Rachel sat on the tile floors of a one-person bathroom in the park as she listened to the rain pelting down outside and the occasional clap of thunder that broke up the monotonous percussion of the rain. Tonight was not a good night to be homeless, not that any night ever was, but tonight was an especially bad night. It was cold. Wet. Worst of all, the people had not been charitable today and she looked at the measly bounty she had collected over a day’s worth of begging and counted it out. Seventeen dollars and ninety-two cents. It wasn’t enough for her to commune with her god and that brought her even lower than life had by putting her in this situation where her only refuge from the storm was this dirty bathroom in the middle of the park. She would’ve cried if she could have, but she could not, and thus, she simply made her peace with the fact that tonight was a very bad night and slept with her head against the cold tile and hoped for better tidings tomorrow.  Morning came quick for Rachel, at least it felt like it did. In reality, she slept about ten, maybe eleven hours, but it was a dreamless, restless sleep with lots of tossing and turning which was interrupted by a heavy banging on the door by someone whom she presumed to be an annoyed parkgoer needing to pee. She managed to mutter out with only minimal slurring (which was actually quite a feat for her when she first woke up), “Uhh—one sec—I’ll be right out.” She got to her feet as quick as she could, but even that didn’t feel very fast. Every fiber of her being felt utterly sapped and the exhaustion clung to her deep in her bones and even into her soul, but she managed to shamble over to the door to open it to the sight of a man in his early thirties and his four-year-old daughter.  The man was unimpressed with the emaciated husk that stood before him and turned up his nose at her. He pushed his daughter behind him so that Rachel could half-fall, half-walk out of the bathroom and he quickly ushered his daughter in so that she wouldn’t catch too much sight of the woman stumbling out of the bathroom. Rachel didn’t much care for people like that men. They were too judgey. Too quick to write her off as nothing but a tweaked out loser, but she didn’t pay him much mind once she got in stride with the day. Today was going to be a good day, she told herself. Today she was going to earn enough to buy her communion and then everything would be okay. Yes, today was going to be a good day and she felt a smile crawl across her pale lips as she walked through the park.  The walk from the Park to the corner of Sixth and Main was long, but she didn’t care much. She had a half-drank bottle of Dr. Pepper and even though she felt like shit, she knew she’d make enough today. She just needed another twelve dollars and eight cents and then she’d call up Marco and he’d give her everything she needed to perform the sacrament that helped her connect with her god. He was a good god and Rachel loved him more than anything in the world, more than her six figure job that she used to have, more than the big house, more than her husband, more than her two little boys who probably weren’t so little anymore, but she didn’t like to think about that. Nope. She liked to think about how good it’d feel to perform the sacrament and experience the pure love and bliss of her god. She liked to think about how that exhaustion that sapped at her deeper than anything ever should would be instantly exorcised by the sacrament. Yes. That’s what she preferred to think about. Not everything her god had asked her to give up to show her loyalty, but everything he gave her for that loyalty. He was a good god, at least in Rachel’s eyes.  When she got to the corner that she had more or less claimed as her own over the past few weeks, she tossed the worn out ballcap off her head and upside down in front of her so that the rare pedestrian who did acknowledge her existence could throw her whatever alms he felt fit. They were growing fewer and farer between though, Rachel noticed, but there were still enough kind souls in this city that she didn’t have to result to more unsavory means to perform her sacrament like some of the other women she had come to know over the years. They worshipped different gods than her though; their gods were tan and white powders or cloudy rocks. Hers was beautiful and pure like polished quartz and that was just one of the many things that made him so perfect in every way.  The hours went by slowly and she felt her stomach rumble, but the hat didn’t have enough for her to eat. It only had five dollars and forty-two cents. She needed at least the twelve dollars and eight cents before she could even consider wasting some money on things like food. It’s not that she wasn’t hungry. She hadn’t eaten in two or three days, but there were things more important than food in her life. Rachel needed to perform the sacrament. She had to. She just had to, because how could anyone live without their god’s love? How could anyone go back to living in heathenism after bearing witness to the spiritual exaltation that came from his love? She could fathom it no more than she could fathom the idea that two plus two equals five and maybe even less than that. And for that reason, she kept sitting there as her belly rumbled and the hunger pangs spiked. It wouldn’t matter though once she got enough to call Marco. Her god’s love would take all the pain away and it wouldn’t matter anymore.  She didn’t know what time it was but it was starting to get dark and that prompted her to look at the hat, because she knew there was no point in bothering after dark. Everybody went home except for those like her who were trying to commune with their own gods and they certainly wouldn’t donate to her cause. The hat had twenty-two dollars and seventy-one cents which brought about a sigh of relief. She had enough. She finally had enough.  Rachel got to her feet and walked to the nearest place with free WiFi. It was a Starbucks on the corner of Eighth and Main that stayed open twenty-four hours a day. It wasn’t ideal for escaping the elements as they were fairly strict on kicking people like her out after so long, but she didn’t care. She just needed their WiFi long enough to text Marco. Yeah, she had to text Marco. Marco would help her. Yeah. Yeah he would. He definitely would.  She at in the Starbucks texting him at a mile a minute until he responded, “cool hmu at mickey d’s up on cedar”  That was a long walk and was already getting cold. Really cold. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care about any of that, because it was only a couple miles and it wouldn’t matter once she met up with Marco. Yeah, it’d be fine. Everything would be okay. She just needed to hit Marco up, get the stuff, and get right with her god. Yeah that’s all she had to do. Yeah.  So she walked. She walked in her old, torn-up sneakers that hurt her feet because they were so old and had enough holes that some people questioned why she even bothered with shoes. There was a chill to the air on that night, but fortunately for her, the storm had passed. Rachel was grateful for that. She would’ve kept going to Marco even if the storm hadn’t passed, even if it meant she’d walk into that McDonald’s soaking wet and utterly drenched, but she was glad that wouldn’t be the case.  Finally, after what felt like forever but was actually only about an hour, she walked into that McDonald’s and saw Marco sitting at a table nursing a burger that was probably cold by now and she made her way over to him. He looked her up and down and gave a bit of a smirk, “Y’know, Rachel, all you had to do was ask for a ride.”  She did her best to hide how uncomfortable Marco made her, but it wasn’t as successful as she hoped, not that Marco cared. He knew exactly what he was doing and he got off on it. It’s why he did it. He loved letting her know that all she had to do to stop living the hard life was just stop saying no, but getting right with her god hadn’t gotten that bad yet, although there had been some times when she wondered. But she hated Marco. She hated Marco almost as much as she loved her god, but almost was the key word there. If she hated him more than she loved her god then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have sacrificed so much in his name, but she was long past that and now she just had to deal with her choices. After all, at this point, there was no turning back.  “That’s okay, Marco. Look, you uhh—y’know?”  “Yeah, Rach, I got it for you, but can I at least get a please out of you?”  Fuck you, Marco. FUCK YOU! That’s what she thought to herself, but that’s not what she said. What she actually said was more along the lines of, “Can I pleeeease get that stuff we talked about?”  “Ahh, Rachel, you always did melt my icy heart, you know that? Course you can as long as you got what I need.”  She reached into her pocket and counted out twenty-eight dollars in actual bills and had to mix-and-match coins for the other two dollars’ worth, but it was all there. He counted it carefully before swiping it up and flipping her a tiny baggie of beautiful, translucent crystals that she had craved since her last time her getting her hands on them. Finally, she would get right with her god and everything in her world would be good again. Finally.  “I’m gonna go now, Marco. It’s uhh—good to see you, I guess.”  “So soon, baby? Come on, spend a little time with me! Tell you what, I’ll buy you a cheeseburger.”  “Sorry, Marco. I got things I’ve gotta do. Sorry.”  He frowned. She didn’t care. She got up and made her way to the bathroom and nestled into the handicapped stall. She should’ve been more careful and selected a better place and she knew that, but it had been a few days and she just couldn’t wait any longer. She gently spilled some of those crystals into a tiny glass pipe that she carried with her everywhere, really it was only thing she owned that she actually cared about anymore, besides that little baggie. She loved that just as much. And she took a lighter and gently jostled the crystals around as the flame licked the bulb of the pipe.  She took a deep breath and with it, the Sacrament had been performed. All was good in the world again. Everything felt good. She had her energy back. She felt like she could take on anything and everything was great and wonderful and just fantastic even. She spent a good five minutes or so repeating the Sacrament to get right with her god before she strolled out of the bathroom with quick, long steps and leaving behind a cloud of smoke carrying the aroma of burnt plastic. Finally the world was right again and she was ready to face it, for she finally felt her god’s love again, but she had a new goal now. She needed to do three things.  She needed to get some more Dr. Pepper, she was craving a King Size Cookies & Cream Hershey Bar, and she needed to make sure she had enough money to hit Marco up again tomorrow when what was left in that left in that little baggie would be gone. But for now, she wasn’t panicking about that. She felt like her entire world had come into focus and it was in all her control. All thanks to the god in the tiny glass pipe who she loved more than her husband, more than her kids, more than her career, and more than anything else in the world. She loved her god and for now, her god loved her, but would be reevaluated once she ran out of those tiny shards to perform the sacrament. But she wasn’t too worried about that right now. Nope. Everything was perfect and as it should be and she would solve all of her problems tonight and everything would be wonderful.


The screen door slammed behind the two men upon entering the cafe, which sat in Grey Mountain on the side of the highway about 75 miles north of Flagstaff, Arizona. Adam Ackerman, owner of the cafe, stood behind the bar. Without missing a beat he continued to wipe it down as the men walked in.

“We’re closed.” Ackerman said without looking up. Hearing the sound of their expensive soft leather shoes rather than boots, slapping the hard wooden cafe floor, Ackeman knew that they were not his usual customers looking for cheap food and craft beer. With a ragged cloth that might at one time have been white, he continued to wipe the counter, rubbing it to an almost polished sheen. Casually he dropped his left hand down below the bar’s countertop. Slowly he slid his hand until he found it. With a firm grip he held his pistol. It rested, snuggled in its leather holder, under the bar to discourage robbers, thieves and other idiots from messing up his establishment. And for the past few years it proved to be a successful deterrent. “That’s okay,” one of the men said “I . . .”

“We,” he nodded to his companion, “we didn’t come here to eat.” They stepped over a lingering puddle of spilled beer. The heavier man, wearing Italian leather loafers, stepped straight toward the bar avoiding discarded peanut shells piled up in fat mounds resembling a minefield. The second man, thinner and taller with a slight limp, stopped to survey the cafe. Like a running back avoiding tacklers he made his way to the bar on a circumspect route dodging tables and chairs. His hands remained buried deep in his pockets. His eyes remained locked on Ackerman. The two men looked like Laurel and Hardy except they were larger, darker and not funny at all. “Well whatever it is you want, we’re still closed,” Ackerman said. Never looking up he told them, “Come back later.”

“I . . .” “We,” Hardy corrected the man who resembled Laurel. “We,” he pointed to his partner, "came looking for someone.” “We,” Ackerman said looking up for the first time, “isn’t here.” With a crooked patronizing smile he waved his arm holding the tattered rag around the empty room, while still holding a firm grip on his hidden pistol, and said, “So, now you can leave.” The two men stood before Ackerman separated only by the white oak and cottonwood bar. Putting down his rag, Ackerman said, “Look, I know you two are cops. You’re wearing off-the rack suits from Sears and Sears has been closed for a few years. Did you ever think about getting new clothes?” Laurel and Hardy looked at each other and shrugged before leaning on the counter. “And besides,” Ackerman said, “your car has a chrome spotlight above the side mirror. If the fleet of antennas protruding through the trunk don’t stand out, the front tag, ‘CITY’ does. And besides, your nondescript green Ford is parked in a no-parking spot. Only cops do that. And judging by the dust, you drove up from Phoenix. Most cops don’t leave the barn with filthy cars - so you came up through the desert. For what?” Ackerman picked up the rag and thumped it a few times on the bar. “Just to harass me?” he asked. The one that looked like Hardy pulled a picture from his suit pocket. Placing it on the countertop he tapped it several times before looking Ackerman in the eye. “So, this isn’t you then?”

Ackerman looked down at the picture. He pushed it back across the bar, “Nope, haven’t seen him.” With a scowl that could kill he looked across the bar to Hardy. With his arms crossed he declared, ”Nope.”

“Take a better look, Enzo.” Hardy stabbed the picture. “This is you,” he insisted. The one who resembled Laurel grabbed the picture. He held it up in front of Ackerman’s nose. On the back of the photo in faded blue ink Laurel read the caption, “Enzo Vitale.”

Passing it back across the bar Laurel said, “This is your file photo when you joined the force.”

“It’s you alright,” Hardy said. He grit his teeth like a lion ready to devour its prey. He took a breath before roaring across the bar, “It’s you!” Locked on Ackerman’s eyes he studied the old photograph. “You didn’t have a ponytail then or a long beard, but it’s you.” Pointing to the embroidered name on the starched apron, “Adam,” he snickered, “this is you and you still look like you’re in pretty good shape.” He cocked his head as if to get a better look. “Yeah, well, that may have been me then. But I’m retired now. I own this cafe.” Laurel shook his head, “You didn’t retired, you walked away.” Hardy jumped in, “More like ran away.” He shook his head.

Holding the picture up against Ackerman, Laurel asked, “So, where did you change your name? California? It wasn’t in Arizona.” “Billings. Why?”

Hardy elbowed his partner, “I knew we should have searched farther.” “Listen”, Laurel said. “The shooting . . .” “It was a righteous shooting. We all know it,” said Hardy. “We all know it. You know it.” He poked Ackerman in the chest, “So, are you ready to do something about it?” With a smirk, Ackerman said, “So, you came all the way out here just to tell me that?” Laurel frowned. His voice was smooth and almost convincing, “Really the shooting was righteous. And your partner . . .” “I don’t want to talk about Phoenix." He poured himself a beer from the tap. “I don’t suppose you want a beer. Oh, I guess not; you’re still on duty.” Laurel pointed to a round table near the wall. “Can we sit down and talk a minute?” Ackerman took the seat against the wall so he could keep an eye on the front door as well as on the counter in the rear of the cafe. Hardy pulled another photo from his suit jacket. “Do you recognize this picture?” Ackerman glanced down at it and just as fast slid it back across the table. “Yeah, I know him. Or rather knew him.” His voice wavered and softened and yet it had an angry edge to it. “That day in Phoenix,” he pointed to the face of the picture, “he started the shooting.”

“And your partner . . .” Ackerman stood up interrupting Hardy.

“Just sit down, okay?” Laurel said as he glared at Hardy. His voice was reassuring.

“Eaqarab 'the scorpion’ Khalil. His name in Arabic means the scorpion.” Shaking his head in disgust, “Who would name their child, scorpion?” added Hardy.

“Anyway,” Laurel said, “he has scorpions tattooed on his wrists. And like a scorpion, he is fast and deadly. We tracked multiple deaths in the desert back to him and to his . . . “Friends,” added Hardy as he stroked his smoke-gray mustache. “And friend, we can use your help.”

“My help? I don’t think so.” Ackerman waved his arms around and said, “And give all this up?” pointing around the cafe. The warped floor where the wash bucket is permanently stationed to collect rain water caught his eye. The roof has leaked in the same spot since1990. It never seemed to bother him before. Now the building seemed tired. Almost as tired as he felt. Laurel leaned across the table. It wobbled slightly under the new pressure. “Just think about it. Will you?”

Ackerman took another sip of beer. He cringed. “It’s a little bitter. It might be time to change out the keg.”

“Change can be good.” Laurel said with a slight grin.

“Yes.” Like an old married couple Hardy jumped in and reinforced Laurel’s thoughts, with a Cheshire like grin. “Change can be good.” Both men slid their cards across the table. In unison they stood up. Glancing down at Ackerman, Laurel said “Give us a call.”

“The phones are on and we’ll be in the area for a while.” Hardy said as he slapped Ackerman on the back and headed for the door.

Ackerman stashed their cards in his shirt pocket and watched them walk away. + + + That evening as the crowed thinned out, Ackerman tossed his apron behind the bar and stood outside on the sidewalk littered with cigarette butts. The moonless night sky was clear and crisp. Looking up Ackerman noticed the stars and their brilliance. They appeared so close. It was almost as if he could reach up and gather them in. Breathing the night air a flood of memories came rushing to him. It was a night like this, he remembered. A night that smelled of spilled beer and stale cigarettes. But it was also a night overtaken with the sounds of gun fire and screams. The smell of gun powder erased the scent of stale beer. Then there was nothing but dead silence.

Staring at the empty barn across the highway at Grey Mountain Ackerman remembered another barn in southern Arizona, just outside of Phoenix. He was the undercover agent. He was sent into the barn to make the purchase. Then the capture and the arrest. But something went wrong. The team came in early. Shots were fired. His informant dead. More gun fire. The barn exploded. Like a rag doll Ackerman was thrown through the rear door. When he came to his team his partner were all dead. Eaqarab 'the scorpion’ Khalil vanished in the night with all the money and guns designed to trap him.

With his eyes glued on the Grey Mountain barn Ackerman pulled the business cards from his shirt pocket. He studied them for a minute or two. Then he lifted his cell phone from his back pocket. Even though it was 2:10 in the morning he punched in the number to Laurel, or was it Hardy? He didn’t care.


Silence. For a brief moment all was still. Darkness had enveloped the ship. The instruments of the bridge, all the lights and panels, had gone black. The only sound to be heard was the ragged breathing of its occupants. The alarms had shut off after the jump. The red emergency lighting kicked in. The crimson light washed over the machinery, giving everything a bloody cast. The panels began to flicker, their light adding to the rooms. A pale pink glow covered the walls. No faces were seen. "Is everyone okay?" Captain Benjamin Slater asked. Standing from his chair at the center of the bridge. A smattering of groans met his ears. He agreed with the sentiment; that jump had not been smooth. Still he had no time to be uncomfortable. "Sound off," he continued. "Dr. Rodgen?" "I'm fine," she called from behind her station. "Peter?" "Alive." "Alex?" "Present." "Rowan?" No answer, a moment passed. "Rowan Wright!" A whimper came from the floor next to the engineer's console. "Rowan!" Dr. Rodgen screamed. Scrambling to her feet, she lurched to the fallen man. She was joined by the others. Under the emergency lights of the bridge the convinced. Rowan was on the ground blinking. There was a gash on his head, the only sign he was bleeding was a faint wetness spreading across his face. The blood disappeared in the red glow. "I'm okay," he slurred. "Just give me a hand." He reached a shaky hand upward. Peter took and helped him slowly to his feet. He wobbled on rickety legs even with the helping hand of the Physics specialist. "Let me check the ship," he added. "If the engine..." "No," the Captain cut him off. "Peter take him to the med-bay. Have Dr. Amaterasu check him over, and check on her as well. If she is injured we will be in big trouble." "Got it," Peter put a shoulder under Rowan's arm and started off. Luckily the door opened as they left. The door and the panels indicated to Benjamin that they still had power. "Alex," he said after they had gone. "Are the ship's scanners still up?" The navigator returned to his station. After a few frantic button presses he looked up. "Yes, scanners are still active." "Check the comms then confirm our destination. I don't want to be lost in space. "Both internal and external communications are still active," Alex responded after another moment. "I will need longer for our location." "Let me know when you have it." Dr. Rodgen had worked her way over to Alex. She immediately set to work next to him. That left Captain Slater to check on the rest of the crew. Sitting back in his chair he contacted his lieutenant. Picking up the intercom he clicked it to life. "Ellis, how are the men?" he asked into the speaker. "Bruised," the static voice of his second in command came through a moment later. "Rodrigez asks if we can go again." A chuckle came to his lips unbidden. "One way ride I am afraid. Rowan is injured, send Hopkins up to help the Doctor if he is able." "Ten four." The comms went off. He then contacted med-bay. "Peter, is everything good?" Seconds ticked by. They seemed to stretch on. The sound of fingers working on their location was frustrating him. Just as he was about to get up and go back to check the intercom spoke. "Yes," Peter's voice came through. "Doc says he is fine, just needs rest." "Good, I'm sending Hopkins up to assist." "Got it. Know where we are yet?" "No, I'll let everyone know as soon as I do." "Okay, how is..." He set the handset down and ignored it; more questions were not what were needed at the moment. Focus, that is what he needed to do. What was their next step? They were alive. That was the important part. The damage to the ship couldn't be assessed in full until Rowan was back on his feet. Dr. Rodgen could look over the system and check if something was off, but Rowan was the engineer. It would take him to figure out just how screwed they were. "Dr. Rodgen," he called. He waited for her to turn. "I need you at your station. Check over the rest of the ship for us." Her expression wasn't entirely pleased, but she did as she was told. She left Alex and returned to her console. "Critical systems first please," he asked as politely as possible. She gave a nod and started working. He held back a shake of his head. It was difficult to tell what was going on in that woman's head. She always seemed eager to work; just not on whatever he suggested. A problem for another day, now he needed to keep everyone safe. His fingers twitched towards the com again. He itched to check on Rowan's status, but he wouldn't. News would come when it came. Trying to rush people would only lead to more mistakes, and more problems. It was best for him to do his job and leave everyone to manage theirs. Still, he couldn't stop himself from taping a finger on his knee in impatience. "Life support, both heating and oxygen regeneration, operational. Food storage and synthesization are both working. Alex already told you the comms are up," she finally answered. "I will go back to..." "No," he cut her off. "Check the thrusters and the engine next. Go over everything." She pursed her lips and gave him a mild glare. She did however go back to work. Although her button presses and movements seemed to be a little more forceful than necessary. He ignored it; his mind moving on to other things. So they were not going to suffocate, freeze, or die of dehydration or malnutrition. That was good news. Maybe, just maybe, they would get out of this unscathed save for Rowan's forehead. "Thrusters are up. The engine is unresponsive though," Dr. Rodgen said slowly, all traces of her annoyance gone. "And there is a problem with the power system. I know we are running on the back up, but I can't tell why." His heart sank. That was not good news. Doing his best to keep his face passive he tried to think positive. It could be worse. Back up power should last a good long while. They could travel short distances. They might be able to use the star, white dwarf or not, for some solar power. Hopefully there would be some decent planets or moons in this system to mine. If not they wouldn't be leaving. He pushed that thought from his head. Positive, he reminded himself. "I am going to go help Alex..." she started once again. "Got a location Captain," Alex called. Both immediately turned towards the Navigator. "We are not where I tried to take us," he admitted. "But we are not far off, a few light years away. We are in the orbit of an old star, a white dwarf actually. It has a few planets in orbit around it, only one of them is rocky. "That is good!" Dr. Rodgen smiled. "We should be able to mine materials if we need them." "That is good," Captain Slater agreed. "Can you maneuver us to that rocky planet? Also, see if it has a safe landing area." "Yes Sir!" Alex saluted before turning back to his console. "I'll steer," she offered, immediately taking control of the system from her station. They had a location. He returned to the comms. "Lieutenant. We have a location. We might be landing. Tell the men to prep in case they are needed. You return to the bridge." "Yes Sir," came the prompt reply. He then swapped to the med-bay. "Peter," he asked into the microphone. Another delay, shorter than the previous one, but still present. "Yes Captain, do we know where we are?" Peter's voice came crackling through the speaker. "We do. How is Rowan, is he on his feet yet?" "Doc says he should rest more, Hop isn't arguing." "Let him rest then," he sighed internally. It would be easier with Rowan, but they would make do. "Get back to the bridge, I'll get you up to speed here. Tell Hopkins and the Doctor to stay there and that we might be landing somewhere soon." "Landing?" "I'll tell you when you get here. Tell them, then get up here." "Will do." The com went dead, and with that he was back to looking out the window. The ship had turned. A small but bright light had come into view, the burnt out star he guessed. However the ship didn't turn anymore. He scanned the view for their planet. Looking closely, he found a void in the stars. Now that he had it's basic location, the vague round outline of the planet came into view. Lit just enough by the old sun that you could make out the fuzzy edge. The door to the bridge slid open. The Lieutenant stepped in, walking straight for the Captain's side. He stood still next to the chair, his eyes fixed out the window. "How are things Sir?" he asked quietly. "Not great," he responded just as softly. "Not too bad either. Remember that training mission around the moon?" "Yes Sir," his voice had gone tense. "A little better than that." "That's not what I would call good Sir." "No, but we survived." "Earth was only a few hours away." "Let's hope our new planet is just as helpful then," the Captain nodded his head out the viewport. As they approached the outline of the planet was taking shape. Instead of just a fuzzy line on the side facing the star, it had now become a distinct shape among the stars. The faint glow from the white dwarf casting just enough light to make out its silhouette. The surface appeared rocky, but any fine detail was lost at this distance. Through the anxiety that filled him, a sense of excitement grew. Exploration was the primary reason he had taken this job. All the hardships and responsibilities that came with it were made worthwhile to be the first of their kind to travel the universe; to be the first human to go, bold he would say, where no other had gone before. That was the drive, the passion, that pushed him forward. Even after finding no viable worlds for humanity to land on, nor any other forms of life, the thrill had not diminished. He wanted to seek out other worlds. The door behind him opened once more, pulling him out of his momentary lapse of focus. Peter stepped in and looked out the window. "Our destination I presume," it wasn't a question. His face was tight, the unease that was gripping the crew members was clear. "Yes," the Captain answered, keeping any sense of fear off of his face and out of his tone. "Good call. When Rowan gets back on his feet we can see what materials the planet has to offer." "Go to your station," the Lieutenant suggested. "We are not out of danger yet." "Don't be so harsh," Captain Slater whispered after Peter had done as bid. "They are not military; I also promised him a briefing." "They are asking useless questions and making obvious statements." "They are scared. Stop this behavior," he responded firmly. "Yes Sir." "The planet is odd," Alex called out over the room before any other words could be exchanged. "It is roughly the same size as earth, but it's almost twice as dense. We would not enjoy our time there." "That density suggests metallic elements though," Dr. Rodgen said. "We should be able to find something of use." "It would need to have almost no gasses in its surface to make it that dense," Peter added. "Could be hard to mine if it has no atmosphere. "It has an atmosphere," Alex responded. "and it's primarily oxygen, almost fifty percent in fact." "That's wonderful." She exclaimed. "We could breathe there." "Is there a possible landing zone," the Captain inquired through the back and forth. "I will have to do a more in-depth scan," Alex said. Excitement was overtaking their fear. They may just have found a way out. "Give me a moment." The Captain himself shared the sentiment. They were not out of the woods yet, but they had a clear path forward. They had trained for this. Not this precise situation, but to do emergency repairs on the ship should something damage it. They would just need Rowan. Once he was back on his feet everything would fall into place. Just as that thought was taking place the ship began to shake. All eyes went wide. Every face spun towards the panels in front of them. He tightened his hands down onto the arms of his chair, bracing for whatever was to come. The shaking grew stronger. It was then that he noticed, it wasn't just the hull that was vibrating. The chair under his hands was almost trembling. So was he. Every bit of his skin rippled, and not just his skin. He could feel the muscle underneath quiver from some unknown force. He could feel his bones convulse. Pain radiated through his chest as his organs began to shake inside his chest. It felt like his body wanted to come apart. No sooner had it started then it cut off. He let out a slow breath. Doing his best to calm his aching body. Moans of pain and soft cries filled the air. The Lieutenant had fallen onto his knees next to him. "What happened?" Captain Slater exclaimed, putting as much authority into his voice as he could muster at the moment. "I think I am going to be sick," Dr. Rodgen gagged. "Is the ship coming apart!" he bellowed. That snapped some heads, including that of his Lieutenant, up to face him. "No," she groaned after a moment, forcing herself to look over her console. "Everything is the same." "Alex," he turned to face the navigator. “What happened?” "Nothing I just scanned the..." Alex didn't get to finish. It happened again. Everyone slumped back over. His vision blurred; he could feel his eyes trying to bounce out of his skull. The floor of the ship heaved him to his knees. A scream erupted somewhere in the room. He was going to come apart. It cut off abruptly. The crying was louder now, someone was weeping. "Jesus," Peter panted from behind him. "It can't be." He turned as fast as his body would let him. "What?" "It's gravity waves," the Physicist wiped his eyes, pointing to his screen. "I was running tests after the first attack. It's gravity waves." "You said attack?" "It's coming from the planet," he pointed out the window. All eyes were glued to the faintly outlined sphere sitting innocuously out the viewport. "Why didn't you notice this when we jumped in," the Lieutenant asked, angry. "They weren't there," Dr. Rodgen snapped back. "That means what?" Before an answer came the waves struck again. The metal of the ship joined the crew in its screaming. Their bodies convulsed uncontrollably. "Stop the ship," the Captain wheezed from his knees. "I know it hurts, but do it now. If we get hit by another we are dead. Alex send the distress signal." Trembling hands moved to obey. The planet stopped getting bigger in the window. They waited, and waited. Seconds turned into minutes as they feared another attack. It didn't come. No more gravity waves struck them. All was silent. “Why did they stop?” Peter asked, gingerly turning back to his console. "It was a response to us," the Captain said slowly. "What? How could we cause...That!" the Doctor asked, incredulous. "That planet is inhabited..." he whispered. Once again every eye looked out the window. "It has to be. Send the care package Alex," Captain Slater commanded, absolutely positive in his assumption. "We just found life.


Can I take a moment of your time to tell you about the most fabulous little creature? Now, you’re probably thinking it’s some rare bird with bright multicolored plumage that lives in the mysterious heart of the amazon, or perhaps a cuddly bright-eyed marsupial that looks like a living teddy bear, and obeys and dotes like the most loyal lapdog. You’re wrong on both accounts. However, if at the end of my introductory question, the image of a small brown retinentia leech from the Mississippi bayou entered your mind then you may give yourself a pat on the back. So what’s fabulous about an ugly, drab, parasitic little worm? Well, I’ll tell you. If you took this leech, put it in a maze, and rewarded it with food when it swam its way through after a few mind-numbing hours, you would have:  1. A very happy leech. 2. A miracle of biological science. Now stay with me. I’m going to take your happy leech, and blend it up, blend it into a fine grey paste. I’m then going to take my 50cc’s of liquidized leech, and feed it to its leech friends. Why have I done this you may ask? Maybe you’ll even hate me for taking your beloved leech away from you. And maybe while you plot ways to take revenge on me for the innocent little life I’ve so cruelly taken away from the world, you’ll miss the miracle I’m manifesting. I’ve just put all those cannibalized leeches in the same maze, and they’ve solved it within mere *minutes*. They did this because someway, somehow, they’re able to access the memories of their blended and consumed brethren. We have no idea how this happens or what evolutionary advantage this provides them. But I can tell you this. They’ve made me extraordinarily rich. **1. What I do.** In my sprawling, lavishly decorated, New York City penthouse apartment, I keep one dark room locked at all times. Inside are jars upon jars, stacked up to the walls, of these leeches. When I’m called out to a job, I pluck one out, pop it into a lithe glass vial, and head to the Mortuary. I park my beetle-shell black Benz around the block and sneak around to the back door. This is the only time you won’t see me dressed to impress, don’t want to arouse suspicion after all. Inside I’ll find my client’s dearly departed sprawled out on an unflattering aluminum slab spotlit by a ghastly array of fluorescents. My aide Alex stands beside the body, performing a blood draw, or if it’s been sitting for a while, a liver biopsy. I’ll leave the leech to his lunch while Alex and I have a cigarette. Alex is young and wiry, with thin lips that twist into a mischievous smile when our conversations inevitably take a turn for the macabre. He’s wearing his usual thick black rubber apron, with gloves to match. I don’t know if it’s fumes of the embalming liquid eating away at his brain‘s social filter, but these conversations so quickly go off the rails, and soon we’re discussing all of the “frogs” he sees wheeled through here week in and week out. Dissections, infections, and gas-filled offal that flatulate post mortem. All of it gives him a sick thrill. I’m sure as well that I’m the only person in his life he can talk to about this. I’m not even sure that he has anyone he talks to about anything. Who knows how these people get so twisted up, all I do know is that he can keep a secret. We return to the leech, and I liquidize it, Alex then takes a blood draw from me, and infuses my blood with the grey paste, which is then transfused back into me. It’s not pretty or pleasant but it’s profitable. Memories trickle into my conscious about halfway through the transfusion. Smells come through quickest. The scent of soaps, colognes, and food. I breathe deep, and in my mind's eye I’m at a dinner table, or a bar bathroom, I’m somewhere new, looking around the world from behind the eyes of a freshly passed person. These images flitter through unfiltered, and once they’ve settled, I can start to apply my typical deductive process. Usually, it’s quite simple. I bring to mind the feeling of terror and see where my borrowed memories take me. With one recent recall, I saw my husband standing over me with rage blazing in his eyes and bloody fists. He lunges towards me and grabs my throat. My face feels red hot and I’m clamoring for breath, my eyes are bulging out, and my long nails are tearing at his wrists and chipping. I pull myself away from the memory. I dab my eyes, drying away the very last of her tears. I know the bastard’s name and address, as well as his face, and pretty much everything about him. I look back at the woman on the slab. She’s pretty in a fragile way. Thick brown curls that refuse to settle flat against the table. Her face is pale now with red tendrils of broken blood vessels around her eyes and nose. But if I concentrate, I can see her alive in her bathroom mirror. Beautifully made up, deep blue eyes made bolder by mascara, and perfect pursed rose petal lips. I give Alex his usual cut, $1,500, and then head to my appointment with the family. Let me tell you now that I do not work with formalized law enforcement, and what I do at every level is felonious and ethically inappropriate. I market myself as a forensic medium (Stephen the All-Seeing), because any detective in their right mind that could do what I do would be bound by every manner of miserable moral code to work themselves to death, or divulge their methods. I enter the family homes dressed in garb befitting my mystic profession, usually a dark head wrap, and a gold patterned silk robe with gaping cuffs. Then I start the show. Maybe I’ll pretend to conjure, perhaps we’ll do a seance, I’ve even used a Ouija board on mornings when I’m too hungover to sell it. I’ll give them a hint to the truth. “I see trouble in the home”, “I see the anger in his eyes”, “I can’t breathe”. I then tell them that the spirit is at peace. Maybe I’ll throw in some personal details from the memories to really hit it home with them “Mom, don’t worry about me, I’m at peace, I love you. I’ve gotta go now, Grandpa and I are playing Chinese Checkers on the porch, we’ll see you later.” They cry, they thank me, they pay me $15,000 for my trouble. And I drop a hunk of ribeye into the leech jar. Win-Win-Win. **2. What have I done?** It’s the morning of April 16th, 1982, and I’m hanging out my window having a cigarette and half-listening to the news in the other room. I’ve let my hair grow out. It’s become a valuable prop for me now. When I focus I subconsciously brush it out of my face, and it makes me look very thoughtful, considerate even. From the living room, I hear the crescendo of news graphics. “MURDER IN MANHATTAN”, New York State senator David O’Malley has been found dead in his study, shot in the back. I ash my cigarette and turn to the TV. This could be an extraordinarily lucrative opportunity. The phone rings and Alex is on the other end, “Good Morning, Stephen, I assume you’ve heard the good news?” His voice is rich with the typical sense of sardonic delusion. But it was indeed good news and my mind was suddenly swimming in the cashout this gig could get me. My profession and track record were well known amongst the well-heeled bereaved, so there was a good chance my name would get passed along. I’d charge my usual rate of course, but leaching from important people gives me access to all sorts of valuable information. It was around noon the next day when I got the call, much sooner than I expected. It was his wife. Even in the depths of her grief, her voice lilted and curved in the most beautiful stately way. She sounds young, maybe in her mid-thirties, there could be a book deal in her future, and, I’m sure, a new man after a year or so. “Now, I’m not usually the type to buy into this *woo woo* business, but you have to understand my husband's death… Well, I think I know who killed him.” “You do?” I asked ever so innocently. “Yes, but I have to be sure before I go to the police. My husband surrounded himself with powerful men you know,” she paused for a moment, “This conversation is confidential, isn't it?” “Completely.” He was killed by a high powered pimp she thought. A man named Oliver Morrow. A financier socialite whose reputation as a procurer of female company for the rich and powerful was an open secret in the inner circles of city government. She had recently harbored suspicions that her husband's dealings with him had sordid connotations, as he became a near-constant presence at every fundraising event/dinner they held since they were introduced earlier in the year. My mouth was practically watering, an inside look at the seedy dealings of the political inner circle. If I wanted to open up a side business in blackmail I might have a wealth of clientele soon available to me. Her request was simple, validation of her conspiratorial theory, I gave her my usual “We’ll see what comes through”, because after all, if any delectable details were uncovered, you can be sure that I’d only pass along the scraps. I gathered a few large leeches and set off in the usual way. The senator's body was large and bloated. What was once a strong clean shaved jawline in his youth had slumped with age into a bedraggled jowl that bordered on the amphibious. So unfair what time does to people, but at least it treats us all equally. The transfusion began, and after a few minutes I was hit with a strong smell of cigars, then the taste of cognac. I feel empowered I must say, I almost wanted to stop just to bark at Alex for no reason at all. He had a temper, the swell of his anger buzzed through me. This wasn’t a man who’d be easily scared, so I followed those feelings of self-satisfaction. I was with Oliver now, after a fundraising dinner, we were sitting together by ourselves in a conference room tucked away from the banquet hall, my hand was on his lap. Again I see myself with him, we’re in my study this time. We’re kissing, and I feel his muscular hands moving over my back. This has taken quite the turn I must admit. I take a moment to collect myself. An unexpected vice, but not an unusual one I suppose. I feel a wave of rage crash over me again. I sit back in my chair, close my eyes and follow it deeper. I’ve got Oliver by the throat and I throw him to the ground. I tell him I’ll ruin him, turn the operation inside out, I turn around to hide the tears in my eyes. I hear a gunshot and stagger, I don’t feel pain, only intense pressure, and terrible chill. What happened? Hang on… I do feel there's fear here. I’m terrified now. My gut drops and I lose the ground from under me. I’m alone in a white room somewhere far away, there are diagrams of the body written in Spanish on the walls. A man in a lab coat says in a detached voice that I’ve tested positive. My eyes go white with rage. My insides are burning. I reel myself out of the recall and tear out the IV. Alex looks at me alarmed. I leap from the chair and brace myself against the examination table. Blood bellows from my arm and slides down to my wrist in thin spurting crimson ribbons. I know it’s all over now. I’ve lost at my own sick game.


As Gill admired herself proudly sporting her Queen of the South shirt in the mirror , she turned left and right , approved of her own curvature and decided to finish dressing. Her stomach curvature looked particularly strong in the football shirt , not slim , curvaceous but not overly , and she was voluptuous which diminished its proportion. She worried a little about what she would look like pregnant and by her own admission did as little exercise as she could get away with. It wasn't laziness but pure exercise and athleticism really wasn't in her DNA. Dancing , parties , cycle and hiking holidays , beach fun , mountains , there had to be more , an element of the intrepid , and honestly , rich Scottish food to an English black girl was a bugger to resist. Sausage rolls , pies , soups , square sausage and even the maligned but much celebrated haggis were cultural icons and consumed with gusto and frequency. Morning sickness wasn't her issue today though , as her love and lifelong Queens fan , Gary , appeared from the bedroom , dressed in a very complete attire - leather boots , blue jeans , blue Queens shirt , blue and white Queens scarf , blue and white woolly hat , but with a decidedly green hue around the gills. 'Oh , babe, are you alright , you don't look 100%. 'Big game , love , derby and all that,' he mumbled , as he pulled on his blue hoodie and quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'll be fine once I eat'. She knew there was something else , he'd been a bit subdued lately , it felt like more. She'd catch him pacing up and down in the bedroom and he'd shrug and head out with his speed racer.  As they left the flat , she linked her arm in her sullen suitor's and strode along Buccleuch Street towards the baker's. The gentle tailwind was ushering them towards the old football ground , when around the corner Eddie 'Egg' Mullen (Gary's best friend and swaggering officionado on all things Dumfries from a local male perspective) turned , opened his arms widely and bellowed 'Gazza! Gazzarotti! Gazmatazz , my man , how're you on this fine Dumfers day? And , you Gill , can you smell the fear? Can you feel the trembling arses of Ayr United? Are you ready to bathe in the tears of the vanquished!' he yelled , more to the two white shirted opponents across the road who replied in kind with simultaneously flipped middle fingers. 'Calm down , Egg , we're not even at the ground yet.' And from Gill ,'We're fine Egg ,thanks' 'Just warming up for the big one. Did you know , Ayr play in white coz its the colour of surrender? C'mon let stop at Caven's on the way , my shout!' 'Oh , Gary's feeling........' '...Fine,' Gary interrupted , 'sounds good,' he added as Egg threw his arm around his friend's shoulder and the three crossed the road to the local pub. Egg held three fingers up to the local barman ,'Three pints of Solway , please , mate' and they stood in the noisy packed bar , as it always was on match day. Gill excused herself and headed to the ladies bathroom. Something wasn't right , Gary too subdued , Egg more vivacious and excited than normal. She knew before moving here the area had a bit of a drug reputation but put it down to harsh stereotyping. Egg was always , well , egging Gary on to go out , do normal laddish things , head to Ireland and Glasgow or Edinburgh for boys weekends , but she just took it to be normal healthy steam release. As she left the bathroom and fronted the bar , Egg handed her the pint and she noticed his was half full already and Gary was on to his second drink. 'Thirsty were we , boys?'

'Bit of Dutch courage , Gill , for the battle ahead,' said Egg as he unconsciously flicked the side of his nose twice with an index finger. Gill was mildly alarmed by this. The TV was replaying Queens cup triumphs in the previous rounds and , typically , Ed Sheeran was gaily crooning in the background about an English man and a Galway girl as amber beer flowed and the sun glinted in through the gloom of the pub like heaven's own fingers. 'Back in a minute,' Gary said as she turned her gaze from the TV and both Gary and Egg were heading off to the gents bathroom. Together. Gill nervously looked at the clock , thinking they'd need to head to the ground shortly. But , again her thoughts returned - they went to the bathroom.Together. Guys going to the bathroom together wasn't normal social convention and she doubted he'd suddenly fallen head over heels for his best mate and was ready to launch out of the closet. But it was Scottish League Cup day and she really didn't want to spoil it. The guys returned , bantering and jostling in their opinions now , Gary's gloom seemed to have lifted , a placid smile crossing his face. Again , Egg flicked his nose and said ,' My makeup's good , should we head up now?' And with that they walked the short way along Buccleuch Street , across the Buccleuch Bridge and turned right along Terregles Street to the ground , Egg and Gary now swaggering along again and singing Queens of the South chants. As they made their way into the ground Gary was patting his pockets for the tickets but kept his left hand in his hoodie pocket as he did so. Again , Gill felt a twinge of anxiety at the possibility of him hiding anything from her but there's a time and a place for an explanation so she turned her attention to the teams now running on to the field. An intense battle for possession ensued , Queens strung some nice passing together down the Ayr United flanks but the final cross was either too long for the striker or intercepted by some tenacious defence from Ayr's full backs. Queens rained the Ayr goal with corners. Three shots and two headers had been swallowed by the opposition goalkeeper before half time. Straight into the second half and Henderson , Queens main striker , had slid in to reach a cross low cross. As the ball deflected off his foot past the goalkeeper it hit the outside of the post and rolled out of play. Gill , Gary and Egg's faces puffed out as one. The mood was resolute but optimistic as Ayr's goalkeeper launched another 70 metre goal kick into the Queens penalty box. As the Queens defender jumped in the air , he headed the ball clear and collided with the Ayr striker who fell to the ground like a car had run over him , rolling around in enhanced agony. Penalty! The referees' whistle blared as the crowd hurled a tidal wave of objections and abuse , 'Offside' , "Fifty-fifty challenge , ref' and ' Didn't touch him ref' were some of the more civilised retorts. Gill and Gary and were now clasping hands together squeezing tightly as Egg gripped each on opposite shoulders , all six eyes fixed on the now fully recovered enemy striker. He stood , hands on hips , looked at the referee to start his run up , nodded at the ref and charged towards the ball. As he pulled back his right leg and rifled through the ball it rocketed off to the right hand side as the goal keeper outstretched. The crowd let out a stuttered 'Oooooooooo-oooooh!' as it deflected off his hand and ricocheted hard off the front of the right hand post and into the field of play at the right edge of the penalty box. Egg let out a ,'Go , son. GO ON , SON!" as Henderson turned and charged upfield , kicking the ball ahead of him twenty feet at a time as he plundered the acres of empty space left on the field. White shirts charged after him in the distance and one defender was coming in diagonally from the other side of the field as the big striker turned diagonally to charge in on goal , both players zeroing in on the middle of the Ayr penalty box. Big Henderson was now on the edge of the box , the defender merely five metres away as he lined up the ball with his right foot. Gill turned to see Gary was no longer standing but kneeling on the ground as she cried ,'Oh, my fucking God , Gary!' **********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************    When Gary rolled out of bed that day aching , he consoled himself knowing if he could get through the game , everything would be fine. The game , eh? Staunch as he was , the derby     had a distant feel to it as he'd arranged to 'accidentally' bump into Egg later and head off to the game. Just like any other Saturday, he thought as he smiled at the floor. His head         thumped and nausea reminded why some experiences in life were rare occurrences. If he had to do this every week , it'd kill him. This was like a hundred derbies.    He looked up and saw the light of his life , dancing and swaying as she sang into a hair dryer. He always found her dark skin irresistible against her       white underwear as he         peered along the hallway through the gap in the bathroom door. 'She played the fiddle in an Eng-lish band , And fell in love with a Scot-tish man, Kissed him on      the neck and then I    took him by the hand , Said ,'Baby , I just want to dance'.'    He smiled at her bastardised version as he closed the bedroom door , dressed and sat on the bed as he dialled Egg. The call went to voicemail as Gary said 'Hey , mate. Just checking    your all set and bringing you know what along. Fuck , I can't sleep. Head's cactus. Anyway , catch you on the way , mate , we'll be heading out soon.'    He exhaled , stood slowly and placed a fist in front on his mouth as his guts roiled audibly. He swallowed and his cheeks deflated as he left the room and she was already standing in     the hallway , resplendent bronze on blue.    'Oh , babe , are you all right , you don't look 100%'    He mumbled an insincere , flippant reply , grateful of the concern but feeling hyperconscious that he really , really , didn't want to disappoint her. He'd done his best , he knew that , but     it still felt like his nerves had eaten through to his spine all week. She'd moved from Carlisle , settled in his town , followed his football club and even had a pretty solid grasp of the        offside rule. Hiding anything from her was horrible but Egg had always been there for him and this is how it had to go down. It just really did not feel fine , anything but.    They met Egg down the street as Gary tried to make it look coincidental and not give anything away even though he noticed Gill's frown when he agreed to going to Cavens before the     game. She went to the bathroom as he chugged down a pint faster than was medically advisable , swallowed hard and asked Egg , 'Have you got it?'

   Egg swallowed and placed his pint on the edge of the bar. 'Course , mate. Calm down , you're acting like a virgin at the school disco. Told you , you'll be fine. Another pint , when you       get a sec , mate' he quipped to the bartender.    Gill returned from the bathroom , as Gary was mid gulp and Egg handed her drink over. 'Thirsty were we , boys,' she said with an edge to her voice and Gary looked nervously over to       his friend, now explaining it was preparation for the game as she raised her dark eyebrows in disapproval and looked over the bar lounge , taking in the setting. The sunny glow , the      merriment and the busy excited chatter , and he thought he had never seen such beauty.

  'Back in a minute,' he said as Egg accompanied him to the bathroom. Her eyes followed him and he couldn't maintain his gaze on her. Inside the bathroom he turned and

  Egg's fist was already held out as he dropped the small package into Gary's hand which he quickly stuffed into his pocket and puffed his cheeks out , blowing hard. Egg grasped his       shoulder ,and said, 'You'll be fine' with a cheeky wink and walked back towards the bar.   As the two appeared back in the bar , they began giving each other predictions. '2-0' said the brazen Egg to which he replied '2-1' and shrugged off a derisory snort of 'Poof' from his      friend at his modest prediction.

  'My makeup's good , should we head up now?' Egg said and they left together. Gary felt a glow and sense of relief now , Egg had come through and his pain would soon be over. As this    feeling waved over him he began to chant alongside Egg all the way to the ground. He noticed Gill lagged behind slightly , a little bit distant , even sad , and he briefly wondered if he was   doing the right thing.   He rummaged for the match tickets careful to keep the merchandise clutched firmly in his left hand and they marched through to the stands as the teams strode out onto the field. The first half whizzed by in a blizzard of high tempo intent , hard work and no goals. Queens dominated without making it count where it mattered most. As the second half wore on it began to feel like the breakthrough would never come and as the ball sailed past the crowd into the Queens penalty box , and then the challenge went in , Gary's heart plummetted and he began to feel like time was running out in more ways than one.  He squeezed Gill's hand tightly , thumping temple , eyes closed , dry mouth , Egg's hand firmly anchored on his shoulder , and as the crowd gasps changed to hope and elation , he seized the moment. Sensing the time was right , Egg yelled , 'Go son. GO ON SON' encouraging Gary now as he knelt , took the small package from his pocket and opened it on his right palm. As Gill turned open-mouthed at whatever was happening onfield , she said , 'Oh my fucking God , Gary!' at the now prone figure , as Henderson pulled back his right leg and rifled the bridge of his foot straight through the middle of the ball , Gary levered open the package to reveal the 1/2 carat mounted diamond , as the defender arrived in vain scything the triumphant striker down , Gary said ,'Gill.........will you marry me?'. He heard nothing as Gill mouthed the word the crowd echoed seven thousand fold : 'YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!'


Olivia always somehow managed to get herself into tricky situations and this time was no different. Flash . The spotlights hit the stage and colors of blue and red danced back and forth around the room, the sweet yet spicy music filled the ears of the guests as Olivia and her partner Marcos danced across the floor. Olivia’s crimson dress caught the eye of the judges as Marcos spun her body into their final pose. It was halfway through the second round of the Spain Salsa finals circa 1952, and according to the leaderboard they were still stuck in second place. Olivia’s smile dropped and they walked off the floor knowing that something huge would have to happen in the next round to push them on top. “I just hope our third routine will be enough for those judges Marcos or else I have no idea what we are going to do,” she ranted as she locked eyes with her fiercest rival, the one who’s in first place, Nina and her partner Tom. Olivia shot her a nasty look and kept walking. They had the most classic rivalry story, Olivia and Nina used to be best childhood friends up until Olivia caught Nina kissing her boyfriend and they never spoke again. Now they have a deep hatred for each other, and both have the same dream of winning this competition.  Olivia sat down at her vanity in the dressing room and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She tried hard not to become angry, but she could not help it. Nina had taken so much away from her and this was originally only Olivia’s dream. Ever since she was a young girl her grandma would take her to the small salsa competitions around their town and she always loved the music, the dresses, and the seductive yet classy dancing. It was pure art and a deep love and passion of Olivia’s. She knew Nina only began dancing to get on her nerves. The real reason she was so angry did not actually come from anger but sadness, she had worked so hard and still was not good enough. Small tears began to form in her eyes, and she rushed to the bathroom to grab a tissue as to not ruin her makeup. She blotted around her eyes, dusted off her beautiful dress and walked back into the dressing room. As she walked something caught her eye, a bright sign that read

NINA   propped against a vanity, and right below it a pair of shiny silver ballroom heels, specifically made for salsa dancing. Olivia looked around and noticed she was completely alone in the room; and suddenly all that rage and hatred built up inside her and she knew she shouldn’t, but she grabbed those heels and ran back into the bathroom.

Ah man I have to think quick she could come back and get them any second, Olivia thought and she was right because at that moment Nina began walking back to the dressing room to grab her shoes. Okay, okay what could destroy these, uh water, or I could cut them, or I could just hide them, Olivia paced around the bathroom wondering what her next move should be. If she destroyed those shoes, Nina would have to forfeit meaning Olivia and Marcos would become the champions.

Maybe I should not even do this I mean it is technically cheating, I could be suspended, but if I do, I could win... No, no if I am winning, I want it to be real I need to get these back before she notices. Just then Nina opened the bathroom door and saw her shoes in the hand of her old friend Olivia. “Are you kidding me, what are you doing with my shoes,” Nina yelled. Olivia froze with a scared expression on her face, “Um, uh, um I have these because, um, because I saw a girl take them from your vanity and run in here and I um got them back for you.”  Nina hesitated but said, “Now why would you do that, I mean come on I know you hate me.” “Well because if I am going to beat you, I want to do it fairly so that we will always know who the real winner is.” Wow that was good thinking, oh my god close one, Olivia thought. “Hm, well fine okay give them back to me now please,” Nina reached out her hand and Olivia plopped the shoes into it, “Thank you Olivia this was truly kind of you.” Olivia did not feel she owed her a ‘you’re welcome’ as she did not actually do anything nice, so she just smiled and walked back into the dressing room. First call for Round Three contestants, First call for Olivia and Marcos, Nina and Tom, Robert and Stephanie, and Elijah and Rayne. The speaker sounded with announcers’ voice. Olivia touched up her makeup and met Marcos outside the room. “You okay,” Marcos asked her as they headed to the ballroom. “Yes, just really hoping we win,” she replied. Her palms started to become sweaty as the first couple began their performance, she knew only Nina and Tom could beat her, but she still was nervous. By the end of the second couples routine Marcos had begun talking to Olivia to try and calm her nerves, “Olivia you know how much you deserve this, this is your dream, you are an extraordinary dancer and it is going to be amazing.” Marcos and Olivia take the stage. Olivia took deep breaths and walked out to the center stage with Marcos’ hand in hers. She looked around at all the faces and smiled, as it was showtime. Their song started and it was as if Olivia had never done anything else, she danced so effortlessly and beautifully. The colorful lights bounced around the room, while the song played over the speakers. Her body moved through the moves while her face beamed with her smile. She locked eyes with Marcos halfway through and knew this was right. She then realized it didn’t even matter if they won, because this was her passion that she loved so dearly. Marcos spun her around and they hit their ending pose beaming with pride. Olivia reached over and hugged Marcos and whispered in his ear, “We did it! We were amazing!” He smiled and they ran off the stage waving around to the cheering audience. Next up we have Nina and Tom, the announcer spoke. Olivia stood one with the audience as she watched her competition. All the anger and hate she felt earlier weirdly was absent at this time. She knew deep down her performance was her absolute best, and she loved it. So as the music played, Nina’s bright teal dress shinned in the spotlights, Olivia let out a small smile. I mean, after all they were killing it, all up until Nina caught her shoe on the floor and tripped face first into her partner and they both tumbled to the ground. And with that their routine was over, Nina was humiliated and ran out of the ballroom. The room was dead silent until the announcer finally spoke, “ The judges will now begin tallying the finally scores, and we will have our winner shortly.” Marcos turned a gave Olivia a little sarcastic wink, which made her smile, and put her nerves at ease for a second. “May the remaining contestants come up to the stage now please,” sounded the microphone. Olivia and Marcos along with the two other couples walked out onto the dance floor and awaited the results. Deep breaths overtook Olivia as Marcos squeezed her hand. And the winner of the 1952 Salsa Finals is… Olivia and Marcos!!!!!!!!! Olivia screamed with excitement, she did it her dreams, finally came true. She jumped up and hugged Marcos, the announcer handed them their trophy and the biggest smiles crossed both of their faces. And on this night in the hot summer of 1952 Olivia finally became her dream come true. Nina on the other hand was crying of embarrassment in the bathroom.


Date: y99, October 10th “Humanity has twenty-four left hours to leave planet Earth. If you are not within a fifty mile radius of one of the drop ships, our best suggestion is to take shelter in a bunker. We will have no more worldwide broadcasts after this message.” I knew you heard it; your parents heard it too. I shouldn’t have been so naïve to think you wouldn’t be gone. Regardless, I came looking for you anyways. You weren’t at your house. I drove there, kicked down the door since you always left it locked, and only found the remains of someone running away. Wait! There’s Chico! Your parents made you leave him? You loved your little Mexican Chihuahua! Also, I put any food you left into my car. I hope you didn’t mind. I checked my car clock. 12:00pm. Only twelve more hours were left. I have to drive quickly. 23:55. I sped toward the beach and jumped out of my car. I had Chico in my hands. I could see you in the boat, waiting for me. Your eyes were puffed up from crying so badly. I was too late. Your boat started moving. I don’t know if you could hear me scream how I loved you, but even I could feel the heat of the solar flares on my back. The sky was bright yellow behind me. However, the only reason I’m writing this, is because I got pushed under water. Date: y100, January 2nd My Love, it’s been three months, and I am alive, and not the only one. I don’t have much time to tell you anything. The rest of humanity survived, though. But I know y’all aren’t coming back. You’re out in space, and God knows where in space, but I’m sure it’s far far away from where I am. Regardless, I am coming for you, and when I find you, I’ll get down on one knee. I promise. When I was woken up, there were bodies all on the beach. They had been charcoaled by the flares. I don’t know what happened to me. The water must have boiled, but here I am. Your dog is okay too. I don’t know what happened. Maybe our guardian angel is watching over us. Haha, even when the world has ended I’m still cracking jokes. I’ll keep you updated. Date: y100, Nov 24th I don’t know how much longer, but I saw the ship in a telescope. Are you still orbiting? Maybe you can see me? No, I doubt it. I can’t help but hope you stopped the pilot from driving away. But, I also know those spaceships can only make it so far. Maybe to the next solar system, maybe one after that. But maybe you haven’t given up so soon. If so, then I won’t give up either. Date: y101, Jan 1st Happy new year, my angel. I made it to the rocket! I know you’re probably worried because I’ve been writing less and less, but don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about you. As I’ve been walking, I’ve noticed something strange. The solar flare burns don’t look like what I expected. They’re not as charred as, well, a five thousand degree star would scorch the earth. Maybe I’m crazy, but to only save 600,000 people? The sun wasn’t supposed to supernova for another eight million years. Why was it so sudden? Date: y101, May 13th As if fate was telling me it was meant to be, my twenty second birthday is tomorrow. Chico and I are ready to see you. I’m sorry I haven’t written more, but I hope you find this journal. I planned on building a rocket to escape this hell, but I have news. It wasn’t sun flares. I don’t know what the hell happened, but I’m at the NASA HQ. Baby, it’s like nothing ever happened. There’s green everywhere, and in some places, where there were bodies on the ground, they were moved. I’m beginning to suspect my theory was correct. Something is trying to control the population. But to 600,000? They want to control us, I can just feel it. I’m leaving Chico here on Earth. He’s locked up in a Kroger, with as much food that he could dream of. I also left his favorite toy with him too. I’ll miss him, but we can come back for him. I know you’ll be happy. Regardless, I’m marrying you once this rocket lifts off and I find your ship. I’m thankful I got my rocket engineering degree at such a young age, or else this trip would have been in vain. If this is the last entry you see…well, you know the rest. Just remember me, as I always remembered you.


TW: abuse, gore. The soft glide, the mellifluous grey floss puncturing material of a half embroidered flower. A prick of sharpness diving into tight threads, straining to pass, then breaking through. The journey of the thread, drawn away from the subject in a long hiss until it doubles back to create a quiet symphony. It was the only note that Helena would appease.

   She never used to be so solitary. Her house was once filled with artifacts, parties, and guests that would make Queen Victoria blush. Extravagance filled the library and parlor, painted in Scheele’s green. The drawing-room was wrapped in a deep burgundy of textured wallpaper, keeping all the noise inside as it ricocheted from room to room, echoing down the halls. She would laugh and gleam, misguided, young, and in love. He was a boisterous man, full of life and wealth. Lucky , she thought, lucky that he chose me .    Another prick, another pull, creating a dainty flower of the same grey shade. 		Helena’s mind reeled.

Oh, Joshua .

Once their lives were vibrant, colossal. Now it remained insipid and ashen in her mouth. It was never sunny anymore, any golden rays, vanished upon the water's edge. No shine to caress the pellucid windows of this old, silent house. Only space and silence, for which she was endlessly grateful.

Joshua was a kind man, brimming with affection toward his bride. All Helena had to do was merely suggest and he would reward her with every desire. They spent long summer days, walking beside the beach, romanticizing the rest of their lives together. They planned parties, elaborate dinners, family gatherings, and a family of their own one day. The entertainment ensued but Helena never became the mother Joshua always yearned for her to be. Nor he, the father. Their conversations never stopped, only shifted from light to a dull and lifeless pale yellow. Helena threaded another colorless floss on her needle.

Money began to attempt to fill the void that a child might have. The couple poured every decadence into masquerade balls, elaborate dinner parties, and their own home by the sea. The only thing Helena requested to keep was her Scheele’s green parlor. Conversations with Joshua became trenchant. The incessant deblaterating about politics, money and the lack of family became nauseating. At first, Helena would try to be patient with her passionate and deafening husband, occasionally nodding to his excitement of ideas. Sometimes she would offer a polite and weak smile at his passions until she was exhausted by the folly of it. Joshua became broken, pieces of him strewn about in the house. Parties became increasingly smaller as money ran dry. He wrapped the past around his palms like a life raft, inviting some neighbors from time to time for tea and brandy. Those neighbors talked . They spoke of hysterics, compared notes about their wives. Wives spoke to their servants and gossip was rife in their home. It became unendurable.

“Helena could not give her husband a child and now, she won’t give him the small courtesy of a word!”

“Oh, how melancholic she is! Her husband fauns at her every request. How could she be so ungrateful?” Helena writhed. Her isolation grew and she took up textiles. She began with embroidery as a way to help ease her mind. She tried her hand at knitting and crocheting. Sometimes she sewed but she loved the art of embroidery the most, feeling safe with thick skeins and floss in her hands and her Scheele's green on the walls. Vibrant color on the edge of mint and dandelion. A green that was alive, demanding to be seen. Although the paint was chipping, Helena refused to paint over it. She never minded, it was part of a pact she made with the ocean long ago when she picked this place for her own. She often left the windows open, letting the sounds leave so that they were never stuck inside to harm her.

She struggled to pull another thread through, almost ripping the weathered material as it strained against the floss as it pulled. A grunt followed by a pregnant pause before she continued. Her flowers were truly taking shape.

After years of silence, Joshua decided a change was needed. He ordered a carriage and asked that Helena purchase all the skeins and floss she desired. Her face stoic, she complied. Her stomach was already bubbling with anticipation to get back to her quiet abode. She loathed being in public with those… prattlers. Several hours proved useful when Helena found colors that appeased her tastes. A sooty grey, with silvery flecks that caught one's eye if you turned it ever so slightly against the light, a red, deeper than blood, and an amber. She clutched them like a newborn babe.

When the carriage arrived, Helena felt her stomach drop and boiling heat rise up around her collar and neck. Her arms stiffened, the floss digging into her palms as she stepped into her favorite room. Her green, her comfort, her solace were peeled away. Gone. Left in its place was a mummers brown, textured and sluggish. Helena could barely stand, her knees bent slightly, her supplies strewn on the hardwood floor. A sound that hasn’t been released from Helena in a decade fell from parted lips, skewed and twisted in horror and rage as Joshua- sweet, maudlin Joshua- approached his adored wife.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

Helena’s throat strained and pulsed as it released another sharp cry, an animal being tortured. She lept at him, contorting and scratching until it was all black and the sounds stopped jouncing off the walls.

Helena pulled the last bit of stitching through and tied off the end. She stood back, drinking in her masterpiece as she grinned. For the first time in a decade, her smile traveled up from her shoulders, up to her eyes, crinkling her nose in childlike glee. Joshua sat, struggling through his bonds, covered in blood. Delicate embroidery of dandelions and lambs ear upon the lines of his mouth, woven shut. His face was wet with blood and tears as he strained to speak, muffled by filagree. His tongue writhed wildly at his closed lips, his teeth, and upon the roof of his mouth. His throat worked hard to scream but it was guttural and choked. He already knew his attempts were futile. As he looked upon his wife of twelve years, her smile splayed upon her pale and withered face as two large knitting needles jutted out from each ear, blood pooling where her corset met her breasts. The taste in her mouth matched her husband’s, now. Ashen. Helena cachinnated, hugging herself, wild with the sound of silence.

Lucky, she thought. Lucky that he chose me.


January 19, 2017: “Mr. Trump, please have a seat.” A shadowy figure points to a chair nearby in a small dark room. Donald Trump, about to be inaugurated, was required to go over classified information. Trump has a seat and looks around. “What’s with the lights?” “Mr. Trump.” Another shadowy figure emerges from a corner in the room, and produces a file folder. Trump grabs it, opens it, and flips through. “Do we have a video on this?” The two figures glance at each other. One speaks; “Mr. Trump. I’m about to disclose classified and somewhat shocking information. We understand your agreements with the Russians, so we’re not afraid of leaks.” Trump tilts his head, “The Russians love me!” He turns to the other figure. “They’re good people.” “Mr. Trump, UAP’s, or as you may know them as, UFO’s, are real. They are piloted by inter-dimensional beings, but we have no other information. We have a division of the Airforce solely responsible for collecting and observing all activities of UAP’s.” “Aliens, of course. I already knew that. Remember, the Russians like me.” Trump smirks. “Along with that is technology found from a UAP dug up in an archaeological dig. We’ve been pretty successful with this technology, but we cannot let other nations obtain and leverage it.” Trump shows off a confused look. “Why can’t we all be friends? Russians are good people too.” “But Mr. Trump, there is more - some of these archaeological digs have confirmed an earlier advanced civilization existed on Earth, and were quite large - 7-12 feet.” “And they aren’t here today are they? They must have not been that smart if they had to be that tall. How would they have time to think?” The figures look at each other confused. “Mr. Trump, our ancestors no longer exist due to an extermination stipulation brought on by their ancestors -” The figure’s speech is cut-off by his counterpart figure, signaling by waving his hand to cut it short. “Mr. Trump we have a plan that needs to be put in place immediately, which is why we had you run as a Republican. Based on what Mr….Smith, was trying to say, there’s an age old tradition that needs to be held in place in order for humans to keep their place here on Earth.” “I clap after every meal.” Mr. Trump says seriously. “Mr. Trump, there are way too many people on this planet, and we need to thin the herd. H1N1 wasn’t successful because of the democratically run White House, but this time we’ll be able to exceed the 1918 attempt.” The figure continues. “A virus will be released in the Fall of 2019. This will ensure a decrease in population growth around the world, but also decrease medicaid and social security spending locally.” The other figure steps forward, “But the real reason is to appease the UAP’s. When they want something, they tend to abduct people. And if we want to be safe from uncontrollable disasters, like an asteroid or a world-wide flood, we need to do what is asked of us.” “Did you get this from Twitter? If so, I already knew this probably.” Trump nods, sticking out his bottom lip. “Um, no. The Emerald Tablets, it’s Sumerian.” “I think Sumerian might be a name of a hotel I own.” Trump looks back at the other figure, “I own many hotels. Many fine, luxurious hotels.” “Well….Mr. Trump, just be aware you will be vaccinated sometime after we release the Virus.” “I don’t need a vaccine, my health is 100% satisfactory. Just like this cheeseburger is satisfying.” Trump swallows a whole cheeseburger.


I was seven. I remember the blue sky and the soft snowflakes that sifted slowly, seemingly, from the heavens. “Look both ways, Anna” I heard my mother say. “Anna, look both ways“ I barely heard her voice, slowly rising. I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue to greet a lonely snowflake. “Anna!” I jumped, startled by the sudden exclamation and bit my tongue. The taste of blood flooding my senses. ”Sorry, mom” I looked to my left then to my right. “All clear“ I said smoothly while smiling at my mother who couldn’t possible frown any deeper. She sighed as we swiftly walked down the street. “Your father would be disappointed if he saw how distracted you have been lately, Anna” the words rolled off and over my head as my eyes drifted back to the sky. “I wish I were a snowflake“ I regretted muttering when I saw the stern look on my mother’s face. “ What did you say, Anna? You know I hate when you mutter and so does your father“ Snowflakes are free . I chose not to answer my mothers question while we arrived at our destination. My father‘s smart smile lit up the lobby as we walked in. I winced. I hate that smile. His eyes stared into my soul. A dare perhaps?

My lips stayed sealed, the way they always had. ...... ”Hi, Anna, you can call me Jenna” the strange woman said to me. “ I am a representative for the Humane Society’s Children‘s Protections Service. I understand that you are eight years old, now. Is that correct?“. Her eyes didn’t twinkle when she smiled and the bright red lipstick had stained her teeth. “ Your teeth are red” was all I said in reply. She scowled and looked in a handheld compact mirror she had pulled from her purse. “ I turned eight, 2 weeks ago” she nodded at my statement, apparently satisfied. “We also understand that you didn’t have the best relationship with your father. Could you explain why that is, Anna?“ our eyes met as I glanced over at her across the small bright pink table. “I hate the color pink“ I said, not bothering to answer her question. “Why is that?“ she apparently had given up asking the routine questions. Questions, questions, and more questions. I sighed. “My mother only ever bought me things that were pink“ I said as I stood and walked over to the child sized bed that lay in the corner. I crawled into the bed and drew the covers over myself. A minute passed before Jenna stood, sighing, and walked over to the door. After slowing leaving the room and shutting the door, I heard whispers. “ She seems mature for her age” Jenna .

“ That’s normal for kids that have lived through trauma, you know that“ A mans voice . “ I never get used to it, oh and will you have someone bring in a new table and bed set? She hates pink”. “Sure thing” .... ”Hey, kid” The man from the whispered conversation in the hallway.

”Hi” I managed, weakly. Tears blurring my vision. “My name is Tristan“. His smile seemed more sincere. Unless it was forced. Fake?

”Nod your head if the answer is yes and shake it if it is no, okay?“ I nodded. “Great! Your father is the ceo of Lance Corp. Right?” Another slow nod. ”A week ago, an employee of Lance Corp. reported something he had overheard from a conversation between your father and another employee. Do you know what it was they were discussing?” Hesitantly, I shook my head. Tristan stared into my eyes as if he was trying to decipher my soul. Apparently, he couldn’t . “ There was an accusation made that seems to have some truth to it. A rather, um, unfortunate claim. Did your father ever do anything that seemed abnormal, or wrong? You can be honest, honey”. Honey. Honey. That one word took me back to a year ago.

... ”It’s alright, honey“ A tear sliding down my cheek. The smell of sweat and blood. Blurred vision. “You’ll be alright. Right, honey?” A nod.

... ”I just don’t understand why we have to ask all these questions. Can’t we just ask her directly instead of avoiding it? Maybe then we’ll get some answers”. Do they know I can hear them?

”Tristan, my team and I were put on her case to defend and help her! She’s eight years old! We have a system that we use to protect her innocence”.

“ I know Jenna, I know”.

... “ Anna, did you know a man by the name Will Thompson? He worked for your father“. My eyes widened with fear and my mind went back to last year.

... ”Hey, kid. Do you like the snow? I saw you out there looking up at the sky and smiling” the man smiled, his eyes soft. I smiled back. He was younger than the rest of my dad‘s employees but he was definitely the nicest and my favorite.

“I haven’t seen you here before“ I simply stated.

“Oh, I’m new around here. Today’s my first day, actually. You are Lance’s daughter right? What’s your name?” He had a bright look in his eyes and an aura of youthful intelligence.

“My name is Anna”. I said shyly, awestruck. The man’s smile grew and he stuck his hand out for me to shake. ”My name is Will, Will Thompson“

... “Where are we going, dad?” I asked looking into my father’s kind brown eyes. “It’s April fools day, Anna, and me and the guys have a funny prank to play on the new guy, Will. It’ll be harmless. I promise ” I laughed with him, regardless of the fact I hadn’t been included in the planning of this “prank“.  We were driving in unfamiliar territory, yet I wasn’t worried. I remember how naive I had been. We pulled over on the side of the road and calmly got out of the car. “Follow me, honey“ dad said. So I did. there were train tracks up ahead and a few men I recognized as dad’s friends. I noticed Will talking to someone off in the distance. “Are you sure you all did this?” Will said. “Of course we did! And we never complained about it.” My father yelled to him. “We are gonna be on this side over here, Anna” I followed my dad across the train tracks, looking both ways. “What are we doing, dad” I said confused. Okay, honey. Will is going to jump across the tracks when we say “go“. We all did it so now it’s his turn“. “Okay“ I answered, convinced. Minutes passed slowly and the tracks begun to rumble. “Step back, Anna” I crept back slowly but paused when I heard “Go!” I looked up while Will jumped over the tracks, never in harms way. We laughed. Suddenly, I heard myself scream. I watched, in fear, while my father ran over to us and swiftly shoved Will backwards, into the trains path. Then, all I saw was darkness. ... ”She explained everything?” Jenna asked unconvinced. “There is just one thing that didn’t match the other statements“ Tristan explained slowly. “Well?” “Anna thinks her dad pushed Will into the train... who should tell her she pushed and killed Will Thompson?”. ... When I was 5, I had a friend named Ally, short for Allison. One day we were swimming in my pool when my mother called to us. “Anna, Alice, lunchtime!” “Coming, mom“ I yelled in reply. Ally beat me to the ladder and I couldn’t help but feel angry. My vision blurred and suddenly my hand was wrapped around her blond braid. She screamed in pain as she was torn from the ladder and fell back into the water. Part of me hoped she wouldn’t resurface but she did, coughing and crying. I climbed up the ladder as my mother ran over to us. “What’s the matter, Allison?” She asked my friend, kindly. I quickly replied and gave Ally a stern, almost evil, look. “ we were just playing mom, I promise“ I threatened Ally with my eyes as my mother looked to her for reassurance. Uncertain my mother said,“ okay, just remember girls, it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt“.


Logline: A young man has a summer romance with a much older woman who is in a dangerous marriage, it will be a summer of firsts. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ My name is Gerald Rice, in three months, I'm going to be 18 and off to college, what a wild three months it's going to be. I guess it all started when I got my first job, at Giuseppe's, a family Italian restaurant, known for their meatballs. They started me off with minimum wage, bussing tables. I didn't mind the job; it was a mindless task; I just needed the money. The first time I met Amber Watts, I didn't think anything special; I barely saw her. Amber was a waitress in the restaurant, much older than me; she was going to be 43, three days after my eighteenth birthday. I'd been working there for three weeks, the first time we were put on the schedule together. A closing shift, a closing shift is a shift that begins with a lot of employees and then ends with only a few, because staff can go home with fewer and fewer customers remaining. There are a lot of downtimes; you can get to know the people you're working with on the closing shift. Amber had a bubbly personality, an infectious laugh, and was fun to work with, especially at closing time. We would play little games, like, how many times will this guy send back the steak, will this baby have to be brought out to the car, and our personal favorite, how much of their dinner will these kids put on the floor? We were a good team, by our third shift together, we had all of our side duties done by the time the restaurant closed, this allowed us to count our tips and get out of there. It was also, on this shift, that we had our first moment. One of our duties at the end of the night was to combine ketchup bottles. Giuseppe still uses glass ketchup bottles, and one had broken in Amber's hand while she was trying to combine them. I immediately sprang into action, grabbing a cloth and applying pressure to the small cut on her the side of her hand. I could tell that Amber was a little embarrassed, but she said to me that I had a gentle touch, and we looked at each other in the eyes for an extended period. Neither of us wanted to look away, it was like a staring contest, except, there were emotions involved. I was beginning to develop feelings for Amber, and I believe she was starting to develop feelings for me. Right from the start, I had seen that Amber wears a wedding ring, but it never came up in conversation, and I was not assertive enough to ask myself. A couple of nights after the ketchup bottle incident, I caught Amber crying in a booth towards the back of the restaurant. Naturally, I sat down to see if I could comfort her, she was complaining about her husband, they had gotten into a fight before work, and he was sending her nasty text messages all night. I told her that she deserved better, she was a beautiful, smart, and funny woman, and that anyone who couldn't see that, didn't deserve her. Amber laughed, she said I was so wise for a young man, as we got up from the booth, she hugged me, the hug lasted a long time, I was never in a hug for that long before, but it felt good feeling her body pressed up against mine. A couple of nights after that, the restaurant remained busy all night, we didn't have a chance to do our side duties, which meant we would have to stay after the restaurant closed. It was a late one, and eventually, Amber's husband came down and was having a tantrum in the lobby. Amber went out, and he screamed at her. Finally, she came back to work in tears. I did everything I could to try to comfort her. Amber said I knew how to make her feel good. As we were bringing up takeout containers from the basement of Giuseppe's restaurant, she stopped me before we returned to the main restaurant floor, and she kissed me. On our next shift together, Amber asked me if I wanted to hang out after work today. Me, still living at home with my parents, asked her what she wanted to do. She said she wanted to have a little fun, and that she knew of a motel near the airport, where we could talk. After the shift was over, we got in my old Honda Civic and drove to the motel. We talked about everything under the sun for about an hour, and eventually, we started kissing. I had one girlfriend in high school, but we never went all the way, that night was my first time. From that point on, every night that we worked together, we would hang out after work, which was code for meet up at a motel, club, or bar and get it on. I didn't think much about her being married, the couple of encounters I had with her husband, he didn't seem like a good guy. We started to get riskier, one shift, she left me a note to meet her in the basement where the takeout containers were, we made love up against some styrofoam containers and soda cup lids. We enjoyed the danger, knowing that if anyone were to come down there, they would fire us on the spot. One shift we were supposed to work together, Amber didn't show up, and I was concerned. Since working together, she had not missed a single shift. I tried calling, texting, and social media, but Amber wouldn't respond. I asked our manager if she had called and said anything, and he told me he hadn't heard from her. Concerned for her safety, about halfway through my shift, I told our manager that I wasn't feeling well, and I left, looking to track Amber down. She told me where she lived, and that's the first place I went. I drove by three or four times; her car was in the driveway; I didn't know what to think. Eventually, Amber saw me doing laps on her street and came out to talk. She came out with a black eye; she said she couldn't speak the long, that she had to get back in the house, and that she would be showing up for her next shift. I was furious, I wanted to go in there and beat them up, but she wouldn't let me, she said he was a police officer and would try to ruin my life. The next night, we went to the motel again, we sat in bed, in a post-sex snuggle, and she told me that she was going to leave her husband. Amber admitted that he was the one that gave her the black eye because he suspected that she was cheating. She was cheating with me, but that didn't give him any right to give her a black eye. On our way back to Giuseppe's, in my Honda Civic, I found that a black truck was trailing us from behind. Amber was scared right away; that was her husband; we were caught. I went down several side streets, but he followed me every step of the way. I started to worry about my life. If this man was able to give his wife a black eye, what he would do to the guy who was sleeping with her. After trying to lose him to no avail, I knew that the police station was coming up on the right side of the road, Amber told me it wouldn't matter, he was a police officer, but, when I pulled in, his black truck went straight. Amber said he would be waiting for us when we got back to Giuseppe's and insisted that she take an Uber back to the restaurant and deal with it on her own. I told her that this day was coming, and I had to face it, but she wouldn't let me go. Amber got into the Uber, which would take her to the man who was going to kill her. I did what I was told; I went home. Later, I found out that Amber was all right, and she told her husband that she wanted a divorce. Amber told him that the love in their marriage was gone. Amber never worked in the restaurant again. I saw her a few times the rest of the summer. I never saw her again once I went to college. I loved Amber, I still do, and our time together is going to give me happiness for the rest of my life. Maybe, I was just an excuse to get out of that marriage, but perhaps it was more. Either way, I don't regret anything, in the end, I had a chance to spend time with a beautiful woman, and Amber got out of the torment she had to suffer in that marriage. Amber once said that we are supposed to meet each other. I like to believe that this is true and that everything in life has its meaning. Wherever she is, I hope she's happy, living the life that she wants to live.