant rolled his eyes. “Sentimental value is the least of our concerns here.” He got up and gathered his belongings, ready to walk out of the narrow office. “Wait, so that’s it?” asked Carl. “Unless you have something else to tell me, yes.” “What about my watch?” “We’ll investigate for sure, but it’s a long shot. Judging from the similarities, it’s probably these wannabe Bonnie & Clyde who have been hopping from state to state carrying out heists. Nobody has managed to catch them. We’re looking at pros here.” “Are you saying they’ve done this multiple times? You better do something then!” Betty grabbed his hand in an attempt to calm him down. “Carl, please,” she said. “We should just let the policemen do their work.” “You’re absolutely right Miss,” chuckled the Sergeant, dismissing Carl’s outburst. “Let’s keep your boyfriend under control.” “He’s not my--” “Not my business,” he replied, hastily walking out the door and shutting it behind him. Carl banged against the table, his skin bright red from the blood boiling under the surface. “You’re taking this watch business a bit too seriously,” stated Betty. “I get it, family heirlooms are important, but so is survival. Besides, the Sergeant is right, they don’t have much to work with right now.” “It’s not just about the family heirloom,” he said, his body still quaking. “What is it, then?” “The watch... I lied. It's quite valuable. I discovered last week it was a rare Italian item. I already put it up for auction online, it could easily sell for half a million dollars.” “Oh dear," sighed Betty. "That’s tragic, for sure. I guess you’ll just have to live without it.” “Actually, I can’t. I’ve been gambling a little bit recently... let’s just say I owe money to bad people right now.” "Bad people?" "Yeah. Pretty bad people. I never thought I'd say this, but I might as well be dead if I'm not able to repay my debts." The admission shocked Betty to the core. Carl, the respected bank clerk with a boring life and boring name, had just revealed himself to be wilder than she expected. A part of her pitied him. Yet, another part felt excited. Her life was also quite boring, and the morning heist was certainly the most exhilarating rush of adrenaline she had felt in her lifetime. Somehow, she craved to feel that rush again. She got up and paced back and forth around the office. “I didn’t expect that kind of behaviour from you.” “I didn’t even expect it from myself.” “What if I help you track them down? Would you be willing to share a bit of that money with me?” “How would you even do that? You said it yourself, the policemen have nothing. We’re just two boring bankers, I hardly think we can go fight off professional criminals.” She booted the manager’s computer and launched an online search. “Don’t underestimate me, Carl. I predict the stocks all day. There’s more than one algorithm in my bag to predict where they’ll go next.” *** Bonnie & Clyde parked in an alleyway three blocks away from Chicago’s Millenium Bank in their old-fashioned grey Rolls Royce. “Are you sure we should be going for this one?” asked Clyde. “I think we should drive further up north. We’re too close to the last bank.” “Don’t be stupid,” replied Bonnie. “I’ve been making the choices so far, and we always got away with it. Maybe you should stop questioning me. Put your hood on.” They both put on their black garments and got out of the car. Much to their surprise, a woman was waiting for them at the end of the alleyway. It was Betty, although Bonnie and Clyde did not recognize her as the banker from their last heist. “Who are you?” yelled Clyde menacingly. “Your worst nightmare,” replied Betty with the fierceness of a lynx. The line was cliché, but it gave her the feeling of being in an old film noir, and the inebriating rush of adrenaline came to her. Clyde pointed his weapon at the advisor. “Step aside, now! We have some business to do.” “Poor you. So simple minded. You’re awfully predictable, you know that. I just had to do a simple data mining extraction to pinpoint exactly your selection pattern. You always stalk the bank clerk on LinkedIn two days ahead of your heist, with the exact same account.” "How do you--" "Because the last clerk you robbed gave me access to his LinkedIn history, you idiot." “Shut up, old hag,” yelled Bonnie. Step aside now!” “I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you.” "And what exactly are you going to do? It's two against one, and you have no weapon." "No, but I do." The criminals froze. Carl stood behind them, pointing guns at their scalps. “I’ll take my watch back,” he declared. “And the car, too.” *** Betty and Carl rolled down the interstate highway back to Indiana with their brand new Rolls Royce, with Betty in the driver’s seat. “I didn’t know you were so badass,” said Carl gleefully, counting the money in the bag. “They'll welcome us like heroes at the bank. I can sell that watch now, plus we have a sweet ride. It’ll be hard to go back to normal life after this.” “Actually, I’m a bit tired of the banker lifestyle,” replied Betty. "But... that's the only thing we know how to do." "Not true. Looks like we're pretty good private detectives. I am, at least, but I could use a sidekick. Don't you want to keep feeling this rush Carl?" "You can't be serious." "I see it from here. Betty and Carl, Partners Against Crime." "That does sound pretty good." "Of course it does. I came up with it." Betty's square glasses slid down her nose again, but this time, she threw them out the window of the Rolls Royce. The financial advisor was no more. The new partners against crime rode into the sunset, wild and free.


The accident was sure to make the news considering all of the after events. There were squealing tires and a very loud crash that made everyone jump. There were three vehicles involved and it tied up traffic on the busiest corner in town. It created a lot of chaos and people ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. The police were dispatched right away and showed up trying to untangle the mess. One of the drivers was Jane Tyne, the manager of the town’s water system. The other driver was Michelle Henderson, the principal of the high school. The third driver involved was Geraldine Moffat, the owner of the town’s only hair salon. The three women were screaming at each other arguing over who had the right of way and who had caused the accident. Officer Talbot was trying to make sure there were no fist fights. “Ladies, can we please calm down? Now, I am going to get everyone’s statement, just give me a second. I want everyone to return to their vehicle and wait.” There was hesitation and then the three walked over to their respected dented vehicles and got inside. Neither one seemed too pleased to be ordered around. After all, they were all powerful women in positions of authority and were used to giving out the orders not taking them. They immediately all started to text on their phones. The officer watched them and then started to try and put the puzzle together. It wasn’t going to be very easy. Officer Talbot looked around and wasn’t sure how exactly to proceed. The veteran policeman had witnessed hundreds of fender benders, but this one was a real pickle. He didn’t want to anger any of the women because he needed water, his wife went to the salon and he had two teenagers in high school. Suddenly, Candace, a young teenage girl, walked up. She sported a healthy amount of tattoos and piercings. Her hair was red, pink and green. She chewed bubblegum like a cow munching on cud. He didn’t recognize the girl right way. “Hey, Mr. Officer, I saw what happened. Do you want to hear about it?” Officer Talbot smiled sort of and grimaced at the same time. He had a two teenage daughters and thankfully they weren’t into self-expressionism as this young lady. Then he remembered her. “I would love to hear your statement, young lady. It has been a long time since we have talked.” “It is. How is Heather doing?” “She’s doing just fine. I remember when you two were best friends in like grade two.” “Yeah, it was a long time ago. We just kind of went separate ways. I really love a man in uniform.” “Thanks. Did you see what happened?” “I sure did. Okay, so you have the white pickup truck arriving at the three way stop first. The driver went to turn and the red BMW turned at the same time. They both stopped. Then a second later, the blue business van smashed into both of them. It was the one driving the van that is responsible for the accident.” “Thank you for your statement, Candace.” “Do I get a reward? I could really use the money. I have lots of bills to pay.” “I am not sure about that.” She looked rather sad. “I’ll see what I can do.” “Okay, thanks. Say hello to Heather for me.” “I will.” She left and he smiled. “I always wondered what happened to that girl.” What Candace had failed to say was that she had gone to Geraldine’s hair salon and they had really botched up her hair. She had refused to pay them and they had taken her to court. Officer Talbot looked around and an elderly man approached him. He looked a little scruffy, but was all smiles. “My name is George James and I saw what happened Officer.” “That’s great,” said Officer Talbot. George James had been in trouble with the law plenty of times. Officer Talbot had arrested the man on more than one occasion and knew him rather well. “The woman driving the Red BMW is totally responsible for the accident. She plowed into white pickup truck, backed up and smacked into the blue van.” Officer Talbot smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “This is what happened?” “Yup, sure is what happened.” “Okay, thanks for your input.” “You are welcome. Is there a reward?” “I am not sure about that George.” George walked away. What he didn’t say to the officer was he hated Michelle Henderson. He was supposed to go to the high school to teach the kids woodcarving, but it had been cancelled. But, no one had called him and he showed up anyway. The interchange between George and the principal got very heated and drew a crowd. Eventually, he left cursing under his breath. Officer Talbot was very confused at this point. He didn’t know whom to believe. Just then, Susan Course with her four dirty little children arrived. The kids looked like they needed a bath, as did their mother. “I saw what happened officer.” He smiled at her and nodded his head. “Let’s hear it.” “The blue van had the right of way and it was turning. The red BMW was stopped at the stop sign, when the white Public Works truck slammed into the stationary BMW and forced it into the blue van. It was all the fault of the white pickup truck.” “Thank you for the information,” said Officer Talbot. “Is there a reward?” “I am not sure about it.” Susan and her four children walked away. What she had not told the officer was that her water had been cut off when there was a mixup with the bill. She had called the Public Works Department and after not getting anywhere and being put on hold for like forever, she had demanded to talk to Jane personally, They had gotten into a huge argument. Later, Susan had protested with her four kids how cruel the water department was and truly embarrassed them. Other citizens joined in. It had gotten really heated when some of the Public Works Department personnel had walked out of the building and started to shout at the protesters. Officer Talbot had to break up the demonstration. Officer Talbot was now in a real predicament. He didn’t know what to do and so he motioned for all three women to get out of their respective vehicles. At this point, other officers had arrived on the scene to direct traffic. “Okay, ladies, I am not sure what to do here. I have three eyewitness accounts and they are all different. Each one blames one of you.” “I am not sure who you were talking to officer, but I was not in the wrong.” Jane was defiant. “Yes, you were, Jane. Isn’t it against the law to lie to an officer?” Michelle burst out laughing. “You are such a hypocrite.” Before, Officer Talbot could react, the three started swinging at each other. It was a real donnybrook with fists and feet flying everywhere. He attempted to break up the fight and for his efforts received a fat lip and a black eye. “Okay, that’s it. I’m taking all three of you.” He pulled out the handcuffs and linked two of them together. He grabbed the other and hauled all three into the cruiser in the back seat. The ride to the precinct was horrible. They screamed and used language that made the officer blush many, many different shades of red. They tried to escape and he really got mad. He arrived at the precinct and hauled them inside. Since the jail wasn’t very big, he put all three of them in the same cell. “If you kill each other it would solve a lot of problems,” he said as he went off to tend to his wounds. It was hours later when they were released. What the judge did was to make each one pay for their own damage. Plus, they had to apologize to Officer Talbot. The women went out to lunch to settle everything and had a great time. They got stinking drunk and staggered home. Then they decided to go to the police precinct and moon the officers. Just as they were dropping their pants/skirts, Officer Talbot pulled up. He shook his head and couldn’t believe it. “I guess we didn’t learn our lesson ladies.” A few minutes later, they found themselves in jail again.


“MOM! WHERE ARE YOU?”, a little boy shouts. A war is taking place in the middle of a city. Debris is flying everywhere. There are demons, warriors, and wizards as far as one can see. The sun is barely shining through the dense clouds. A voice yells “IT IS DONE!”, followed by a female voice “What is it, Damon?” “It is a way to end the war, Nursha.” Damon is a fair built man, around mid 20’s. He has noticeable small horns on his head and a pitch black tail with a point on the end. He is wearing a pair of black pants and a dark gray t-shirt. Nursha is a petite lady, also in the mid 20’s, and is wearing an all white dress with red accents. She can be seen wielding a staff that has a small red cross on the top. “Bill, I’m going to need your dagger.” Damon says, while holding out his hand. Bill, a large guy in heavy gray armor with a sword that's nearly as large as him, says “I lost mine during a fight with a demon not too long ago. Maybe Izrid still has his.” Izrid, a guy who is about the same size as Damon and in dark blue robes and holding a book, searches himself to see if he still has his dagger. He finds it and hands it to Damon. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Bill says. Damon takes the dagger and turns towards a machine that's as big as him. “I have programmed this device to isolate the demon DNA in me and send out an impulse. Anything that contains any demon DNA will be vaporized.” He takes the dagger and cuts a small sliver into his palm, dropping some blood into a small vile. “So all I need to do is give it something to use as a base to analyze and hit start.” “But what about you?” Nursha exclaims worriedly. “There is only one thing that can and will happen.” After realizing what he means, she shouts, “No. No, no, YOU CAN’T DO THIS! THERE HAS TO BE ANOTHER WAY!” “I’ve checked all of the other possibilities, this is the only way without sacrificing anymore people to this damn war.” He turns around to face Nursha while hitting ‘start’ on the screen, the machine starts to whirr and charge up. “Everything will be fine, I will still be a happy man knowing that you’re still alive, I promise.” Bill walks over to Nursha and says ”He knows what he is doing. We'll all miss him. Right, Izrid?” Izrid silently nods. “See? Even Izrid understands that there is nothing else we can do. It will be fine.” “It is almost charged.” Damon says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope. “Here, I've been meaning to give you this for a while. Don't read it until everything is over.” As he handed the letter to Nursha, the machine starts to crackle with energy. “It's time for me to go now. One last thing Nursha, I knew the whole time.” The machine sends out a huge shockwave and as soon as hits Damon, smiling ear to ear, Nursha yells “NO!” and tries to grab him. But she grabbed nothing but the envelope and air. As the shockwave travels, demons start disappearing into thin air. Screams of joy erupt as people start cheering. “WE DID IT!” Many soldiers yell. “It’s over. That idiot actually pulled it off.” Bill says. “Let’s head home. We all know Damon wouldn’t want us grieving. He would say something like ‘Don’t mourn my death, rather, celebrate my life.’ or, something like that.” “You’re right. It’s time we head home. Let’s go Izrid.” Nursha says as she wipes tears off her face. ONE YEAR LATER A statue of Damon was built and sits in the middle of the town square. Nursha, who is in her casual clothes, blue jeans and a white shirt with a red cross, walks up to the statue. “Bill and Izrid couldn’t make it. It’s been a year since then. After I told the king what happened, he demanded that a statue must be built immediately. I was trying to tell him not to worry about, but said ‘He is a hero! Heroes must be honored!’ So I told him it was fine then. I haven’t read the letter yet, I’m scared of what it will say, what did you write? Maybe I should it read it now?” She grabs the letter from her pocket and hesitantly opened it. The reads “You never had to say anything to me. I always knew how you felt about me. You are probably reading this about a year later, after you told the king what happened, a statue of me was built, and you are still sad that I am gone. All I have to say is this. I felt the same way towards you since the first time we met, but I knew what I was, what was coming, and what I would have to do. That's why I never bothered. It would have been worse on both of us. Stop being sad. Be a happy little healer. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.” As she closes the letter, a flower floats by and lands at her feet. She picks it up, stares at it for a minute, and then places it at the base of the statue. “You were always good at predicting what will happen.” She says as she places the flower. She stands and starts to walk off. As she does, she smiles with a single tear going down her face. “I guess this really is goodbye.


The Shady Hand “I’ll bet all my winnings on the next hand,” announced Francis Calleja, a big time wheeler and dealer that had stolen many a poor man’s pocket of wealth. “If I lose whoever accepts the deal will win all my land but if I win then I take over their property.” Calleja was on a role this afternoon and it was too early to quit playing and go home. Sitting around the card table with Francis were another four men from prominent families around the little village. These men knew trouble was brewing but there was no stopping Calleja when he put his mind to something. His friends at the table each had a lot to lose so they were quick to throw in the towel and refuse Calleja’s bet. At another table close enough to Calleja’s to be within earshot a young very confident man stood up and stared at Calleja intensely. He needed an opportunity like this to be able to change his ways for good and he felt life owed him something for all crap he endured in his youth. “Today might just be that day,” he thought to himself. “I’ll take that bet Calleja” said the brave stranger. “What’s your name?” asked Francis. “My name is Ivan. So let me get this straight, if I win, I’ll get your land, right? Does that include your family residence?” Ivan wanted to make sure he understood the deal. “A house for a house,” replied the wealthy bachelor. “Deal the cards then.” Shouted someone from across the room. The bar was alive with men who had just finished work and wanted a cool drink after their laborious day in the sun or office. The music echoed in the background as the young man went to sit across from Francis. “So how should we do this Calleja?” enquired Ivan. " Manuel here will write up the agreement and we both sign it before dealing out the cards” continued Francis. “That’s OK by me, does anyone have a pen?” asked Ivan. Manuel was prepared for the occasion due to him working in the local courthouse as a legal officer. After the gentlemen concluded their tedious paperwork, the documents were placed in the centre of the card table and each man waited for the cards to be delt out. The room became silent. White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane was playing on the radio before the bar owner switched it off. No one in the room would even notice the music though because everyone was focusing on the two men who took centre stage. The room was thick with the smell of tobacco and sweat as the gentlemen looked at each other blankly, waiting for their cards. In the background, beer and whiskey glasses could be heard clinking over tabletops as the waiters picked up empty glasses and handed refills. The bar owner loved days like these because people seemed to drink more and stay longer. Ivan began to pick up the first two cards delt. The native onlookers recognized this as a naïve move. Calleja confidently waited. No smile was to be seen on either of the men’s faces. The game had suddenly metamorphosized into a life altering decision with consequences. Calleja loved the feeling of uncertainty. He had everything he ever wanted or needed but he was only happy when he felt he could lose it all. Someone coughed in the background and the sound of a chair being pushed echoed through the silence. The men looked at their delt hand then looked at each other a couple of times. The whole afternoon had been uneventful and now, suddenly someone wasn’t going to leave this bar a happy man. Most people rooted for young Ivan. Everyone loved a longshot. Calleja didn’t bother about the onlookers who would judge him harshly and tried to put on a show even though he knew most people didn’t like him but he was ok with that. Being successful meant there would always be those that held bitter feelings towards him, and they probably had reason to. Ivan though was not known by the more frequent customers to the bar but he was young, with a future ahead of him and this fact made Ivan rather a relatable character with his story resembling their own stories and this made him the favourite of the moment. Ivan had recently married a girl named Maria. He believed she was the one thing in his life that made him want to be good. He tried to live an honest life at first, but times were tough and finding a job that would help him take care of his wife and future family proved more difficult than he had expected. This deal would mean a burst of hope at a time when all he had were empty pockets. Sure, Ivan had won a couple of games of cards in these last weeks prior to this moment but they weren’t enough to pay the bills or ensure a comfortable life. This game could change things. As he held those cards, he thought of how excited he would be to go home and give Mary the crazy news. A hint of pride was seen in Ivan's eyes that day, for that short time, because he was fully aware that he could be about to bring down one of the richest and stingiest men in the bar. Ivan couldn’t control his anticipation. As the cards were being delt he started to pick them up with his hands trembling. He tried to keep himself calm by holding his breath and trying to recite short words of encouragement to himself but the pressure was on. His first two cards were an ace of spades and a two of hearts. Next cards were the eight of clubs, Jack of diamonds and a nine of clubs. He traded the two of hearts and the nine of clubs receiving the eight of spades and an ace of clubs. The cards weren’t great but they were good enough to hold on to. When Calleja was ready they agreed to show their cards at the same time. As the cards were placed on the table for everyone in the room to see, it was apparent that Calleja had lost with a pair of kings which really left their audience in a stir, but that is not what impressed the onlookers who stood in silence and waited for someone to speak. Ivan thought everyone was disappointed that he had won but that is not why they were all staring at him with sombre expressions on their faces. The young man had won no doubt about that but the cards he held in his hands were called “the black hand” by native poker players. It was also known as THE HAND OF DEATH. All the witnesses around these two gambling men that day said a dark cloud passed over them. The hot sun that had been blazing down for most of the day had now disappeared and a shadow could be seen behind Ivan marking his end for the more superstitious patrons. The audience that had collected around the gamblers table walked away without saying a word but kept their heads down as if the man was already dead. Calleja who was not a superstitious man kept his thoughts to himself and started to plan with Ivan the best way to give over his property which was very impressive in comparison to Ivan’s poor living conditions. The young man had lived in a small house that he was buying slowly from a farmer he helped on the weekends. In his mind Ivan felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to pick up anymore horse manure at six in the morning. At this point the whole sudden change of fortune was slowly shaping into a reality. At one moment he was as wild and crazy with joy as we could imagine but on the other hand he wasn’t sure if all that just happened was actually going to be realised. Ivan walked taller that day as they made their way down the street. Everyone became a friend to him and he loved the attention his new place in his town's society was going to be automatically placed upon him. Now he would be in a position to help people not run away from them, he thought to himself. He had tested the odds and won. "Wow," he thought, "it felt good". As Ivan left the bar with Calleja, the two men quietly started walking to Ivan’s house to tell Mary about the huge transformation that has occurred in their lives, when all of a sudden a dusty looking drunkard walked through the two men who hardly had taken notice of him and fell heavily on Ivan. This wobbling man seemed to trip and push Ivan to the ground before getting up and running off through the narrow streets just off the main road. As Ivan attempted to get up on his feet he fell back to the ground due to a great pain in his lower abdomen. When he pressed his hand to his body a wet sticky dark red patch of blood was starting to soak through his clothes. The pain he felt was overwhelming and he lay on the ground until someone brought the doctor. Calleja stayed with Ivan in those last moments before the young man exhaled his last breadth. While Calleja kept Ivan’s body safe he eyed the signed document the two men had organised before the game of cards started and placed it in his pocket for safe keeping. When a doctor finally arrived to the scene it was too late. The onlookers stared in horror at the scene of the unfortunate young man who’s foretold death left him no chance to see his beloved wife one last time. The funeral took place a couple of days after the historic card game. The people in the village were saddened by Ivan’s story but it was later whispered on family porches and in the bars that Ivan had visited shortly before his demise, that he had accumulated a lot of debt. Though he had been very lucky in the last month his winnings were never enough to pay the bills. There was a rumour that Ivan even manipulated the card games in his favour and the man that killed Ivan on that day was one of the poor souls that lost more than he bargained for. Mary ended up living in a small one roomed house for the rest of her life never remarrying and never knowing that she was supposed to have had a very different life. The papers that were signed before Ivan and Calleja’s last game were never found and no one asked questions. The kids in the street called her the white lady because she let her hair go white and her ivory skin made her look ghost like. She could be seen each morning dressed in a black dress with her dark veil in hand walking quietly to the seven o’clock mass. She would always have some candy in her pockets to give to the kids in the streets and was never known to utter the slightest mean remark to anyone. As the days went by the story of her beloved Ivan became legend. Mary's love for him would remain as fresh as the day they first met but she would never speak his name again.


It was a usual afternoon at the Argyll St branch of the Bank of Scotland with customers queuing as they waited patiently to be served. A teller, sitting at her desk with a hollow look on her face, shouted “can I help someone over here’ to the que to call over her next customer. As the man approached she noted he was very well trimmed and wore smart casual clothes, the kind that don’t draw attention to oneself but still look very much look “I mean business”. Over the top he wore woollen coat and a white shirt underneath with the collar undone. His hair was short on the sides with longer dirty blonde wavy thick hair on top. As he approached she noticed his sharp blue eyes and stern look. She cracked a faint smile at the corner of her mouth. The teller was about to raise her voice when the man began to raise his hand. As it happens, she had caught her tongue just in time as the man was now pointing an M1911 pistol at her. Her vague presence at work had now passed and she felt every second as her heart started racing. The man whispered the words “call the police” in a confident tone, cracking a smile in the corner of his mouth. Moments passed with the teller doing nothing but trembling in her chair. The man impatient with not having his request made turned to the que and yelled “everybody down!”. Within seconds everyone had fallen to the ground with not one person standing the man moved towards the only door in the building. “I simply ask that you call the police” the man said in a non-threating and relaxed tone. When no one moved the frustration began to show on his face. He sighed and pull the trigger. Two rounds were fired at the wall adjacent to the entrance, no one was hit. “I’ll ask again, can someone please phone the police?” The door greeter stood up and walked slowly toward the reception desk, the man tracked him with the muzzle of the gun. Within in minutes the police responded. Police cars piled up around the building surrounding every means of escape. Sgt Millar was an older man who, through stress of the job, had not aged very well. For being only 45 his face was wrinkled and his hair was all but gone. “I’d do it all again” he thought every so often, “to protect my family and the families of this nation.” He stepped out of his vehicle and walked towards the door, his Glock 17 in hand and by his waist, two officers in bullet proof vests followed close behind. The automatic doors whirled open as they approached. They scanned the room quickly and saw, immediately, a gun on the floor and a tall man standing behind it with his hands raised. Millar walked the man off the premises and towards his vehicle in handcuffs. *What on earth did he want?* He pilled him into the car and then let himself into the drivers seat. “You had your fun? You’ll probably spend the rest of your young life in prison now you know?” he said with a subtle mocking tone. The man stared forward in silence. Millar, unsatisfied with the reaction, turn in his seat “what is wrong with you? High as a kite?” The man remained staunch, not even flinching he remained silent. At this point Millar started the vehicle and pulled off. About halfway through the journey the man finally spoke. “Which station are we going to?” Millar paused for a moment, trying to place the accent but couldn’t crack it, it seemed to be undoubtable Scots but had a blend of something else. “Giffnock” both of the men said in perfect unison. Millar scowled at the man in the rear view mirror. *What’s he playing at?*“So you’re from around here, are you?” Millar questioned the man. Once again though, he remained silent. About 10 minutes later the man blurted out once again, “your daughter, Beth, she’s wants to go to Heriot Watt to do engineering is that correct?” A mixture of emotions came over Millar as he asked himself how could he know that. “Patricia does deserve a promotion, you are right Scott, she works the hardest and should ask for a promotion.” Now Millar was fuming, his wife had had this exact conversation with him the previous night before in bed falling asleep, *how could he know that? Is he threating my family?* Millar decided to take things into his own hands, he took a right and headed down an unused farm road. When Millar eventually stopped he stepped out of the vehicle and stared at the abandoned barn. The weather had taken its toll on the structure. The steel was all rusty with many panels bent in the wind, some were simply missing. Millar walked the man inside the barn and stopped him in the centre. “What is your goal from all this?” Millar questioned. The man stood still. Millar paused to think. “Did you intend to be arrest...” the man interrupted, “how would you feel if your family knew about how you abuse your power? The drug gang pay offs? The paedophile rings you take part in? Your secrete affair?” Millar began to vent with rage. He was an upstanding member of the community. He would never do anything of the like. “How dare you, I would never do anything of the such!” Millar barked very offended. “I know about it all and I intend to let the information out.” The man said it with a straight and truthful face. This push Millar over the edge. Like a cosmic silver back, Millar slammed his fist off the man cheek. Blood spattered over the concrete floor of the barn as the man feel to his knees. Millar dragged him back to the car and pilled him into the back once again. The man spoke one final time just as they left. In a calm and collect manor he said, “you’re going to regret doing that.” Millar went home that night still thinking about the things that were said. *How could he know these personal details? And where did the rest come from? Has he mistaken me for someone else?*The words bothered him right until he went to bed, after which he forgot the whole situation completely. A week or so passed when Millar was sitting at his desk when his superior approach him. His superior was Captain Blair. She presented her phone open on the Daily Record with the main headline for today. It read “Police Sargent and Team Disgraced at Hearing.” A video showed the highlights of the hearing. It was a colourful event with witnesses and evidence that damned everyone within Millar’s team. From drug gang members to a women who claimed to have been Millar’s mistress. The cherry on the cake was a small boy who cried in the stand about the alleged times Sgt Millar abused him. Finally the man who Millar had arrested took to the stand, with a very bruised, cut and stitched face he struggled to speak of the time Millar threated him with is police authority and beat him for his money in a back alley obviously recognising him. Millar was shocked to see that the man was a Scots American self-made millionaire called Alexander Fraser. He had been in the news occasionally as being the richest Scot to ever lived, making his money in construction. Blair asked Millar what he made of this. Millar was stunned. Soon afterward Millar was told to go home as he was on suspension until further notice. Along with his team he was almost certain he’d never be able to show his face again. Over the days to come Fraser watched as the papers and news painted him as a hero and damned the police services. The fake witnesses, the makeup all told the story he had intended. This was exactly what he wanted. He wanted to strike fear among the ranks. What history could he pull up on anyone else? Most police officers wouldn’t mess with him now. Fraser decided to test this theory. Months on from the firing of Sgt Millar, at the Argyll St branch of the Bank of Scotland, the tellers were serving the afternoon customers when a familiar face walked in the door. This time Fraser wielded the gun from the beginning. “Hello again” he said with a cruel smile on his face. Everyone hit the ground. “This time I would like to see the safe”. A teller jumped to their feet and walked Fraser to the safe on the lower level of the bank, unlocked the door and ran back up the stairs. Fraser Helped himself to as much as pockets would fill. He didn’t really need the money, it was more for show. Police began to surround the building much like the time before bracing for a shootout. As they poised themselves they saw who was coming. The Sargent with the squad ordered them to lower their weapons. Fraser walked over and placed the gun on the bonnet of the vehicle and began to pull the cash from his pockets. He filled the pockets of the Sargent and the other officers as well. The officers were not very awkward about this and tried not to pay it any attention. The Sargent hesitated but went through with saying what everyone was thinking. “Sargent Millar was a good man” she said trembling. “It’s a shame the people he works for are not.” Fraser said with a hint of passion. He then wondered to the side of the building next to the underground station and didn’t move for a moment or two. Then a large roar occurred. Fraser drove round the corner in a white Lamborghini Gallardo. The sound of the V10 boomed off the walls of the surrounding buildings as he rocketed down Argyll St and then under the Central Tunnel. The Sargent, disappointed with the results of today, lifted the gun off the bonnet and climbed into her car. She noted the gun was offlay light and pressed the magazine release button. Nothing happened. It dawned on her the arrogance of Alexander Fraser. He robbed a bank, left the evidence with the police who reposed and all the while with an empty gun.