The Promotion by Mackenzie Littledale I was an assassin, yet nothing and no one I’d ever faced shook me to my core like seeing my mom in this hospital bed. Her supine frame--twenty pounds lighter than just a week ago--made me feel powerless, not the invincible son she’d raised. A forked tube disappeared into her nostrils; her mouth hung open. I’m six-four and my knees wobbled at the thought of losing her. I dropped down into the armchair and pulled up to her bedside. Her hand felt frail, even though just two months before, this same hand had stirred pots of my favorite curry goat stew for my birthday. I couldn’t even comprehend what day of the week it was. I slipped into the past and back so easily, it made me dizzy. “Mom,” I said, praying my words weren’t in vain. “Please know that I will do everything in my power to make you healthy again.” I swiped at the hot tears rolling down my face. “Don’t die on me.” Her head rolled toward me. “Mikali?” she whispered. “I’m here, Mom,” I said, squeezing her hand. “Too much money,” she rasped. It took me a second to realize what she meant. The doctor had said her treatment would run into the tens of thousands. Every. Week. Despite insurance, we could be out of pocket over $300,000. My mom had tried to make a saver out of me, but I wanted to enjoy life and spent money left, right, and center. My bank account barely had $15,000. I’d built no equity to tap into. Guilt nibbled at me for being unprepared. I needed to win lottery. Or to quadruple my pay. Or to sell my soul to the highest bidder. Or to get promoted to special operations and take down more valuable targets. My thoughts went crazy. “Mom, I will not let you die.” A sob burbled up my throat. “I’ll do anything.” I remained sitting by her side, hoping she’d recover enough to have a conversation. There was nothing to do, so I stared at the wisps of grey at her temples. She used to braid her own hair but only managed to tangle it into knots. She’d tried teaching me to cook but I nearly melted a frying pan because I’d forgotten it on the stove. Mom had never complained. By time I noticed the clock, three hours had ticked by and the sun had gone down. She hadn’t said another word or opened her eyes. Wracked with misery and fear that she could slip away from my life, I left when the nurse announced visiting hours were long over. The next day at work, I was busy writing the report for my latest assignment when Mr. Green called me into his office. “M.,” he said, businesslike, his Jamaican accent coloring his voice. I stepped inside his space, never comfortable at his old-fashioned his taste in décor. Green took deep pride in his hunting. Small kills littered the shelves, in ‘natural’ poses, their eyes perpetually glossy as if their souls were trapped inside. I didn’t believe the animals deserved to have their carcasses on display. Killing was for bad guys. The sooner true evil was eradicated and forgotten, the better. “Your work has gotten the attention it deserves,” he continued, tapping my shoulder. “Your last hit was even cleaner than corporate hoped for.” He gestured for me to sit, but the whole team knew he didn’t like anyone sitting, so I stood. “I’m offering you a chance at a promotion.” I feared my eagerness burst through my professional exterior, so I stood straighter. “Thank you, Mr. Green.” My last assignment was difficult. It had been imperative to be careful. Green smiled, exposing a wide gap between his front teeth. “When targets are too easy to hit, it’s common to get sloppy.” Mr. Green took an unlit cigar from a crystal ashtray on his credenza and planted it between his teeth. He lit it; something about them must have made him feel important and strong. “That’s true,” I said, wanting to vomit at the stench. “But not you. You made Target-65’s death look like an accident.” Mr. Green tipped his head toward me, a subtle show of respect. “I admire your work. As you know, our department was sold to a new owner, a chap by the name of Morningstar. He’s an asshole and drives a hard bargain, but he’s promised to raise your pay twenty-five percent if you make this next target.” Green hitched his eyebrows. “If you can do it within forty-eight hours, there’s a six-figure bonus, as well. No one has been able to get close. Target-66 is...” He gestured with his cigar as if searching for words. “...well-protected, let’s say.” I could afford my mom’s treatment if I succeeded. The target’s protection intrigued me. “Protected by how many?” “Just one person, actually.” No battalion? That surprised me. “What do you mean by a chance at a promotion, sir?” My peers who had received a promotion for special operations had simply been promoted. “Target-66 is special. If you can take her down before the deadline, you’ll get the promotion. We can’t give you any details or identifiable information.” “I don’t understand.” Not one assignment had ever been conducted that way. “New boss, new rule. Once your target is within striking distance, we’ll alert you straight into your earpiece.” “That’s highly unusual, but as you wish, Mr. Green.” “Target-66 is a pet project from Morningstar. He says she’s the most dangerous, most cunning criminal we know of.” My heart pounded overtime. “Sounds personal. I can do this. Where was Target-66 last seen?” I asked. My adrenaline surged. There was no higher honor than to be trusted with a job that would earn me a higher position straightaway. I wanted to tell my mom that I got the promotion of my dreams, but as far as she knew, I was a mobile massage therapist, a job with no advancement possible except to open a practice. With a raise and bonus coming to me if I succeeded with this project, I’d be able to pay for her medical treatment and anything her tender heart desired, but she’d never believe I’d come into that kind of money. Secrets upon secrets. “He said she’s in the local vicinity,” Mr. Green said without his usual self-assurance. His sharp bluish-grey eyes looked me over, though not coldly. “She’s very dangerous.” Green replaced the cigar in the ashtray. When he turned back to me, his eyes were stern, laser sharp. “When all was said and done, we couldn’t agree more that you’re the man for the job.” “I appreciate your faith in me, Mr. Green,” I said, though not altogether humbly. I’d earned this. I knew I was a gifted assassin. When I watched The Professional with Jean Reno, it sealed my fate. I would never complicate my work with a kid or let a Mafioso handle my finances like Leon did in the movie. I kept my body in a perfect balance of leanness and muscle, speed and strength. The main quality I admired in myself was stealth. For that, I had Brad Pitt in Troy to thank. He fought like a god, and I trained to the bone to move like that. Take my opponent at will. I couldn’t delude myself into thinking she’d be easy to take down, but I planned to stop her dead in her tracks. “Good man,” Mr. Green said. He clapped me on the back, the signal to get the hell out of his office and go get weapons. “Thank you, sir.” I said on my way out of his pine-paneled office. I headed to the Weaponry Department. I had to take a few deep breaths to steady myself. I was too excited to make this kill and knew overexcitement could cloud my judgment. The whole reason I’d taken to assassination stemmed from my childhood. My father had a vile temper and took his anger out on my mom and me. One night, he’d nearly killed her, left her lying lifeless on the kitchen floor. Her royal bronze skin had been smeared with blood. A blind rage took over me and I stabbed him thirty times. I weighted him down with cinderblocks and dumped him into the Mississippi. My mother never asked any questions; all I knew was that we were free. We never spoke of his disappearance. She told friends and neighbors that my father got called into Marine service and I was happy to let it go at that. J. of the Weapons Department laid out an assortment of pistols, silencers, scopes, hypodermic needles, knives, blades, poisons, and customized rifles. I would be well-equipped whether the target was at arm’s length or 500 feet away. “How am I supposed to make my mark?” I wondered aloud. Without photos, video, or a dossier, I would be at the mercy of the judgment of a man whom I hadn’t even met yet. “M.?” asked J. “What’s wrong?” “Let me see to him,” said an unfamiliar voice, as smooth as cognac. A man wearing black-on-black with a crow on his shoulder came forward. Savvy, experienced eyes pierced through me from a youthful face. His appearance disarmed me. “I’m Morningstar,” he said and smiled, waving J. off to find somewhere else to be. I nodded to J. to go. I needed answers from the new boss. “I trust you’ve been given your new assignment,” Morningstar said. “I have, sir. I’m looking forward to it.” “Good.” Morningstar’s voice was silky. I imagined if it were a color, it would be crimson. It practically had a sheen. “The parameters are a bit unconventional though.” “Trust is a premature thing to ask of you, since we’re only now meeting, but it’s a prerequisite. I demand resourcefulness and Green tells me you’re born for this.” I could admit without humility that I was resourceful. “Yes, sir.” “Call me Lucien.” “Thank you, Lucien.” Thoughts of my mom in the hospital barged their way into my consciousness, throwing my mind into chaos. I forgot what I wanted to ask. “You go on about your life, M. Target-66 is close. Keep your earpiece in place and follow orders to the letter.” Lucien sucked on his teeth and straightened his suit jacket. The crow beat its wings and settled down. “J. will get you the weapon you need.” “Weapon? Only one?” If I were to be honest with myself, I had no idea how to go on about my life while my mom lay in the hospital. “Yes, the only one that can take down Target-66,” he said, as if it should be obvious. “If you have anywhere you’d like to be, you go.” He made a courteous nod of his head and walked down the grey stone hallway. I was a bit thunderstruck at how enormous the opportunity was for me, for my mom. The air conditioning kicked on and I felt a chill. I’d soaked my uniform in sweat. I followed after Lucien Morningstar, but I couldn’t catch up. His footsteps suddenly stopped as though he’d evaporated. J. handed me a violin case. I took it and turned a corner down the corridor leading to the locker rooms. Once in street clothes, I dropped off my uniform at Wardrobe and left for the hospital. The sun reached a tipping point slightly above the horizon. It seemed to drip colored lights into the sky, reminding me of my mother’s house rules: “Bettah not lemme find yah outside dis house when de sun go down.” I had to laugh at the memory. It had been a hard rule to follow in autumn when the sun slipped out of the sky earlier and earlier. By wintertime, I’d been happy to come in from the cold and dark for split pea soup. As I parked in the visitors’ garage, I decided to take the violin case with me to prevent theft. The only thing I knew was certain violins could be collector’s items. Now, once inside the hospital, everything was the same, but somehow different. The elevator seemed slower; the lights glowed greyer; the hallways leading to her room seemed longer, narrower, emptier, and colder. At last, I reached my mom’s room. Her breathing remained shallow. Had she lost even more weight since yesterday? My earpiece whispered to life. “You’re close, M.” I was tempted to remove my earpiece. The timing couldn’t be worse. Hadn’t Lucien told me to go about my business? I reached for it, but decided to leave it in. Close to what? “Come again, sir?” “I thought you were going home, but you’ve tracked down Target-66.” “In the hospital?” I asked, wondering if a nurse, doctor, radiologist, or visitor could be Target-66. “I need some sort of physical description.” “Negative,” Lucien said. “Just follow directions. You’re a mere six feet from her.” I looked around the room. The other bed was empty. I peeked outside the door, looking up and down the hallway, but there were no people. “Sir, I believe you’re mistaken. There’s no one that close...” I looked at my mom. “Except my own mother.” “Makeesha Lewis is wanted dead, M.” Lucien’s sharp tone shot through my ear. “Take her down and I’ll explain later.” Uproarious laughter bellowed through my head. This guy is crazy. “Mr. Morningstar, you’re mistaken and I can’t trust you enough to take down my own mom.” “I’ve been called many names throughout the ages, M. The woman you call ‘Mother’ is an escapee. She’s not even the Makeesha Lewis you’ve known your whole life.” His matter-of-fact tone had a soft edge to it. Serious. Not a prank, but I remained suspicious. My stomach began a mild protest, sloshing, churning. I felt a wave of dizziness for a second. “Perhaps you should sit down,” Lucien said. “Target-66 isn’t going anywhere, but we don’t have time. If she dies naturally, we lose.” I sat in the armchair without pulling up close to my mom. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Normally I wouldn’t care, but seeing as how this is my mother...” “Let’s start with your father, M. She led you to believe you’d killed him.” “How do you even know that?” Who the fuck was this guy? “She toyed with your memory. She killed him, and he was a prime asset to me. She let you believe his death was at your hand.” He clucked. “Sinful to lay blame on her innocent son. Makeesha slipped into a catatonic state. She was about to die of a broken heart when Target-66 took over her soul. Target-66 escaped my gatekeepers and needs to go back where she belongs.” It was so outlandish. It had to be April 1st. “Lucien isn’t exactly your name, is it.” “Lucien, Lucifer, Morningstar. A rose by any other name and all,” he said, laughing quietly. “If you’re clever, you’ll have your cake and eat it, too.” “What do you mean by ‘cake’?” “Target-66 is possessing your mother’s body, which is weakening your mother; that’s why she’s in the hospital. If you can extract her soul, your mother has a chance to live. Take her out.” I thought of my secrets from my mother, and here her own secret plagued me with guilt for killing my father since I was sixteen. I stared at the violin case and then looked at her. Would I go through with this assignment? Was Lucien telling the truth? When I opened the case, there was actually a violin inside. “Play it,” Lucien said into my ear. This day was getting weirder and weirder. I had no idea how to play a violin. The instrument had a pentagram and the initials L.M. carved into its back. I held the violin under my chin like I’d seen on TV and picked up the bow. Without finesse, I dragged the bow across the strings and AC-DC’s “Hell’s Bells” came out. “Perfect,” said Lucien. “That’s the one.” I kept pulling and pushing the bow. My mother’s eyes opened wide and a chorus of screams wailed out of her gaping mouth. “No!” “Yes,” Lucien hissed. “Tell her to go to hell.” “But what about my mom?” I asked, caught in a vice. If I succeeded and sent Target-66 to hell, would my mom live? I’d get the bonus and then I could afford the treatment. The doctors would bring her back from the brink of death. If I failed, Target-66 would remain in possession of my mom’s body. If Lucien was lying or simply wrong, my mother would be dead at my hand. “Keep playing.” “Hell’s Bells” continued to screech out of the violin. Target-66 writhed and convulsed. Her skin paled from bronze to grey until her back arched and her mouth unleashed a deafening scream. Then all went silent. The monitors stopped beeping. The screaming ended and a green sphere of light escaped Target-66’s mouth. It floated upward. “Lucien, what do I do with a ball of light?” “I’ll take over from here.” The ceiling split open and a finely-woven net of black and red light descended, encircling the green sphere. It closed tight around it and swooped back up through the split. The ceiling closed again seamlessly. “Karma is a beautiful thing,” said Lucien. “Why did you need me when it was that fast and easy?” I put the violin back in the case and sat down next to my mother. “No one else could have done this because it’s your Karma mingled with hers. Only you could untangle your fate from sharing in hers. Your bonus is being wired to your account as I speak.” The connection in my ear went silent. My mom sat up and called my name. Mikali, her one protector.


Her hair was as blonde as the sun, and her eyes as silver as the moon. She wore our usual black dress just like everyone else at our school, but the way her sharp chin and bright eyes contrasted with it, she was as beautiful as time itself. She smiled, and curtsied right then and there in front of me, leaving me only to blink. My own hair was as red as a lion’s mane, or perhaps a dying tiger lily. My eyes looked like little olives, in both shape and color. But somehow, she had chosen to curtsy to me. “Hello,” she said, her smile bright and burning like my hair. “My name is Noemi. I will be sharing your dormitory.” I nodded, clumsily curtsying in response. “I’m Emila,” I muttered under my breath, my tangled hair flopping onto my face. “Welcome, I guess.” “But aren’t you new here as well, Ms. Emila?” She was so dainty, so delicate. It would hurt me to tell her I had misspoken, and even more to tell her I had lied. So I simply shrugged, letting her presume what she wanted to. “Ah, I see. You must have come earlier, then.” I nodded, breaking eye contact with her as I ran up the stairs. She smiled, rushing after me with her clicking shoes. “Ms. Emila,” she said, as I flopped myself onto the bed closer to the window. “I would really like it if we could get to know each other since we will be spending so much time together. Where are you from?” I brought the blanket over my face as I tried to drown in my disappointment. “I’m from Atoria,” I grumbled out, letting my distaste show. “And I don’t need a friend.” Noemi let out a chuckle, leaning her head back. “Oh, Ms. Emila. Everyone needs a friend. Especially in such a dreary place as this.” This time, it was my turn to laugh. “You call this place dreary?” I asked her, bringing my head up from under the blanket. “Roasir is beautiful. When we were walking through the streets this morning, all I could think about were the bright buildings and cobblestones. I-” She laughed again, and I blushed, my cheeks turning only a shade lighter than my hair. “Never mind,” I said, bringing my head down once more. “It doesn’t matter.” “Of course it matters, Ms. Emila.” She paused, looking out the window I had chosen my bed by. It was a small window, but the room was easily large enough for the two of us. I would have preferred a room alone, though. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t need friends in Roasir. “I only meant that this room was quite drafty. You see, I am from Calintera. We have the same cobblestones, but ours are-” “In hexagons, yes, I know.” I grumbled it out again. I didn’t want her to see how fascinating the pavement was to me, especially not here at the academy. Here, our interests must solely be on our studies and becoming proper ladies, not on architecture or anything else of the sort. Here, we are trapped. I blame it on the war, for tearing the world apart. But Noemi probably doesn’t care. She probably only focuses on her studies and the way the world should be. I yawned, turning towards the window. The view was lovely, though I doubt Noemi noticed. The sun was setting in the sky, and the moon’s faint glow and pale sickle shape reigned over the town. The oranges of the sunset looked beautiful against the blue roofs of Roasir. “Night, Noemi,” I said, closing the curtain. “We better get to sleep. First day’s tomorrow.” She smiled. “Goodnight, Ms. Emila.” ۞۞۞ I woke up to the calls of birds flying over our dormitory, swooping over the sky. Noemi glanced my way from her bed by the door, already putting on her shoes. “Hello again, Ms. Emila,” she said, giving me a small wave. I smiled back at her, quickly frowning when she wasn’t looking. Silently, I began to get dressed for the day. She sat there on her bed the whole time, looking away from me. Waiting to come to class together. I laughed. “Noemi, you can go on,” I said, strapping on my boots. “You don’t need to wait for me.” She smiled, scrunching her bright silver eyes. “But I want to,” she said, holding out her hand to help me up. “Is that alright, Ms. Emila?” I shrugged. “You don’t have to call me Ms., either,” I said. “Just Emila is fine.” She nodded, her hair tied up in a neat bun. “Alright, Emila,” she said, still waiting for me to take her hand. “Let’s go to class.” I ignore it, bringing myself up on my own. ۞۞۞ One night, I ran away. I watched to make sure Noemi was sleeping, carefully opening the door. I slipped on my boots once I got outside, so as to make sure no one heard me leaving. I rushed out, running through the streets, the moon now full, looking just like Noemi’s silver eyes. As soon as I got out of the building, I laughed. I laughed and laughed, running through the town, dodging honking cars and even the occasional horse and carriage. Finally, I was free, and I knew exactly what I wanted to see. Silently, I ran as fast as I could towards the old clock tower in the center of town, hoping to get a glimpse of the stained glass windows on the side of the clock. I gasped, seeing the lights from inside the building, where the clockmaker slaves away, fixing the gears so the clock can run properly. Every night in Roasir, I hear the clock strike midnight. I wanted to go see it, to see the stained glass where the clockmaker works. But I never could, as we were never let out. I smiled. Suddenly, I felt someone’s arm on my shoulder, I gasped, my heart beating rapidly as I turned around to see who it was. “The clock is quite beautiful, Emila.” I frowned, squinting at her face. Her pale silver eyes and bright blonde hair illuminated the sky with the moon, so I knew exactly who she was, but I wanted to see her expression. I wanted to see if she would turn me in. “You know, M- I mean, Emila, if it weren’t for the war, I would have liked to be an artist. I used to paint all the time at home in Calintera, even pictures of our own clock tower.” I stared at her while she stared at the clock. “Yeah,” I said. “I would have been an architect. I love even the smallest details of new places. My dream is to craft my own city skyline.” Then, I remembered who I was talking to. “You won’t turn me in, right?” I asked. She laughed, a bright smile coming over her face. “Of course not, Emila. We’re friends now.” I turned my attention away from her face and back towards the face of the clock. “Yeah,” I said, reaching to take her hand. “Friends.” Together, we stared at the clock until the sun rose again, the wind blowing as we laughed and spoke about the war and our dreams until it was time for class to start.


Walter and Joan waited at the local IHOP. They had been excited and arrived early not because of the fluffy French toast instead their excitement stemmed from the adventure they were about to start. They were meeting with a couple of friends for a 10-day road trip up north to see the fall colors. Each year they would talk about it but so far no one had ever actually made any plans. Joan had decided that this would be the year to go. “Come heck or high water, I’m going.” Her husband Walter knew better than to try to change her mind. She had been watching an old movie from 1985 about a group of old people who had found a sort of fountain of youth by swimming in a pool with aliens. Then and there she had begun writing her bucket list and right on top was “see the fall colors.” That was before the diagnosis. Now she was absolutely adamant about getting through her list. Last Tuesday, during Bible study, Joan told her friends about the list of plans. They had embraced her with love and promised to help whenever they could. Henry and Olivia were the first to volunteer. They both grew up in Texas and as teenagers, their families had taken road trips up into Virginia to see the trees and the colors of the autumn leaves. Unlike Henry and Olivia, Joan came from a poor family. Her family scratched out a living growing crops down near the Texas-New Mexico border. As she sipped her coffee Joan reminisced about those dirt crops where she spent so many hours picking out rocks and guiding a horse and plow. They had been poor but those were some of her happiest memories. Outside they could hear another motorcycle pull into the parking lot. Soon Henry pulled open the door for Olivia, both were cheerful they looked just as excited too. Hugs all around then they sat and ordered breakfast too. After the waitress cleared away the dirty dishes Joan began laying out the itinerary. “Rule #1 no one is allowed to mention time. No looking at our phones. No checking our watches. We are absolutely going by the seat of our pants and playing it by ear,” Joan explained. She locked eyes with each person at the table and received both smiles and heads nodding in agreement. “Rule #2 no one is to ask me ‘how I’m feeling?’ or ‘Do you need to sit down for a minute?’ because for the next ten days I want to be treated like a normal person. So no side glances between you guys behind my back. Yes, I agree it isn’t fair that I have this tumor but if the doctors say they can’t remove it then we will pretend it isn’t there. Do you understand?” More heads were nodding but the smiles had slid from their faces a little. “I looked it up last night on my computer. It shows a 23-hour drive but if we are playing it by ear maybe we will just ride 6-8 hours a day plus stopping every hour for pee pee breaks. Henry smiled knowing his bladder would be grateful for the frequent breaks. They talked a little longer about the details of the ride and then were ready to go. They paid for their meals and thanked the staff. The men get on the motorcycles first then assist the ladies in getting comfortable. Helmets were put on and they were off to begin Joan’s adventure. She waved goodbye to San Antonio, and they began riding east on Highway 10 heading towards Houston. They stopped when they pleased not rushing each other. Lunch was a deli sandwich from a travel plaza. They sat outside on a bench and enjoyed chatting with one another about nothing in particular. Before they left Walter bought himself a new handkerchief and Henry found himself a book in the discount bin. “John Saul has a way of keeping me awake like no other writer.” Olivia just rolled her eyes at him. She loved the fact that he was a bookworm even though they didn't always agree on the genre. By the time they reached Lafayette, Louisiana they were ready to find a place for the night. They got two rooms at the Drury Inn & Suites after having dinner at Cracker Barrel. Before bed, they had a small Bible study together then slipped into pajamas and went to sleep. The next morning they returned to Cracker Barrel for breakfast. Olivia had purchased a map. She now had it splayed out on the table. “If we take 55 north we can go through Jackson MS up into Memphis then follow Interstate 40 across Tennessee, maybe stop in Nashville and take in some real good bluegrass music. Look here,” she pointed to Knoxville, “we would take I-81 then follow route 460 to I-85 and ta-da Richmond Virginia.” Henry agreed, “I’ll do anything to avoid driving through Atlanta.” They folded up the map and were back on the road. They came to an interchange and headed north on 55 just as planned. They had been on the road for almost two hours when Henry’s bike started acting up. They pulled into a Chevron station and the men began looking it over. Everything checked out fine but they decided to take route 51 North because it was more populated and easier to find help if needed. They hadn’t traveled far when she got a craving for pizza and it reminded Joan that she had eaten a small breakfast. They made a left onto Black Cat Rd and pulled into the Hunt Brothers Pizza place but as they parked Joan changed her mind. There was a food stand on wheels. “Let’s give that a try.” Henry and Olivia stop in their tracks. “That is not a good idea.” Walter agreed saying, “I see a future of diarrhea and vomiting if we eat there.” Joan ignored them all and approached the cute food truck. A short little old black woman stood behind the counter. Her face was creased with years of crow's feet and laugh lines. The woman's silver-white hair was neatly held down with a hair net. She wore fresh clean gloves and a genuine smile. Everything about the food truck was clean and tidy. “Well good day," the short old lady said to Joan, "How are you doing? What brings you to our little town?” Without meaning to, Joan began to unload everything onto this stranger. She felt so comfortable that she found herself telling the other woman all about the road trip and why she had started her crazy bucket list. It felt like time stopped. The other three people stayed back by the motorcycles so it felt like the universe had made a pocket of time just for these two women. When she had emptied herself, nothing else was left to say, the old woman took off her gloves and patted Joan's hand. "You need some of my special cherry pie." Tears stained Joan’s face as she watched the old woman put on new gloves and prepare four slices of pie. “Don’t you waste anymore more tears on that nasty tumor.” She pushed the plates of cherry desserts toward Joan saying, “Go enjoy the life you have left.” Smiling from the kindness she had been shown, Joan gave the woman $20 and then called the group over. They each took a plate and fork and sat under a shady tree where several tables and benches had been arranged. Having a difficult time hiding his concern, Walter asked Joan in a hushed voice, “What was all that about?” She kept her eyes down, a little embarrassed. “I guess we just had a special connection for a moment.” Olivia piped up, “Probably all the stress you’ve been feeling.” They ate the pie in silence. It was really amazing. The tart cherries and the buttery flaky crust made Joan feel like she had when she was a kid. The taste reminded her of Christmases of long ago. She was reminded of cold days and hot cocoa. Ice skating and snowball fights. Lost in her own thoughts she must have fallen asleep for a moment. When she opened her eyes, she was back on the family farm. She wore her old brown sweater and black trousers with wool socks and snow boots. As she looked around she was knocked off her feet by a clumsy black and white dog. “Sally?” Joan muttered in disbelief. The dog paused when she heard her name then bounded back over to play in the snow at Joan’s feet. From behind she felt more than heard the presence of their old bay. He nickered and pawed at the snow a little. “What was in that pie?”


First Day Hazel stood outside Danny’s Diner, running her hands down the pretty pale pink uniform and white apron to smooth out the creases. Of course, there were no creases. It was her nerves she was trying to smooth out. She had lived in this small town all her life and she loved it. She always felt safe. Everyone looked out for her, not just her three brothers. But that was also the problem. Everything she did was under scrutiny from everyone, and today was her first day at work. She took a deep breath when a voice came from behind. ‘Everything will be fine once you step inside. We are all happy to have you on board. We definitely need the extra hand now that Joanna has left to be with her family.’ Hazel looked up into the eyes of the man she had called dad for the last eighteen years and smiled. ‘I know, it is just I know nothing about the other side of the counter.’ She knew everything about the food and the people working there, and even the customers. But she knew nothing about serving or running a till or keeping the salt and pepper and paper napkins and sauces filled. ‘What if I make a mistake?’ ‘Honey, we all make mistakes. Julie will be by your side for the complete day and tomorrow if need be. You pick everything up so quickly. I doubt you will need help after the lunch rush, but it will be there, anyway.’ Danny smiled down at his only daughter and opened the door. Julie walked up and greeted Hazel, and nodded her hello to Danny. Cookie was behind the kitchen hutch getting everything ready for breakfast. Donna walked in behind them and walked out into the kitchen to help there. Hazel was worried that they would think she only got the job because Danny was her father, but no-one said a word regarding why she was here. They all greeted her like they did every other morning. It didn’t take long for Julie to walk her through the daily routines and get her started getting the tables and counter ready. And then came the morning diners. ‘Mornin’ Hazel, good to see you. Bring me breakfast, would ya?’ Matt Donavon said as he sat at the counter. He came in at the same time every morning and had the same meal. Cookie and Donna already had it cooking, and it was ready as he sat down. Julie just had to hand across the plate and fill his coffee cup. Hmmm , she thought to herself, this is easy . But then George and Brenda entered. George was another diner who had the same thing every day, but Brenda could never make her mind up and it could be very exasperating. Now Hazel was finding out just how bad it was when you were waiting to take the order, while watching the place filling up with people. Julie raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Julie nodded to Hazel and then went off to take some more orders. Hazel waited patiently. ‘How about today’s special? Lamb’s fry with eggs, tomato and mushrooms. Fresh from Mr Halorans butchers.’ Hazel said to Brenda. ‘Well, I’m not sure. That might be a little too much.’ Hazel sighed. ‘I’m sure Cookie can do a slightly smaller plate for you dear.’ Said George, smiling at his wife. ‘Well, if you think so dear,’ and Hazel wrote it down and raced off before she could change her mind again. She came back with the coffee pot and the salt and pepper. The place was buzzing now as it filled up with the morning crowd, and there was no time to think about anything but her job. Then the door burst open and a stranger walked into the diner. He was tall and wore dark clothing, boots, and a Stetson hat, but what Julie saw next made her heart skip a beat. He was wearing a bandana over his nose and mouth, not around his neck. Then they all saw it. A gun. You could hear a pin drop. But then Mavis piped up and her voice seemed to echo around the entire diner. Almost like a whip cracking, everyone else in the place jumped. ‘What is it Harold?’ Mavis had her back to the door, and she was as deaf as a post. Harold took his wife’s hands in his and just motioned to her to hush. ‘Don’t hush me, Harold. I want to know what is happening.’ Mavis would not be silenced this morning. That was, until the gunman walked up beside her and put the gun where she could see it. ‘Oh!’ That was it. Silence. ‘Now that I have your attention,’ the gunman said, ‘I want you to carry on as usual, while I go sit in the back booth. I’ll have some bacon and eggs and a black coffee and I will sit with that couple.’ He pointed to George and Brenda, who were in the very last booth. ‘I expect you all to act normal when the police get here. I will just be another customer, got it?’ Everyone nodded. Hazel walked him back to George and Brenda. ‘I’ll sit beside the lovely lady. Thank you, on the inside next to the wall.’ He looked at George. ‘And don’t forget I have this. She will be the first to get shot if any of you say or do anything untoward.’ Brenda was so taken aback she was frozen in her seat, but he took her by the arm and brought her out of the seat as he slid in and then pulled her in after himself. ‘I believe there was more conversation going on when I walked in. That would be expected.’ He lowered his bandana to his neck, but also lowered the brim of his hat at the same time. His face was still hidden. ‘Talk people.’ He almost shouted at everyone. Hazel walked on wobbly legs as she put his plate down in front of him and poured coffee. She was grateful that Cookie was not fazed by any of it and made the food quick smart. Luckily, George and Brenda’s breakfasts were also ready, and she brought them over next. She heard him say quietly as she walked away from the booth, ‘Eat.’ The conversation level was just ramping up to normal when the door swung open again and a state trooper walked in the door. Hazel had seen him come through this way a few times, so he was not a total stranger. The conversations became hushed as he sat down at the counter. ‘Well, on the other side of the counter now are you?’ he said to Hazel as she asked him what he would like. ‘Yes,’ she answered meekly. He smiled, ‘First day I’m guessing.’ ‘Yes,’ Hazel was too nervous about the stranger to be talkative. ‘So, did Joanna have her baby yet?’ he asked. ‘No.’ ‘Wow. You really are green. Oh Well, I guess you will get a little better at conversation, once you have settled in.’ and with that, he picked up his knife and fork and cut into the eggs on toast. Then, he stopped eating as he realised the place was quieter than the last time he was here, and it was packed with people. He twisted in his seat to look everything over as the noise level lifted again. Oh well , he thought to himself, maybe it was just because I’m not a regular . He nodded to a couple of people who just turned away and went back to their food or coffee. He shrugged his shoulders and did the same. ‘Hi Dan, how are you? You haven’t been passed in a while.’ Julie walked up beside the trooper. ‘Want a refill on your coffee, honey?’ ‘Yes, thanks. Glad to see a smiling face. Everyone is a bit sour today.’ And he laughed at his own joke. ‘Yeah, we are waiting on some rain. We are farmers, you know. Can’t grow if the rain don’t come. My Wally is tryin’ to get extra water rations from the council. Not a lot to be happy about right now.’ He instantly knew something was wrong. This town was filled with ranchers, not farmers, and Julie wasn’t married. He had tried asking her out a few times. So he finished up his meal and coffee. Paid the bill and left. But, he didn’t go far. He pulled the car out of sight and called for backup. Then he waited. Sure enough, about thirty minutes later, a man fitting the description of a wanted bank bandit walked out into the car park. The trooper quietly came up behind him and put his gun between the bandit’s shoulder blades. ‘You’re under arrest,’ and the bandit groaned. He didn’t resist and backup had arrived only minutes before. They were all glad they did not end up with a hostage situation. ‘How did you know?’ when he was handcuffed and in the car. ‘Well, you’re not a local and so the waitress told me you were there.’ ‘I never heard her say anything like that.’ He frowned at the trooper. ‘Buddy, this town is home to ranchers, not farmers, and Julie doesn’t have a husband, so you were the “Wally” she was telling me about. And we’ve just had torrential rain for the last week, this is the first fine day there has been. So you were trying to get something that was not yours.’ ‘You got all that from what she said?’ ‘You have to know the people and the area. They will not go quietly, ever.’ Trooper Dan smiled at the comment. He really did like everyone from this little haven. He might even move here once he retired. The roadside diner was only one of the many delights the little town offered.


I recently had to write a short story for school and I decided to base it in the world of Mortal Engines. I’m not a very good writer and I have only read the first book so somethings might be wrong and I decided to make somethings up but here you go. “As you all know, thousands of years ago, the ancients destroyed themselves during the Sixty Minute War,” explained Mr. Ahmed in his booming voice that woke Lute from his sleep. “The fear of this war is what forced the cities of the world to mobilize, be put on wheels and eat each other”. “Why isn’t Petra on wheels?” enquired one of Lute’s classmates. Lute never had many friends and as such, he had a lot of free time to read the history books, so, he already knew the answer to this question. “Because we’re built into the side of a moun...” mumbled Lute, still half asleep. “As you all know, the hunters exam is coming up and you only have one chance; if you fail, you’ll have to try to be a warrior or historian instead,” continued Mr. Ahmed. The hunters exam, the test ever boy in Petra waited for since they started school. If you passed the exam it showed that you were becoming a man, and it allowed you to be a hunter (the most respected job in Petra), aside from being chief of course. This meant that everyone in Lute’s class was excited, everyone except Lute. He never really cared for anything, he just drifted back in forth through life without a direction. Of course he would do the exam, he needed something to do with his life after all, but, if he had to be a historian, so be it. Class finally ended and as he was about to leave the dark, sandstone room when he bumped into Michael, the chief’s son. Michael hit him as hard as he could, right in the stomach. “Maybe you should run home to your parents, oh wait...” said Michael tauntingly. The problem with this is that Lute never had parents or a home; he was left behind by a small traction city that drove past Petra. Because of this, no one liked him very much and he never made any friends. Lute started to run away and all he could hear is Michael yelling, “You’re a scaredy cat”. The next morning, all the boys met at the hunting grounds for the exam. The Chief was there; he always watched the exam, he did pick out the new hunters after all. “For the exam you’ll all have to go into the wilds and bring back any animal you can find,” explained the Chief, “the first ten boys to bring back an animal, pass”. The Chief started counting down and as soon as he got to one, everyone ran of into the harsh sand dunes and small forests outside Petra. All they were given was a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a knife. Lute was one of the first to find a deer, but Michael was following him, still holding a grudge. Michael knocked his arrow before Lute had a chance and took out the deer. Michael shouted back to Lute as he ran back to the Chief, “Too slow, Lute, maybe you’ll find another one”. He wandered and wandered the dunes with no direction and every once in awhile he sat and rested. Finally, after what felt like hours, Lute finally found another animal; it was another deer. He knocked his arrow as quickly as a cheetah, and let it fly. He hit the deer and dragged it away. When he got back to the Chief, he could see Michael scowling at him, visibly angry that Lute made it through the exam. “Good job to those of you who made it,” said the Chief in his regal voice, “and I’m truly sorry to those of you who didn’t, but, you can still be a warrior and protect the ancient walls of Petra”. Of course when Lute went to leave, Michael followed, mocking him. This happened almost everyday but recently it’s been worse and Lute just ignored it until he made it to his single room in the dark, dry, sandy walls of Petra. Due to Petra being built into the side of a cliff, when the traction era started, they were stuck where they were. Most cities gained any new technological advancements from cities they ate, but Petra couldn’t eat other cities and as such, their society was very primitive. Aside from that, Petra was a fairly nice place, other than the sandy walls and constant darkness. The next day, all of the new hunters had to gather in the main hall of Petra for a feast. The main hall was darker than any other part of Petra because it was built the deepest in its walls and it was the most covered part of the whole city. It was also the nicest part of Petra, with real wooden furniture and some things that the ancients called televisions, although they didn’t work, they made surprisingly nice decorations. “After all of your hard work to get to where you are, we decided to let you enjoy your first day before starting your new duty,” announced the Chief. He was right, everyone did have fun, everyone except Lute. It was a fine party, but Lute didn’t care for socializing, mostly because no one talked to him, partly because he was naturally shy. The other reason that he didn’t have fun is that Michael was constantly watching his every movement. Michael’s eyes stayed focused on him, immovable, until finally Lute started to leave. “Where are you going Lute?” mocked Michael. “H...home,” responded Lute. “But, didn’t your home drive away a long time ago?” taunted Michael. Finally Lute had enough and ran up and hit Michael. He stared in horror as he watched him fall, then, he stared at his now open hands and back at Michael. Next thing he knew, the Chief was beside him. “I-I-I didn't mean to do it, he was maki-” started Lute with tears welling up in his eyes. “I know, I’ve seen what he does Lute, I’ll make sure to scold him later,” interrupted the Chief. Lute fell to the ground, sobbing. He could feel all the action of the last few days catching up on him and he fell asleep. Eventually he woke up in is small, dark room all alone. He got up and walked out to the dorm where all the other boys stayed. They were running out to the hunting grounds. They must be sending us on our first expedition thought Lute. Lute started following them. He wasn’t very excited to go out into the wild, then again he wasn’t excited by much. Even though this was true, there was a silver lining to being alone; he wouldn’t have to put up with Michael. He walked out into the light and saw the chief standing at the front of the crowd of hunters. “We have been running out of food recently and for your next expedition, we will need you to stay in the wild for one month,” started the Chief. The new hunters cheered at the idea of going out for the first time, while the older hunters stayed quiet because they knew what to expect. “Now everyone, we need you all to go and collect your gear and leave as soon as possible,” finished the Chief. Lute went back to his room and found that there was a brand new bow and arrow, made out of steel, waiting for him. Alongside the bow, there was a note that read, Dear Lute, I know you haven’t had a good upbringing in our little town and I’ve seen what my son does to you. I know this can’t make up for everything, but, I would like you to have a brand new bow, straight from our engineers. From, The Chief With newfound encouragement, Lute grabbed the bow and some hunting powder (a tool developed by the ancients to keep meat fresh and now hunters used it so that all their meat stays fresh until they return to Petra) and he ran off to the hunting grounds. He was happy to finally be free of the constant mocking of Michael and everyone else. Almost as soon as he stepped outside of the dark walls of Petra, he saw a massive deer. He followed the deer into the woods, for days. When he finally caught the deer he was extremely tired since he hadn’t slept for a couple of days. He knocked his arrow and felled the deer. Lute went over to the deer and praised the god of the hunt, as was customary. Afterwords, he paced some hunting powder onto the body, keeping it edible for the month to come. He built up a small tent and a fire and hid the deer under some leaves. As he was doing there was loud rumble. He didn’t know what was happening when the colourful birds flew into the air, screaming. He wandered alone (nothing he wasn’t used to), unable to find a single animal in the wood, all he could find were their tracks. Eventually, almost two weeks later, the forest opened up into the dunes of Jordan. Once again, there wasn’t a single animal in sight, and he still heard the rumbling from earlier. The deeper Lute made it into the dunes, he started to find deep tracks in the dunes. They were fresh tracks and they were definitely from a traction city. Lute knew he had to warn Petra, he finally felt like he had a purpose. He started off towards his home, completely forgetting about his earlier catch. He ran as fast as he could but the constant rumbling was catching up to him, getting louder and louder until it was unbearable. He turned around and in his last second of consciousness, he saw the massive name on the front of the traction city, Mining City Zarqa. Then the city hit him, sending him into the air. Michael was just about to return home when he found one of the other hunters camps. He hadn’t had much luck finding food, so, when he saw the deer handing under the leaves, in perfect condition, of course he took it. It was the biggest animal he had ever seen, it was almost as big as him. He knew that he would be celebrated if he went home with such a big catch, so, he started off running as soon as he picked it up. It was a peaceful day in Petra, much like any other, only the Chief was starting to worry. He was worrying so because all of the hunters had returned on the deadline, all except one. The other reason he was worried is that the hunters had only brought back enough food to last a week. Aside from that, Michael had just arrived with the largest catch anyone had ever seen. Another feast was starting in the main hall, to celebrate the hunters’ return. This celebration was even more exciting than the last because of all the adrenaline running through the hunters after their exhilarating expeditions. At the end of the feast, the hunters were given rewards for their catches. Most of them were given some new clothes and other things like that, but, Michael who had stolen the biggest catch was given the newest set of hunting gear from the engineers. Then there was a boom, the sound of falling rock, as the front wall of Petra fell. It was almost a week later when Lute woke up; it was a miracle he survived. His mind was foggy after the incident but one word stayed in his mind, Zarqa. He didn’t know why he remembered this word but he knew it must be important. He began to wander the dunes aimlessly, once again. Eventually he began to go back towards Petra. Soon Petra came into sight and Lute saw the devastation that had come to his home. He dropped to the ground, tears falling from his eyes. “Noooo!” he shouted into the empty space around him. The realization came to him, I had to warn them, I saw the tracks, I could have saved them. He walked closer to Petra, realizing how small and helpless he truly is. He didn’t move for hours, yelling and crying into the nothingness. He’d didn’t bother to go back to Petra because he knew he’d find nothing. Finally he made up his mind; he would hunt down the city that did this. Zarqa he kept saying in his mind, over and over. He walked for hours on end, through the empty dunes. Eventually he tripped over something in the sand. He turned around to look at it and started to dig out whatever it was. First he saw what looked like a tiger head made of steel. He continued to dig and there was a metal skeleton connected to the head and tubes going back forth through the sinewy body. After it was completely dug up, Lute knew exactly what it was. It was a stalker; resurrected creatures, made of metal, that were used for war. It’s small green eyes lit up and stared straight at Lute. He jumped back instantly, ready to run but it followed him. It started to rub up against him. It seemed as though it liked him. Zarqa wandered throughout the land. It’s mayor was standing on a balcony above the gut (the place where cities went when they were eaten). He watched their newest slaves as they were walked to their new place of work. Zarqa was a mining town (they get their materials by digging into mountains), so, they only devoured cities for new slaves. Because of this, they didn’t mind that there was nothing else to be obtained from Petra. Lute’s new pet (he named it Leer) followed him obediently, no matter where he went. Sometimes he sent Leer out to find food and it always returned with fresh food. This newfound companion managed to keep Lute’s spirits high, even though Leer was a soulless robot. After a while, they heard the now familiar rumble of a traction city. It was coming right for them! They tried to run but the city was too fast. They were sucked straight into the gut. “Welcome to Al Karak!” boomed the speakers above them. Slowly he walked in a line with other people captured from the dunes of Jordan, while Leer followed in the shadows. He had to give his name to a guard before he was allowed into the main part of the city. The city was bright and colourful, unlike Petra. It was inviting him in. He was almost tempted to stay here forever, but, he had to save his people and he might be able to take advantage of his current detour. Almost every city had an airship dock and he might be able to find someone to take him to Zarqa. After asking for directions, he found his way to the dock where he met a young pilot named Edward. He informed Edward on his situation and Edward agreed to let Lute fly in his ship. “There’s a group of trading cities to the east, we could probably find out where Zarqa is heading if we head out there,” Edward explained. “Sounds like a good id-“ “W-w-what is that!!” shouted Edward, pointing at Leer as it crept out of the shadows. “Well, I guess it’s kind of my pet,” started Lute “I named it Leer and it’s a stalker.” “Weren’t stalkers only made from humans?” asked Edward. “I guess some nation decided to make them out of animals, who knows?” replied Lute. After getting to know each other, Lute, Leer and Edward headed off to the trading cities. Soon they could see their destination below. The cluster of cities just looked like a mangle of grey steel. When they landed, they found out that it smelt even worse. As they walked the streets, an old man heard them talking about Zarqa. “So you’re looking for Zarqa, are you?” asked the slouched over, old man. “I can tell you exactly where their going, for a price of course,” he continued. Lute and Edward looked at each other, nodded and handed over what little money they had. “Their on their way towards mountain to the north; I hear they’ve run out of mountains to dig up here and they need a new mining site,” quickly explained the old man. “Thank you!” the boys said as they started running of towards the airship. The airship started to circle Zarqa, trying to find an entrance. It turns out that the mining city saw them as soon as they flew over top of it. After a couple minutes, Zarqa shot a net out at the airship and tried to pull it in. Edward’s airship turned out to be stronger than it looked; it started to fly away from the city, breaking the net. They flew out of sight before returning to sneak into a lower level of the city. They stole some guard outfits and snuck into the city, with Leer following from the shadows. They asked around and found out where the people of Petra were sent and Edward had bought some tech from some shops. One of the people they asked was suspicious and called some guards on the boys. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,” Said one of guards. “W-w-we’re new!” quickly replied Edward. “I didn’t know we were hiring new guards, not as young as you atleast,” impatiently said the guard. Lute started to reply, then, Leer stepped out of the shadows and lunged at the guards. They stumbled away and ran. The boys also started to run in the other direction. At Least now they knew where they were going, but the whole city would know about them now; now they had to stick to the shadows. Lute had adrenaline pumping all throughout his body and he felt like he was invincible. He finally felt like he had a purpose, like he knew what he had to do in life. They crept in the shadows for hours until they finally made it to the pits the people of Petra were being held in. They looked starved and tired and they probably haven’t eaten for days. Leer jumped down into pit, head first, and scared all of the guards away. The boys followed and jumped down. Lute searched for the Chief and told him about his plan. “We brought an airship, we have to sneak you all out into it,” explained Lute. “How are we supposed to sneak out of here without being noticed?” “If someone sees us, Leer can can scare them off”. “Who is this Leer?” enquired the Chief. “He’s my pet, he’s a stalker”. “A-a-a stal...” “It’s fine, he’s really taken to being around humans,” interrupted Lute. “That settles it, we will leave know,” finished the Chief. The Chief turned to address all of his citizens, “Lute and his new friends have brought an airship to take us home”. Everyone started to cheer and the Chief moved his hands in a motion, intending to calm them down. Lute and Edward lead the way, everyone crept through the dark path. They did indeed run into some guards, but, Leer did his job and scared them away. They managed to all fit into Edward’s airship and start their new journey home. After a weeks journey, the people of Petra made it home. As soon as they landed, they made a makeshift stage, so that they could hold a ceremony to praise their saviours. “I have have to go home, I can’t stay here but I do have some tools I bought for you all,” said Edward walking to his airship, handing over the tools. “Thank you!” everyone yelled to Edward as he flew away. The ceremony continued. Lute was given some food and money; they didn’t have anything else to give him. The biggest announcement didn’t come until the very end. “Lute, I have decided to make you my heir, you have done more than enough to deserve this,” said the Chief. “I can’t accept this, I just did what I had to,” replied Lute. “I have already made up my mind”. “Thank you so much,” said Lute, tearing up. Michael stormed off, mad that his father chose Lute rather than him. The people of Petra started repairing the town, using Edwards tools. From this day on, the people of Petra lived in happy seclusion.


I don’t even know what to think right now. My body is shaking and it’s getting harder to move my jaw enough to talk. “I don’t know how much longer we’re going to make it like this,” I mutter to Patrick. As I glance in his direction I can see his lips are becoming a faint purple. His teeth momentarily stop chattering and he replies, “Let’s leave. We have to do something.” “It’s 20 miles Patrick, we’re weak, we’ll never make it.” “We owe it to our families to try! I’m not going to sit here huddled together in a cave waiting to die. I’m leaving! And that’s with or without you.” “You’ll never make it. Don’t be an idiot, someone could show up any minute now.” “Yeah... let’s just put the chances of our survival into someone else’s hands. Get real man. No one is coming for us. They would’ve been here. I can feel myself shutting down. It’s time to go.” We left our food and gold in the cave and began marching into an assassinating windchill of -47 degrees. With each breath, the skin inside my nose burns deeper. My feet feel prosthetic; I’m moving numb limbs. As we march, the hallucinations are becoming reality. I am delusionally euphoric. Is it my brain shutting down? Or is there something empowering about trudging through a frozen tundra knowing your life's on the line? “I’m done John. This is it for me,” Patrick croaks as he falls forwards onto the rock solid ground. “Think of Ellie,” I plead, but it’s too late. His eyes are lifeless. The necessity to continue takes precedence over the swarm of emotions begging me to mourn. I want to break down, but a force inside of me authoritatively screams I must keep walking. The sun has fallen. It’s somehow gotten even colder. I’m able to make out the dangling crescent-shaped branch of a tree we passed just two miles after arriving. I’m close. I’m captivated by a surge of energy unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s incredible, the resources our bodies reserve for the times we need them most. Flooded by adrenalin, my pace becomes brisk. Images of reuniting with Samantha, Robby, and Mark flash through my mind. I see a sign warning of bears and wolves. I’m close. I can’t believe my eyes. I reach the cabin and it’s empty. Everyone has gone home. Again, I’m alone. I reach for the door handle and pull with the limited strength I still have. It’s locked. I can’t survive another hour out here. I begin hyperventilating. Shaking my head back and forth, back and forth, moving it up and down in circles. I see a rock the size of my hand. Without hesitation I launch it into the window. The glass shatters and I throw my limp body into the cabin. “HEAT! HEAT! HEAT,” I pant. My system is shocked. I’d forgotten the sensation of warmth. I look up from the ground I’m lying on, and my heart sinks as I see the window. What have I done? This cabin is my lifeline and I’ve put a hole in it. Cold air is rushing in by second, this cabin is a sinking ship. I crawl to the back of the room, and open the door to the closet. I cram in and shut the door. I’m going to sleep, comfortable with the fact that whether I wake up depends on how early the cabin attendants come to work.


The words echoed through Bav’s memory as he descended the rough-hewn steps, deeper and deeper into the earth. The woman at the gate had spoken them to him, a last warning as he crossed the threshold, two days prior. Maybe three days; the only light he had was what he brought with him, and that was now much reduced. He spent more time without a candle or torch than with one, now. Without knowing how much further he would have to go, he wanted to make sure he had some light when he reached the bottom. That he never considered what he would need for the climb back up was not something he wanted to dwell on. Bav’s journey to this place had started three years earlier, on a farm near the coast. He had been travelling long before that, making his way by the strength of his arm and the steel of his sword. Mostly caravan work, some mercenary fighting. Occasionally some less reputable tasks. Bav cared little for the morals - a fight was a fight, and he won far more of them than he lost. He had stopped at the farm to rest, trading manual labour for a berth in the hayloft and a meal or two before moving on. The work was hard, and boring, but nobody was trying to drive a foot of steel into his belly, so he managed to enjoy himself for two days. Hot food, a daughter that was pleasant to the eye, and a warm spot to sleep was enough for the moment. On the third day, things soured slightly, and Bav made up his mind to move on in the morning. The farmer, an old man named Sil with eight fingers, advised bav that it was a Festday, and that he would be required to make his way with the family to the temple or be turned out as a heretic. Not one for religion of any sort, but also wary of the ferocity of a town full of zealots - it would not have been his first, and he would be more than happy to scrape and bow before a beshitted altar for a day than have to deal with one again - Bav agreed. It was an hour walk into the nearest town, and Bav spent most of it trying - and failing - to make the farmer’s daughter laugh. The girl’s mother noticed, and gave Bav her evilest look whenever the opportunity arose. Bav would grace her with his most charming smile in return, and moved the time of his departure in the morning up a few minutes when she looked away. At this rate, he’d be leaving before nightfall. The temple was what he expected, little more than a mud shack at the end of a rutted and narrow track in the town. Small fires burned on each side of the door, piling oily black smoke into the air and forcing Bav to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve. He glanced in the pyres as he passed, and quickly looked away. It looked like they were burning cats in the fires, and he shook his head. Inside was little better. There were no pews, just a mud floor with a clear circle in the middle of some three dozen farmers and peasants. Sil moved forward, leaving his wife and daughter with Bav, though they quickly moved away from him as well. The three family members sat at opposite sides, Sil to the left and the women to the right side of the circle. Nobody looked at Bav, nor advised him what to do, so he simply moved to one side of the entrance and folded his arms to wait. After a few minutes, Bav stifled a yawn and tried to shift his weight to get more comfortable, and when he looked back at the circle he was surprised to see an old woman in the middle of it. He glanced around to see if he could see where she came from, but there were no gaps in the circle, and no entrance that he could see aside from the one he was standing next to. Suddenly aware that his weapons were back at the farm, Bav adjusted his stance. It was something every fighter learned to do instinctively, to shift their weight to the front of their feet to be ready to leap, to lower their posture to make themselves harder to move against their will. Bav felt his instincts reaching out, mentally assessing the threats in the room. Despite her size and apparent fragility, the old woman dominated his mind. She was short, not quite five feet tall, though Bav suspected if her back was straight she might be a little over that five feet. She was draped in some sort of skin, poorly tanned and with a hole for her head. Rough stitching along the edges gave it a hem of sorts, and it dragged in the dirt around her feet. Her hair was filthy, shaggy, and wild, obscuring her face. Woven into it were the bones and fetishes typical of every country shaman Bav had ever encountered. As he watched, she raised her arms, lifting the skin up over her head, and Bav was shocked to see that she was naked underneath. He was equally shocked that as she lifted the skin from her shoulders he could see that she wasn’t old at all. Like lifting a veil, as her body was revealed Bav was pleased to see a healthy, attractive young woman before him, barely in her thirtieth year. As he watched, her face came free of her garb, and he was shocked to see that her hair, filthy and bedraggled only a moment before, was blond and held back from her face in a thick braid. Bav was barely aware of the chanting when it started, fascinated as he was by the young shaman in front of him. He was mesmerised by her eyes, and found himself relaxing his stance as he leaned toward her. It was as she began to dance that he noticed the people in the circle around her, swaying in time to their own chanting, in a language he didn’t recognise. Despite her obvious beauty, Bav was instantly afraid, and wanted out of that room. Village fanatics be damned, he determined to leave, and turned to the door. It was gone, and he patted the wall with his hands, confused, looking for it. When he had come in, it was just a deerskin draped across the hole cut in the wall. Now, as he ran his hands along the wood and glanced around the room, he could find no break anywhere. Panic seized him, then, and he spun to face the woman in the circle. She was staring at him, her face tilted down so she was looking at him through the hair that fell in front of her face. Smoke filled the room, making her look more and more like a predator. As he watched, the air in the room darkened, and he found himself locked in place by her eyes. They glowed in the shadows, and soon his vision was filled with nothing but her eyes. The chanting reached a crescendo pitch, and stopped suddenly. The immediacy of the silence struck Bav like a hammer blow, and he felt himself falling unconscious, the woman’s eyes following him into the abyss. When he awoke, he had found himself back at the farm, with no memory of how he had gotten there. Sil’s daughter was sitting in the hay next to his bedroll, and he started up when he saw her. “By the Moons!” he cried, scrabbling back from her. She tilted her head, seemingly puzzled. “The Moons?” she asked. “You’re one of those, then?” “What in the pit happened back there? Who was that woman?” The girl leaned forward, looking around as if to make sure nobody else was there. “You mustn’t ask that,” she whispered. “It’s dangerous. Nobody speaks of her.” Bav, confused, looked for a weapon. His knife was closest, and he reached for it. “What?” “You have to help us,” she said, without a hint of concern over the blade in his hand. “I have to what?” “Help us. She’s taking us, one by one. She’ll take you, if you stay. She’ll take me soon, if you don’t help.” She said this so calmly, with no sign of fear in her face, that Bav wasn’t sure how to react. “Taking you?” he asked, finally. She nodded, still expressionless. “She takes people into her. To her world. They don’t come back,” she said. “Into her? To her world?” Bav asked. He still held the knife, but his resolve was weakening, and he found himself lowering it. “What do you mean?” “She’s not from here. She’s something else. She looks human, but she’s not,” the girl said. “Not human? She didn’t look like a Treechild,” Bav said. The girl shook her head. “Not a Treechild, either. Not from here at all. From somewhere else.” As she said this, she looked up, and waved her hand above her. Bav knew she was indicating the sky overhead, but didn’t understand what that meant. “She came two years ago, and she’s been taking us ever since.” “I don’t understand,” Bav said. “Where does she take you? Why don’t you just leave?” She shook her head, looking down at her hands in her lap. “We can’t leave. She doesn’t let us,” she said. She looked up, and Bav fell back at her eyes, now as black as pitch. “You must go to the Bann Faew, and descend into the blackness you find there. At the bottom, you will see the Heart of Ogel. Consume the Heart, and set us free.” As she finished speaking, her head dropped again, and Bav was certain that whoever had spoken the words was not this young girl he had spent three days trying to flirt with. She looked up at him again, and her eyes were normal again. “My name is Abra,” she said. “Please remember me.” Before he could say anything in response, she was gone. Bav didn’t bother saying anything to the farmer or his wife, he simply gathered his things and left. He had tried to forget the farm, and the shaman in the temple, but for the next year his dreams were haunted by nightmares of her eyes as she danced in the smoke. Eventually, he started asking people he met about what the girl had said to him. About the Bann Faew and the Heart of Ogel. Most didn’t know what he was talking about, but were more than willing to listen as long as he bought the ale. It was three months later before he found somebody who knew something. At a campsite on the edge of the Scouring Sands, he met a trio of monks who were making pilgrimage to some holy relic or another, and when he was sufficiently deep in his cups Bav asked them if they knew of the Bann Faew. The three monks all snapped their eyes to him at once as he uttered the words, and Bav froze in place. “I take that as a ‘yes’,” he said. The eldest of the three monks ushered the other two away, and sat cross-legged in front of Bav. “Where did you hear of the Bann Faew?” the man asked. Despite his drunkenness, Bav could hear the threat in the man’s voice. And despite his advantage in size and weaponry, Bav knew the threat was real. He set his cup down and leaned forward. In a hushed voice, he related the tale of the farmer’s Festday, and of the shaman in the temple. When he came to the part of the girl’s words, and how he was convinced that it had not been the girl at all, the monk made him slow down and repeat the tale again. He dug for details, pulling more and more out of Bav’s memory. After he had gone over it half a dozen times, the monk seemed satisfied, and relaxed. Bav was certain that his life had just been spared. When the monk spoke, it was with a voice of authority. “Why you have been chosen for this task, I do not know, but I am not one to question these things. You must travel to the east, deep into the lands beyond the great Hareun River. There you will encounter the homelands of the Berren Toch, the race of giants of legend. Seek out their city, a city without a name, and find Yorok, the sage. Tell him this tale just as you have told it to me, and he will guide you to the Bann Faew. May the heavens guide your path, my friend. And may the gods protect you.” The monk stood at that, and walked away. Bav tried to follow, but the three of them melted into the shadows beyond the firelight, and Bav never saw them again. The next morning, he started east, as he had been directed, and walked for months. When he reached the Hareun River, he hired a fisherman to ferry him across. The fisherman would not come close to the far shore, so Bav had to swim about half a mile to reach the rocky riverside. He walked again, always east, and eventually came to the lands of the Berren Toch. A pair of the giants set upon him as he camped one night, and he begged directions to their unnamed city. They seemed reluctant, but when he described the monk that had sent him here they acquiesced, and accompanied him to his destination. They explained that these lands were dangerous when travelled alone, and they would see him safely to Yorok to repay a debt to the monk. Yorok was ancient, older than anything Bav had ever seen. Bav felt the weight of ages in the giant’s presence, and was convinced that this being had seen the foundation stones of the world laid in the Beginning, and that he would see them pulled at the End. Yorok guided him to a great stone well in the forest, where a woman stood guard. Yorok and the woman didn’t speak to each other - indeed, they didn’t even acknowledge each other’s presence - and Bav was left with her as Yorok simply turned and left without speaking. “Why have you come here, Man?” a voice asked. Bav looked around to see who had spoken, for the woman’s lips had not moved. Finally, he decided she must have been the one to ask, and addressed her. “I was sent by a girl on a farm, who’s family and neighbours were being taken by a being not of this world.” There was silence in the cool air for some time, and Bav was about to say something else when the voice rang in his ears again. “What was her name?” Bav hesitated. He had never spoken the girl’s name aloud, though he remembered it as she had asked. He was afraid that speaking it would set it free, and he would forget her when that happened. He drew breath, and answered, “Abra. Her name is Abra.” “Was. She is gone, though you have remembered her and that is enough.” Bav was shaken by the revelation. He had known, of course, that she would be. It had been three years, after all. But hearing it confirmed filled his chest with stones. “You must descend. Are you prepared?” He checked his belongings, and felt that he had enough supplies. He nodded, and stepped forward. “I am ready, yes,” he said. “Mind the stairs. Take only one at a time, no matter your stride. To stray from this is to beg devastation. If you pray, do so now. There are no gods, here.” She stepped aside, and he peered into the well. Stairs spiralled down into the dark, and he lit a torch before climbing in. Mindful of the woman’s warning, and made sure to take each step in turn, even though they were close enough to make it awkward to do so. Soon enough they evened out and became more comfortable for him. Now, two (three?) days later, Bav was still careful to take them one at a time. When his light was out, he would slide his foot forward to the edge of the step before moving down to the next one, making sure he didn’t skip any in the dark. When he slept, he tucked himself in his bedroll against the riser behind him, and made a barricade between him and the next stair down so he wouldn’t fall. He ate sparingly, drank even less. He tried not to think of how far below the earth he was. When his mind turned to it, he was overcome with dread. Surely he was somewhere else, now. Surely he had passed through some barrier, and was no longer descending into the soil of his own world. When he awoke, he continued moving down, down, always down. The stairs no longer spiralled, and he cared not to remember how long ago they had stopped. Now it was a straight descent into the blackness. His food ran out after three more rest breaks, and his water ran out two rests after that. When he emptied his waterskin, he tossed it into the dark beside the stairs, listening for when it hit the bottom. He felt nothing when no sound came. It was three rests later, his lips parched and his tongue raw against them, when his foot, sliding forward to find the next stair, found nothing. He paused, unsure, and shuffled forward, seeking for the next stair. His toe bumped against something solid, and he held his breath. He reached his fingers ahead of him, gently, carefully, until they met a hard wooden surface. He slung his pack off his shoulder, and felt inside for his last candle. He lit it with a strike of his flint, and blinked against the brightness of light he hadn’t seen in days. As his eyes cleared, he looked up at a wooden door before him. He looked behind to see the stairs he had descended, climbing back up into the abyss above him, seemingly into forever. “By the Moons,” he muttered, and the woman’s voice echoed in his memory again. “There are no gods, here.” The door had a handle, and he reached for it with a trembling hand. It opened easily, and the door swung away from him on silent hinges. The room beyond was brightly lit, and he squinted against the glare. It was a many-sided room, and he quickly scanned it for dangers. Fourteen walls, and a small pedestal in middle were the only things he saw. The light came from everywhere and nowhere at once, and he dropped his candle to the floor as he stepped inside. Fourteen walls, and no doors in any of them. As he circled the room, he saw that the door he had entered through was gone, as well. Before, that would have worried him, but he was beyond such cares, now. The pedestal in the center of the room was waist-high, and had - he counted - seventeen sides. The juxtaposition of the pedestal versus the walls was jarring, somehow, and he felt his eyes grow itchy as he looked from one to the other. On the pedestal sat a small leather sac with no opening. Bav looked at it, and took another look around the room. Still nothing. Just fourteen walls, and a seventeen-sided pedestal, and the headache that came from looking at the two. And the bag. This must be the Heart of Ogel, there was no other explanation. He reached his hand for it, slowly, and froze when it shifted away from him. Like a small shapeless animal, it . . . *flexed*, somehow, and Bav was reminded of nothing so much as a baby pressing against a pregnant woman’s belly. He reached for it again, and it pulled away from his hand slightly before he grasped it. It was warm in his palm, and he felt it stretching and pushing against his fingers. He found he had to grip it tightly for fear of dropping it. He wasn’t sure why, but he had the feeling that if he let it go now, it would not go well for him. Keeping the bag firmly gripped in his left hand, he pulled his knife with his right. Guided more by instinct than anything else, he pressed the tip of the knife against the skin of the bag, pressing slightly. He felt the tip enter the skin, and it felt exactly like slowly stabbing a man in the belly. Blood welled up from the entry wound, and Bav pressed the knife in further. Blood came faster now, spilling out over his palm and falling to the floor. It was dark and thick, heart blood, and Bav twisted the knife slightly to open the wound. The bag in his hand was writhing now, and he gripped it tightly in his left hand as he pulled the knife free. He dropped the knife, and pushed his finger into the wound, hooking it under the skin to tear it open. As it ripped, he felt more than heard the screams of agony that arose from the wound. Agony and fury, bellowing out from the void that was the other side of the wound he had made. The blood that poured forth was warm, but the finger he had placed inside was cold beyond imagining. He pulled, tearing the bag open and spraying his face with the blood from inside, and there, in front of him, was a gaping void where the fourteen-walled room had been. Cold blasted him, and he heard screams beyond anything he had ever imagined. The screams of the mountains, of the stars, of the very world, filled his ears and his mind. And there, hanging before him in the void, was a stone. Black and ragged, it pulsed in the void - in-out, in-out - like a heartbeat. Bav reached a hand out to it, into the cold - so *cold!* \- and wrapped his frost-rimed fingers around it. The beating of the stone heart grew faster in his hand, and he pulled it toward him. It resisted - or something in the void resisted - and Bav had to brace his feet to get leverage. He pulled with all of his might, yelling with the effort, and fell backward when he felt the stone heart tear loose of the endless void and into his hand. The screaming grew louder, more furious, and the weight of the stone in his hand was immense. His arms screamed with the effort of holding it, and even more so for the effort of lifting it to his mouth. As he opened his jaws as wide as they would go to fit the stone heart between his teeth, the shaman’s eyes flashed in the void, staring at him with a fury unmatched. Beside her and behind her and all around her was the girl from the farm, staring at him through and around the shaman woman, pleading with him and pitying him all at once. He laughed into the void, then. “Abra!” he yelled, the howling of the void snatching the sound from him as soon as he made it. “I remember you!” Bav thought he saw her smile, then, but the shaman’s eyes grew wild as he said it, and he pushed the stone heart into his mouth, using his fingers to push it into his throat, and he swallowed reflexively, gagging the monstrous thing down. He heard the shaman’s shriek as he did so, and he fell to the floor as the tear he had opened seemed to reverse itself, sealing her fury and rage on the other side. As it did, the light in the room faded, and Bav fell to the floor, desiccated and cold.


Vera felt the familiar presence. The sense that she was suddenly surrounded by a sort of energy. The knowing that someone else was there with her. “Good evening, Joe.” Conversation not through words but through feelings from the heart. Impressions, colours, images and understandings. There was a taste, and a faint smell of a food that she almost recognised but couldn't quite place. Maybe salty. She knew it, but at the same time she did not know. In her mind's eye she saw him cooking, or perhaps eating, a delicious meal. She smiled, thanking him for sharing his moment with her. “I'm only sorry you're not with Her.” Sent out as a sadness and a sympathetic wish. The response was the same abyss he showed her every day. An empty, lonely, space he longed to fill. “I'm trying” she felt back to him, her heart breaking as it always did. The impression of flowers. Yellow, pink, red and purple roses and tulips; and another plant she did not know but sensed its greenness and refreshing smell. And a feeling, was that satisfaction? Of a day's work well done? The gardens were often different. New colours, smells and images emerged with the changing seasons. But everything else remained the same. The food, the little white cat and the walk by the river. Occasionally a faint sensing that there was music, but not enough to make out a beat or a tune. A monotonous existence, felt Vera. A sorrowful and lonely repetition, each day the same. Nothing moving, nothing changing; and always surrounded by that thick black cloud of loss and loneliness. “I promise I'll find Her.” This was how every communication ended. Each day Vera recommitted to her vow, and pictured how wonderful it would be if he could reunite, just once more, with the woman he missed so much; to say a proper goodbye and get his final closure. There was just one time when he showed her what had happened. Once was enough. Two cars, one swerving. Wheels screeching... and then black. Darkness, a gaping hole, death, destruction, anger, loss, grief and fear; followed by the loneliness and the need to be with her again. The feelings and the visions were almost too much for Vera to take in, but at that moment she realised and understood the depth of his longing and the importance that they would be reunited. That was when she made her promise. I'll find that woman if it's the last thing I ever do. Each day she lost hope and each night she renewed her vow. The fearful and angry looks, the threats and the accusations of madness ceased to matter every time she felt Joe's emptiness. Perhaps , she thought to herself, I need a better strategy. In this crowded world of non-believers, just asking around is basically asking for trouble. ~*~ Robert could have given her everything she needed, if only she wasn't so good at her job. He entered her office a new client; who, it turned out, was going to be what Vera jokingly called a 'one hit wonder'. “I've always been a believer.” They'd barely said hello. There was something about him, Vera felt. She couldn't have said what it was, but something different or...special? A different kind of energy, or was it familiarity? He was in his mid sixties, she guessed. Getting older, but still able-bodied and he appeared to be healthy enough. Friendly and clearly open-minded. Nervous but enthusiastic. He seemed to be with it in his mind, always a positive sign, and he wasn't hiding the desperation. There was always desperation by the time they got to her. “I've always known, but I just wasn't ready to see” he said. Vera nodded, this was common. Usually they would go through some sort of process before they found the courage to actually remember. “I expect you understand” he continued, “More than the non-believers anyway. I saw a woman, a medium, she said I have a grandson. I knew it! I always felt it! And she confirmed it for me, she said he's waiting. So that's why I'm here. It's time. I need to find out what happened and to move on. I need to see my little grandson.” “A grandson...upwards?” Vera asked. She had heard that there were people who could connect with spirits in the Real Afterlife but she had never met anyone with a story that sounded genuine. Despite her daily contact with Joe she wasn't sure if she believed it possible to communicate in the opposite direction. “It's always been there,” Robert continued, “the sense, the feeling, that there was a little boy who isn't with me now. I just knew it! I used to think he was around here somewhere. That's what started me off at my job. But when I didn't find him, I began to wonder if he'd gone straight over to the other side... and then she found him! He's there and waiting! So now I'm ready. Whatever it was that happened, I'm ready to deal with it, and to find him.” “Your job?” “I'm a detective.” he said proudly. “A what?” “A detective. I hunt for missing people. If someone feels that another person they know is also stuck here, but they can't find them, I track them down and reunite them. And I have to say, especially given the nature of this kind of work, I'm pretty good at it.” Vera's heart jumped. Wait she said to herself. Give him his session first. She pushed back the excitement as she led him into his regression. It was quick, clean and easy. He was already disappearing as he came back. Fading away, but now radiating peace, love and acceptance. “It was a crash” he said, “my daughter was driving. She was always doing her hair in the mirror instead of watching the road. It used to drive me crazy. She never listened to her grumpy old dad. Archie was in the car, he was only a baby. She wasn't looking and another car came. We swerved but it was too late. Four people died.” He was dissolving with every word. Thinning. Dispersing. “I made it as far as the hospital" He went on, “And it wasn't the crash that killed me, it was the anger. I just couldn't accept that she'd done it, that she was so stupid. I couldn't forgive her. He was just a baby!” Now just an impression of an impression, barely perceivable. “But I saw it differently just then, and now I understand it. That's why I've been stuck here, I needed to forgive her. And I can do it now, of course. If it means I can see Archie again then of course I forgive her...” He was gone. Another successful transition. Vera just wished he had stayed for a few moments more, a few moments to answer her now burning question. Are there any other detectives? Where can I find them? ~*~ It turned out that detectives were relatively easy to come by. The Vagueness was like that. One saw things when they believed and wanted to see them. Time after time new clients would tell Vera that they had never noticed her office until the day they were ready. As soon as there was a genuine desire to remember their life, there she was, in the same spot they had passed by every day. That's why this is the Vagueness, thought Vera, it's not really anything, certainly not anything solid. It's just....vague. With five detectives on the mission, Vera then contemplated contacting the Real Afterlife. She felt less sceptical and more hopeful since hearing Robert's story. She was curious. “Regression therapy?” The kind, ethereal-looking woman seemed more interested in Vera's own story than in what she was asking her to do. “Is it as scary as they say it is? I've always been interested, but there's a part of me that just doesn't want to know.” She seemed a little embarrassed. “People ask me all the time. 'Miriam' they say, 'if you can really speak with the other side and it's as wonderful as you say it is, then why don't you just pass over?' But the truth is I'm scared to know why I got stuck here. That side looks a dream, but I don't know if I can face whatever it is I need to let go of.” “It's normal,” Vera said calmly, “You'll do it when you're ready.” “Have you?” Asked Miriam. “Have you done it?” Vera sighed. “Many many times” she said. “But I seem to be a rare case in that I don't ever remember anything. Not the tiniest thing or single piece of information. All I see is black. I keep doing it but nothing ever happens. And I know it works, I've helped so many people remember what they need to know and move on, but it just doesn't seem to work for me. I don't remember anything of my life at all,” she went on, “you know how some people have a kind of feeling? A sense or impression about something? Who they were, what they did or the people around them? Just a feeling? Well, I have nothing. Everything I know about Earth I've heard from my clients' memories; and from Joe, my friend there that I talk to. He's the reason I came to you” She paused for a moment. “Actually there is something,” she said thoughtfully. “I've always felt that everyone has this, but there is a feeling, just a feeling, that I had a life. That there was something there. In fact I'm certain of that. I just can't remember what it was. And I know, I've always known, that here isn't the right place but that there's a reason for me to be here. That's how I found my job, because I had that feeling about there being something else. “I sometimes wonder though,” she continued, becoming absorbed in her own thoughts, “if it's all about Joe. He misses his Wife so much and I've promised him I'll find Her. I often think about that, that it could be why I'm here. That once I find Her things will change. I don't remember a time when I didn't speak to Joe. I've always been looking for Her. “But I've been having new ideas, new ways of seeing things, and this is where you come in. I'm beginning to wonder if his Wife isn't in the Vagueness at all, if maybe when she died she passed all the way over. Do you think you could see?” “Of course I can try to speak to her if she's there. Do you have a name? Or any information about her? Who she was? What she looked like? Her personality?” “That's why this is so hard. Joe's own name feels so clear, so certain when he shows me, but he's given me nothing about Her, all he ever shows me is the space she left behind. I don't have any actual information about who she was as a person....she died in a car accident, that's all I know.” “I'll do my best then.” Miriam closed her eyes and went silent. After what felt to Vera like a much longer eternity than the general eternal feeling of the Vagueness, Miriam's eyes re-opened and she shook her head. “I'm sorry,” she said, “Maybe if you could get some more information I could try again for you though.” Vera thanked her and turned to leave. “Wait,” said Miriam “Before you go...I think I'm ready to book a regression.” It took Miriam four sessions and a little time in between each one to process the new information. An unfinished book, just two chapters to go. She laughed at the irony of it. “It was about the Afterlife” she told Vera after her final regression, “and it was my life's work. My understanding of the spirit worlds and what happens when we die. Forty years I was writing, researching, obsessing. I swore to myself I would finish it if it was the last thing I ever did.” She was laughing, crying, sighing and fading all at the same time. “I suppose all I can do now is let it go and move on” she laughed, as she joyfully disappeared. ~*~ Despite never getting any closer to finding Joe's Wife, Vera persisted with her search. Her encounter with Miriam ignited her curiosity and she began seeking everywhere. She went to churches and meditation groups and attended all kinds of strange spiritual rituals and ceremonies, prayer groups and soul purifications. She began to follow unusual superstitions and attended some quite bizarre seances to connect realms and dimensions she'd had no idea about. Some things, she was sure, were made up flights-of-fancy. Wishful thinking. Tall stories or solutions to boredom. But with every experience something changed inside of Vera. A new perspective or an understanding, a different way of being, a brighter and more fulfilling Vagueness. Her favourite thing was the Earth communication group, where others, just like her, spoke with people, animals and even plants in the living world, and through this built up their understanding of where they once were. “They're the believers from that side,” said Nick, a fellow communication enthusiast, “and they try to find us. They want to speak to us, and if we listen to them they'll keep coming back. They're fascinated by us, as we are with them. It's just a shame we can't see everything. It's so vague here. But I keep on trying.” “I think it's wonderful!” Said Vera, “How much I have learnt from them. Things I could never have known and don't remember. That they have bodies, and there are objects, and meanings, and time, and breath, and...life! And all of the stories and possibilities that happen there. Really, it's quite incredible that they can show us this. And that even though we don't remember, we can still see something, and kind of know what it might have been like there.” Her Vagueness; filled with her search, her work, her new friends and the constantly new experiences; began to feel very different. She noticed it gradually, something other. Unusual. Something she thought she had maybe felt before, but certainly not here. Perhaps from another time. From life? She wondered, with a little excitement. It's happiness she realised. I'm happy. I like how things are, and even though there are some things I still don't know and still need to find out, I don't mind any more if nothing changes. I'm just fulfilled by my own existence. I'm happy! ~*~ Joe had never missed a day. She felt his absence. He could be busy, or just late... She was doubtful. Something was different. The room felt strange without him. “Joe?” She sent out the feeling, “Are you there?” She pictured him dozing off in his armchair, the white cat curled up on his lap. Peaceful and cosy. That has to be it, he's taking a nap. Something changed. She couldn't place exactly what but the feeling in the room was different. There was a presence, a feeling. A knowing that someone was there with her. It began as a faint shadow, slowly taking form in her own armchair. An old man. Old but still familiar, still clearly the young man she suddenly remembered she had loved so much. “Joe!” She gasped. “Vera!” He smiled, “You waited for me! I knew you were, every day I spoke to you, I knew you were waiting.” The memories were flooding back and Vera froze, stunned. “It was me!” She said, “Your Wife...it's me.” Joe laughed. “Of course it's you, there was no one else. I couldn't...I missed you too much. But I had a great life, really, I couldn't have asked for more. I became a little bit famous with those songs I used to make up, and had some wonderful times travelling, exploring, singing...the only thing missing was you.” Vera looked confused. “But you were always in the garden,” she said, “Whenever I saw you. And you were so sad, all I saw you do was eat, walk and pet the cat.” “ Your garden, remember” he said gently, “I kept it for you and I always thought of you when I was gardening, I planted all of your favourite flowers, the roses and the tulips, year after year. I made sure it stayed beautiful, in your memory.” Memories . Now it made sense, and Vera was remembering everything. Their first dance together, the first kiss and the wedding. How she had desperately wanted her own garden and he'd bought the big house she really wanted, just for that. The little white kitten she hadn't yet chosen a name for. The long walks by the river, the expensive meals out that had become a regular treat. “I remember,” she said, the last fragments of information filtering in, “I understand it now.” Joe's eyes were soft, loving, delighted to see her again. He took her hand and she felt herself fading away with him. They had been walking alongside the river, speculating on the Afterlife, telling stories of spirits and wondering what would really happen after they died. “Whatever it is,” she said “I won't go without you, I promise. We'll go there together.” That was when he had knelt in the grass and opened the box with the diamond ring. The memory passed and they were disappearng. Moment by moment, dissolving into the place that came next. Together.