Elsie and her new puppy, “Teddybear,” gazed at the first winter's snow falling like white cotton balls on the lighthouse. Her eyes widened, her breath slowed, the corners of her mouth turned up, and she felt a sense of wonder. Earlier, on the grey, drizzling morning, their trail guide had the horses saddled and the pack horses waiting for Elsie's family when they got to the corrals.

Smells of horses, hay, salty ocean air, and Douglas Firs blended into a fragrance that Elsie found pleasing. The river lapped at the shores and fir trees studded the sand dunes. Elsie's mother, Jeannie, saw that her husband, Joseph, and the three kids looked fresh-faced and eager, despite the long journey they had made. Today their new home at a lighthouse keeper’s house awaited. Anticipation wiped fatigue away. “The weather is doing what it usually does this time of the year. You’ll get used to it,” said Andy, the trail guide. “We can’t put off the ride because it is like this most of the winter.” It was 1898 on the central Oregon coast, at the village of Mystic Beach, nestled in a curve of the river that met the Pacific Ocean a few miles to the west. A few days ago, the family crossed the wide river on a large raft made of logs strapped together, dragged by lines from the shores to pull it back and forth. Blue herons who were standing in the river shallows watched them. Egrets in tall reeds flew away like a white cloud when the raft got too close. Jeanie, Joseph, and the kids had crossed rivers before on their way from the countryside outside Austin, Texas.

They may have started out a little soft, but now even the kids never blinked. Back in the ranch swimming hole they had learned how to float and paddle a little. Their skills would be no match for this mighty river if they fell into the cold water, but their travels had taught them toughness and grit. At the barn, they loaded the pack horses with their supplies and belongings. Flour, oats, coffee, sugar, tea, cornmeal, beans, and other foods were in watertight containers.

When Jeanie’s family joined the other families at the lighthouse keepers’ houses, there would be a root cellar under one of the houses, with more provisions in the cool underground room. Jeanie looked at the pack horses and drew in a breath. They had left a trail of belongings along the way from central Texas, tossing heavy objects away like they were in a sinking boat in the ocean. It was hard to let go of treasures that evoked memories. But Jeanie also felt a new lightness with the sense of letting go and starting fresh. Now they made their way on horseback over the trails to the lighthouse. All the shades of greens surrounded them in the wet Douglas Fir forest. The sky was blue-gray. From the coast trails, they could glimpse views of the beacon shining through the December fog and rain as it rotated. Douglas Firs bent over against the sky when the hurricane-force winds caught their boughs. “We’re in for it now,” growled a low voice coming from Andy's thin figure on his grey horse. He was used to guiding riders and pack horses along the 15-mile trail from the village to the lighthouse. The horses knew the routine. Calm, plain looking, wiry but strong, the horses kept their honest eyes on the trail, heads low, ears relaxed but forward, stepping carefully. Their long, ragged winter coats ruffled in the wind.

“Are we gonna be ok?” The voice came from Elsie, hidden beneath her bundle of coats, winter hat, and heavy scarf. She was holding the reins in one hand and holding the bulky coats closed tightly across the chest. “It’s going to be all right, Elsie,” called Joseph. Elsie clutched her coat tightly and felt relieved no one had noticed what she was hiding inside the layers against her chest. When the woman at the horse barn ran up to her, the little puppy was buried in both of her hands. Big puppy eyes peered out.

The woman said, “Please, give him a home. Shepherd mix. He’ll be your best friend. His name is Teddybear.” Elsie’s hazel eyes met the round eyes of the puppy. The woman thrust the dark, shaggy puppy into Elsie’s arms and grabbed Elsie’s coat to cover it up. “Just don’t tell your parents until you get to the lighthouse,” the woman said. The warm little body cuddled up against Elsie’s chest and two sets of eyes gazed at each other. Elsie was overcome with feelings. She squeezed the puppy into the big storage pocket inside her parka, where the little dog was cuddled against her. The bulky clothes hid any bulges. Andy looked at the sky and felt twinges creep down his spine. His weathered face drooped, the narrow brown eyes scanning the clouds. He had two years of experience bringing supplies and lighthouse workers to the bluffs hundreds of feet above the sea. The sky was sending a warning now.

“Hunker down and keep going," yelled Joseph when another gale roared through the forest.

“Wait,” a hollar came from Elsie's small figure. She grabbed a long mane and clung to the neck of her reddish-chestnut horse.

“Elsie, you need to keep up, come on slow poke,” came a young boy’s voice. “I’ll get you for this, Jack.” Elsie's voice was thin in the wailing wind. The silhouettes of the riders in their bulky clothing, the horses, and the pack horses were buffeted by the squalls. To the west tall waves with whitecaps crashed, and deep swells rolled in the dark ocean, which blended into the horizon. To the east ragged cliffs rose on steep mountains. The horses splashed over the flooded trail.

“Let’s turn back, please Father, Mother,” came another young boy’s voice. “We can’t Edward. The lighthouse keepers need us. Especially now.” Joseph's deep voice was almost drowned out by a new gust of wind with rain. He knew maintaining the oil and the wicks was critical during the stormy winter so the beacon could warn the ships of the rough coastline.

His mind held a sense of wonder at the thought of the beacon. "392 prism...Fresnel lens...80,000 candle power...the brightest beacon on the Oregon coast." Joseph couldn't wait to take care of it, see it, polish it. Known as the “graveyard of the Pacific,” the Oregon coast in 1898 now had a string of lighthouses at intervals. “Jeanie, you lead and I’ll be in the rear to keep watch.” Joseph’s voice continued. The trail dipped and ahead they saw sand dunes leading to a wide beach. It was low tide. “Hurry, we need to get around that point on the cliffs before the high tide rolls in or it will catch us,” yelled Joseph. Jeanie felt the sting of the raindrops like pins on her face. Years ago, outside Austin Texas, she fell in love with an adventurous, brave man, who caught her imagination with his stories of what a life with him might hold. She turned and looked back at her husband, bringing up the rear of the group. He lifted a hand and moved it. That was the thing about Joseph. She was no longer alone. He always seemed to sense her and respond. Someone who saw her, heard her, knew her feelings. In the rain and cold Joseph felt a warmth inside when he and Jeanie shared glances. He knew true love really did exist. Whatever life sent his way, he would battle through it for the love of his life and the children. They were his dreams come true. Jeanie’s bones felt chilled now, despite the layers of clothing, and her adrenaline surged as she watched the trail, rocking slightly in the saddle, moving her right hand to neck rein the horse around a turn in the path. Between the horse’s ears, she saw the ocean framed.

Her skin prickled with fear and her heart jumped with excitement.

“No more endless days of boredom ,” she thought. “ We might have to fight to survive, but we’ll be happy. Every day we will be thrilled to be alive.” Jeanie pictured the life they left behind on the isolated ranch in central Texas. She saw herself following the manual labor routines each day. Joseph’s parents meant well, but living on the ranch with their constant supervision and criticism was a crushing experience.

“We’ll still have hard, physical work,” she thought. “ But to live on the ocean will be worth it.” She knew giving up the inheritance so Joseph’s brothers could have it all, and moving to begin a new life of their own, was the only way to be happy. Joseph needed freedom for his spirit to soar and she did too. Jeannie saw the kids were swaying along on their horses behind her. Growing up on a ranch meant they rode as well as they walked. Jack and Edward were at home on horseback. Elsie's favorite pretend game was galloping around rearing and neighing, pawing the air, tossing her head, and throwing her hair like a mane in the wind. Every day Elsie invented new horse names and stories to act out. Neighbors in Texas lived far away, and Elsie was used to entertaining herself. Elsie felt the puppy move and she said to it, “Not too far now, little baby. I’ll take care of you, love.” She and the puppy rocked together moving easily with the horse's back at each step. The motion was lulling and the puppy had slept most of the way. Her brothers had each other for playing and sharing activities. Elsie's parents were overwhelmed with the duties of survival. She often felt lonely. But now, cuddling her little puppy inside the parka next to her chest, she knew she had a best friend. At the rear Joseph led the pack train carrying their supplies and belongings. Once he thought he saw a Black Bear disappearing into the trees. Another time a coyote gazed at them from a hill and trotted calmly away. The volcanic rock of the cliffs stretched skyward on one side of the group and the rolling hills of sand on the dunes was on the other side. The dense fir trees of the rainforest became more scattered along the trail. Rain created waterfalls splashing down the cliffs.

Openings in the reddish volcanic rock led to caves the width of several horses and taller than a person on horseback. Boulders and smaller rocks were scattered next to the cliffs. “Watch out for mud and rock slides,” called Joseph.

“Okay,” came voices through the wind. Reaching the trail’s entrance to the beach, the group looked quietly at the darkening skies. Raindrops and wind hit their solemn, determined faces. But their eyes were shining while they pictured themselves at their new home. It was only a few more miles. The last trek along the trail to the lighthouse keepers’ houses led along the beach at low tide. They had to round several prominent volcanic rock outcrops that reached into the ocean. By land the only route would have been many miles inland, going around plunging ravines hundreds of feet deep, and climbing steep mountain trails that were impassible during winter’s torrents of rain. Andy looked at the waves as the whitecaps rose taller than a house now, spewing their spindrift high into the sky. The swells must be over 20 ft. If any ships were out there in this he felt sorry for them. His face grew serious as he contemplated the breakers crashing on the beach.

Each set of waves crept closer across the tidepools. It was later in the day than he thought. The large group had moved slowly and they were behind schedule. Arrival had to be timed to hit the beach at the lowest tide so they could ride around the outcroppings on the sand. When the tide flowed in it covered the sandy path and the ocean currents burst with explosions against the rocks. Anyone caught in the currents would be drawn under and swept away like a figure picked up by a tornado. “This doesn’t look good,” Andy said. Joseph had ridden up next to him.

“See the beach at that corner?” Andy pointed. “How do we get through that?” Joseph said, wondering if there was a path leading over the rugged volcanic rocks. Ripples of ocean water were already surging closer to the rocks, covering the beach. The currents made the waves hiss as they snaked up the beach, closer and closer. “We’ve missed the low tide. We took too long getting here,” said Andy. “What now?” asked Joseph. “We wait. Overnight. Camping until the tide goes out.” Andy’s face in the rain and wind looked grim. “I know some caves nearby. We’ll stay there,” he said. “Follow me.” The dark sky let loose with raindrops that pelted them like bullets that stung even through the heavy clothing. The chilly day became colder. The wind howled and nearly pushed them off their horses. “Go this way,” Andy yelled. Their horses picked their way carefully over a rocky terrain. They saw three caves and one had a large, wide mouth. “We’ll camp in there,” said Andy. He rode into the cave and they followed. Inside the air was still while the wind and rain roared outside. The group dismounted and tied the horses to a line strung across the cave that was tied to boulders on the sides. Late afternoon was bringing their appetites to the forefront. Andy set two rocks several feet apart and set another flat rock across them like a table. He brought some dried moss from his waterproof pouch and set it under the rock slab. Spinning two dry sticks from his pouch together he got a small bit of smoke to appear on the moss. He blew softly and it grew until they had flames.

Everyone gathered around the fire as it grew. The light cast shadows on them as they held their hands out to the warmth. “Here, use this,” said Joseph. He unpacked dried salmon jerky, beans, water in containers, and a pot. He started a stew on top of the flat rock slab. Elsie and her brothers squatted near the fire. The warmth began to reach their cold faces. Inside her coat, she felt the puppy squirm. She knew he would need to get out for a while. “I’ll be back,” she said, walking further into the cave. “Be careful, honey,” said Jeanie. “Don’t go far.” “I won’t," Elsie’s voice came from the shadows. She opened her coat and took the puppy out when she was beyond the sight of the group at the campfire. Teddybear's little head fit just right under her chin and he leaned against her. She pressed him against her cheek and gave him a little kiss. His tiny tongue slid across her face and she smiled. “I know, Teddybear, you need to stretch those legs,” she said. She set him on the ground and he scampered around by her feet. Around a bend, she felt a draft and saw light streaming down into the cave from above.

A drumming sound reached her ears. The rain had turned to hail. It was coming into the cave from an opening in the ceiling. Elsie walked closer, looking up through the cave’s opening at the sky. Now white flakes began appearing. The first snow of the year. She picked up Teddybear and climbed over rocks to get a better look. Barking sounds like dogs came to her along with the wails of the wind. " Sea lions, " she thought. With Teddybear tucked into the parka’s storage pocket, she popped her head through the opening. Below about a hundred feet away sea lions sat sheltered in a cove on the rocks. Ocean spray flew into the air farther out.

Snowflakes like cotton balls fell from the sky, piling up on the rocky shore. Across the late afternoon seas, a beam of light like a star swung across the opening of the cave while Elsie watched. Her eyes grew big and her mouth opening into a circle shape. “There it is. The lighthouse.” The whiteness of the snowflakes and the light of the beacon shining through them across the waves made Elsie draw in a deep breath. It was another world. Her new life. Through the falling white stood a tall white cylinder with a red roof, high on a bluff, with a brilliant beacon light rotating.

Strong flashes lit up the ocean and shore as the light bathed the areas each time it went around. The sea lions were diving into the water now, disappearing into the swirling waves, heading for deeper shelter. Elsie took Teddybear out of the storage pocket and hugged him close.

“You’re gonna be ok, little baby. And I am too,” she said. The long journey seemed to fall away like a forgotten other life, and the ten-year-old little girl felt her heart fill with excitement.

She held Teddybear up to her face and gave him a kiss on his squishy nose.

The snowflakes sparkled like stars, and the lighthouse beacon swung around and shined on Elsie and Teddybear. Elsie cradled the little puppy in her arms. "Look Teddybear," said Elsie. The puppy gazed up into the eyes of the ten-year-old little girl. "There's your new home. You're going to be a happy little puppy and we will love each other sooooooo much."


“Hey, boss? You sure this thing is operational?”          “Well Skip, we’re about to find out.”          The boss primes a switch on an elaborate table covered with buttons and switches. Being the only one with the know-how around this machine, besides the engineers, the boss tells everyone else to back away while he gets the process started. Pressing a few more buttons, the boss continues the sequence, and the men behind him start whispering to themselves.          “I don’t think this is going to work.” One man says to another.          “What? You don’t have faith in the boss?” Another guy asks after nudging the other guy on the shoulder.          “I trust the boss. What I don’t trust is that he is able to bring this machine to life.’”          The lead engineer of the project is also standing in the group, and when he hears the man say this, he turns toward him and sharply hisses, “You’d do best to shut up and watch!” Everyone quiets down and waits for the boss.          “Almost done.” The boss whispers to himself.          A moment later the boss turns to his men and begins a speech. “Men! Long have we craved for a weapon that will help us drive back our enemies!”          “Yea!” the men cheer.          “Now! We have a weapon that will ensure our victory! A victory that will be swift… and deadly!”          Everyone erupts into a thundering roar. Men begin to pat each other on the backs and shove shoulders. The boss then turns back to the table where he hovers over a lever. He turns his head back towards his men, as his body stays parallel to the lever. “It… is… TIME!”          The boss yanks the lever down which begins the boot-up process of the weapon. As the process continues some of the men get bored and walk off to grab a beer. More time passes and others begin to walk away.          “Boss. The men are beginning to leave.”          “Let ‘em Skip. Who knows how long this will take.”          There is now no one waiting around, besides the engineers; they are all lounging in the resting area chugging beers and laughing obnoxiously. The boss begins to get frustrated and asks Skip how long the process should take.          “Well, boss, I don’t know. I mean, to my recollection, no one has attempted to create life.”          The boss, sitting in his chair, tilts his head back, “Is it truly life though. I mean what we are doing is programming an animatronic to help us accomplish a goal. It’s not going to be thinking out of its own free will.”          Skip does not say anything, but, just, smiles blankly back at the boss. He quickly stutters a few seconds and then continues, “The point is it could take more time than we bargained for.”          “I don’t have forever. WE don’t have forever. The longer we wait, the more allies the enemy will gather. And we only have the men we have. No one is coming to aid us; this-”          “Android.” Skip cuts in.          “Android. Is the only help we’re getting.”          “I understand, sir. But, why don’t you get some sleep. I’ll stay and watch.”          The boss sighs, “Yea. Alright, Skip.”          The boss walks off to his chambers, while Skip stays and watches the android.          Skip falls asleep next to the android. All of sudden, a loud noise awakens Skip, causing him to fall out of his chair. He leaps up from the ground, with the chair in front of him like a shield, and looks toward the machine. He notices all the lights are green, and the android’s eyes light up.          “Boss!!” Skip yells as he runs to the boss’s quarters.          “Boss, boss!”          The boss wakes up abruptly, and looks at Skip, “What is it?”          “The process, it’s complete. And I think the android is waking up.”          The boss shoots up out of bed, grabs a jacket, and yells for everyone to get up and meet him at the machine. Skip and the boss reach the android right as it comes online. They get close to it and stare at it, waiting for the android to make the first move.          The android stares blankly straight ahead for a moment, but then his head slowly turns toward the both of them.          “Greeting.”          The boss and Skip grow a large smile across their face, and the boss pats Skip on the shoulder.          “Ha-ha! We did it Skip!”          The boss pauses a moment continuing to stare at the android. He then speaks to it, “You understand us, right?”          “Affirmative.” The android responds.          Skip jumps in and asks the android, “So, what’s going on- “Skip points to his head, “Ya’ know, up there?”          “Well, Skipper Hanson Jones, currently I am absorbing this entirely new climate, while also translating each phrase into multiple languages to verify I am using the current language.”          The boss squints his eyes at the android and turns to Skip, “Hanson’s your middle name?”          “Yea.”          “Huh. Well Skip, catch this android up to speed.” The boss begins to walk away before he turns back around to Skip, “Oh. And make it sound less like a robot.” He makes an ‘okay’ sign with his hands and walks over to his men to give them the details.          “Alright, men! I know it has taken longer than we had expected, but the weapon is now online and operational.”          “Yay!” the crowd cheer.          The android hears the boss and turns to Skip, “Am I the weapon he is referring to?”          Skip shyly nods, “He created you to help them accomplish something.”          The android looks away for a moment then back to Skip, “When this something is complete, what will be done with me?”          “Hard to say. The boss probably will keep you around.” Skip tells it, knowing that the boss will likely shut it down. “But who knows. You might be able to leave here and make your own life.” They both look back to the boss as he continues his speech.          “Tomorrow will be the beginning of a sweet, SWEET, victory boys! Rest up! Because tomorrow, we are heading to the Culmin Shelter to finish this fight!”          The men erupt into a roar. The noise is only silenced once they are all asleep. As the others are sleeping, Skip stays awake with the android.          “What are we attempting to accomplish Skipper Hans- “          “Skip is fine.          “Very well, Skip.”          “The boss wants to eliminate this group that is hiding out in the building he was talking about earlier.”          “What are crimes of these individuals?”          “Well- “Skip stops and contemplates, but is unable to say anything. “It’s just what the boss wants. Anyways, what do you… feel like?”          “I afraid I don’t understand what you are asking. If it is my senses, I feel nothing.”          “No, no. I mean cognitively.”          “Well, I still don’t know. I don’t know if what I feel is my programming or myself. I can’t tell the difference.”          “What do you feel about this job?”          “I feel… uncertain.”          Skip nods his head. “I see.”          They sit there for a moment until Skip brings up that it does not have a name. “We need to give you a name.”          “Very well. How about Vino.”          Skip’s face appears disgusted and he shakes his head, “I don’t like it. I say Dalic.”          “That name will suffice.”          “Ha! I thought so too.” Skip gets up from his chair, “Well Dalic, I need to grab some shut-eye.”          “Very well. I would prefer it if you left me powered on, I would like to be awake longer.”          “No problem, Dalic.” Skip begins to walk to his quarter, “Oh, Dalic. Tomorrow, don’t get yourself scrapped.”          “I will try my best Skipper Hanson Jones.”          “Skiiip!” Skip yells as he walks away.          The morning arrives and everyone is preparing for the assault. The boss strides around the hideout getting everyone ready. Men are equipped with guns, body armor, and the strategy of how to tackle the mission. The boss walks over to Dalic, “You prepared android?”          “My name is Dalic now. Yes, I am ready.”          “Dalic, huh? Where’d you get that name from?”          “Skip.”          “Of course, should’ve known. Well, as long as you’re ready. I don’t need you getting any one of my men or me killed out there.”          Dalic does not respond but nods his head. The boss walks away, and Dalic continues to sit alone. The boss walks to Skip and asks him, “Why’d you give that android a name?”          “Why not? Does the name bother you?”          “No, Skip, the name does not bother me. Hm.” The boss looks away from Skip, toward the ground in thought, then back to Skip, “Just don’t get too attached, okay.”          “Very well, sir.”          The boss walks away and gets prepared himself for the assault. The time comes, the sun is setting, and the men are prepared. The boss gets up in front of the men to give a final speech. “Alright men. Now is the time we end this. Are… you… READY!!”          The men erupt into the loudest they have ever been, causing the ground around them to quake. The boss leads them out of the hideout and toward the Culmin Shelter. Dalic stays close to the boss, following his orders. They arrive at the Culmin Shelter half of the men are perched on top of rooftops near the target building, while the boss, Dalic, and the rest of the men, lie in wait in front of the building, waiting for the signal.          Back at the hideout, Skip walks over to Dalic’s chamber and stands there in contemplation. I have to do this. Skip uncovers a secret cubby and presses a button.          The boss holds his hand up, signaling for his men to wait. On one of the rooftops, a man taps on the corner of the building three times and the boss lowers his hand and yells, “NOW!”          The boss’s team leap from their position and move on the building. As they move in, two men on the rooves take out the two guards at the entrance. With the guards eliminated the boss’s team splits off, one group going to the left of the building, another group circling the right side of the building, while the boss, Dalic, and some men push through the front of the building. They stack up on the entrance door as the two other groups stack up on the doors on their sides of the building. On the boss’s mark, they breach.          Dalic kicks the door open and they rush inside. Hearing the door kicked in, the other groups follow suit. Inside, the men are shooting anything that moves, but are being vigilant of their other teams. The boss tells Dalic to clear out a room alone, while he and the team push forward. Dalic nods his head and expertly breaches the door to the room.          When he enters, he sees nothing. He continues forward, cautiously. Checking corners and in hiding spots. He reaches a closet, of sorts, and braces on the wall. He waits a moment, then throws the door open. He points his gun in the closet and sees a family.          “Please! Don’t shoot.” a man says, presumably the father.          Dalic pauses. Something clicks in his head, literally. “I’ve been sent here to eliminate the enemy. Have you seen them?”          The family seems confused. The father asks Dalic, “Are you aware who you’re working for?”          “I am working for the men who created me.” Dalic says plainly.          “Made you?”          “Yes. I am an android. My name is Dalic.”          “Dalic. You need to understand, those men, they are evil.”          “How so?”          “The enemy, to them, is us.”          Dalic raises his weapon. “So, you are the enemy, then.”          The man reaches his arm in front of his family and raises the other one. “Woah! Woah, hold on Dalic. We are not your enemy.”          “You said you were the enemy, did you not?”          The man responds to Dalic hastily, but with a calm demeanor. “I said we are the enemy to your boss, because of what we look like.”          Dalic begins to scan the man and his family with his retinal scanner. The retinal scan completes, “My scan confirms you are human. However, the boss said you were the enemy. Why?”          “Like I said, we look different from your boss. It’s called racism. He believes we are lesser than him, and he wants to eliminate us all.”          “The boss believes you are less human? Well, the boss is mistaken my scan has concluded you are just as human. I’ll go tell the boss what my scan has revealed and we can end this here.”          “Dalic, you boss won’t care what your scans say.”          “Why not? My scans are 99.99999% correct 100% of the time.”          “It’s not about what the truth is. This is what he believes. Changing his belief is going to involve much more than what you scan reveals.”          At that moment, one of the men barges in and aggressively walks towards Dalic.          “What’s taking so long machine!”          The man takes angry strides toward the closet where Dalic is standing. He reaches the closet and sees the family inside.  He raised his weapon to shoot, and the man yells for Dalic to help. Before the man can pull the trigger, Dalic grabs the gun and yanks it from the man’s hands.          “What are you doing you dumb robot.”          “These people are no different from you, why hunt them?”          “Because they don’t deserve to live.”          The man lunges for his gun but Dalic kicks him to the floor.          “So, you’re on their side then. Huh. Waste of time then.”          The man reaches for his pistol holster that was hidden under his loose shirt, but Dalic shoots him with his own rifle before he could draw the gun. Dalic turns to the family, “I am now an enemy. Like you.”          “Well then, I guess we’re in this together.”          The man gets out of the closet and walks over to the man on the floor. He grabs his pistol, walks back over to the closet, and tells his family to stay put. “Stay here. I’m going to help Dalic.”          Dalic looks to him, “That is quite nice of you.”          “Well, you saved our life, least I can do is help you out of this mess. Do you know their strategy? I mean, how should we go about this?”          Dalic tells him what the boss’s plan was and they leave the room to take care of business. They reach the gymnasium, which is the central room of the building. Before entering Dalic tells the man to wait at the door, out of sight. When Dalic walks in he sees the boss and his team have met back up with the other two groups. The boss turns to see Dalic.          “What was taking so long? I figured you could handle one room quite easily.”          “I ran into some… complications.”          “Clearly. Where’s Ned. The man I sent after you.”          “That… was the complication.”          “What are you on about? Where is he, Dalic!”          “Dead. Like all these people who you are killing.”          “You trying to be some hero? These people deserve to die.”          “Incorrect. My scans have told me the opposite. Is it true? Are you doing this because of these people’s appearance?”          The boss chuckles, “You wouldn’t understand. You’re just a machine.”          “Also, incorrect. I am made of a machine, but I feel… alive.”          The boss whispers to himself, “What has Skip done. Open fire!”          Every man aims at Dalic, who takes cover, quickly. Dalic, under suppression, looks to the door to see the man holding the rifle. He tosses the rifle to Dalic who gets out of cover and opens fire on the men. In a matter of seconds, Dalic’s aim outdoes them all and takes out every last person, including the boss. The man hears that it has quiet down, and peeks inside the room. He sees only Dalic standing and walks toward him.          “You did it.”          Dalic turns to him, “Yes. It is done.”          “I don’t know how to thank you.”          “No need.”          “Well, what will you do now?”          “I do not know. I was born yesterday. I have nowhere to go.”          “Well, you’re welcome to come with us. I know the whole family wouldn’t mind having you with us.”          Dalic looks surprised, “I-I would not mind your company either.”          “Great! We should probably return back to the family.”          They get back to the family and tell them it is over. The father tells them that Dalic will be staying with them. They all seem happy about it, which makes Dalic smile.          “Well, Dalic, let’s go.”          The man, his wife, and two sons walk out of the building with Dalic by their side, ready for a new beginning.


I sit at my window sill, my palms sweaty, face tense, hands clutched tight. The only thing keeping me physically stable is the repetitive chant in my mind; “I am okay”. Though I am in complete terror, I am no amateur to an anxious mind. In truth I have experienced this very feeling before, and before, is an understatement. I am pretty much know as the anxious kid everywhere I go. At school, where I scurry out of my seat in the middle of the lesson, and pace around the classroom. At home, where my room is filled with stress balls, fidget spinners, and all other kinds of weird gadgets. And even at the supermarket where I once got to go to the “Cashier Lounge” when a panic attack quickly arose during our grocery shopping disaster. I always get aggravated having that label stuck to me, but yet I continue to be anxious. Not by choice of course. But more by habit. Unfortunately, having anxiety is like riding a bike, learn it once and you don’t seem to forget how to do it.                My relentlessly anxious mind wakes me up night by night, at that phase where your just drifting off to the magical world of dreams. However, my brain doesn’t allow me to feel free in the joyous dream realm, instead it awakes me with haunting secrets that I have shielded to myself. So, I have gotten into the habit of jumping out of bed, almost as quickly as my racing mind, and sitting at the tall window sill beside my bed. There, I try to find peace in the things around me like the tall buildings that seem to go a mile high, or the blinding city lights that twinkle like stars in the dark city air.  Night by night I turn to my window sill for comfort, but more importantly as an escape.                But this particular night when searching for various things I have overlooked or ignored I see a small cop car zoom by. Suddenly another follows it, playing the horrendous tune that shakes your bones. As the grating feeling of anxiety, circles around me, I am reminded of that unbearable scene. The devastating memory of flashing blue and red lights storm throughout my mind, and I hear the sirens echo throughout my brain. Tonight the window sill did not let me escape, but instead forced me to be reminded, forced me to replay the scene that I had been avoiding all this time. I felt my heart race, and my eyes grow watery. I felt my legs and arms go numb. Without the very thing that gave me comfort how was I supposed to get past the thoughts that were stuck to my brain like glue. That’s when I resorted to the repetitive chant in my mind. Tightly hugging my legs, and controlling my sobs, I decided to give the cop car one last look. As hard as it was, I made contact with the automobile. Though, I could not see well through the thick city air, and the tears crowding my vision I was able to just barely make out the vehicle. I watched it park and a police officer open the drivers door. That speedy driver than raced out of the car and disappeared behind the local café.                Though he disappeared the memories did not. Instead they were enlarged. They felt so real that I could almost feel all the things I felt that day. Like the heavy scent of cigars that stuffed up our living room that afternoon. Or the sight of  two bottles of alcohol that were empty and shoved into the corner of our kitchen. Or The strange man that my so called father was speaking to, as he handed him loads of cash at the corner of the block. I saw all those things happen but only gave it a small ponder. I didn’t pay attention to the signs. I wondered if I could of prevented all of what happened, and if I did, would things look different for me? That thought alone has troubled me since the moment the cops arrived, and took me to the home I reside in now. To the family I now call my own. I know living with my father any longer would have not been the right environment for me, but I do wish there could have been a better chance for him. Maybe not with me, but I do wish he could of outdone his wrongs, and we could both live in the worlds we deserve. But instead he is locked up for good, and I must live knowing that he wasted his life, cause of his silly obsessions. He wasted his life, and jeopardized his daughter’s. Strangely enough remembering that day in such detail felt like the ticket I needed to get past the dark road I had been struggling on.                Something changed inside me at that moment. I realized that by my father being out of my life, he was controlling it more than before. And I didn’t want that. I want to live my own life, with my family, and with nothing but positivity around me. My father had his chance, now it’s my turn. I also decided that reliving the tough days is okay. The way we look at memories, is the way we see those memories and I needed to rewrite some of mine. Memories can be carried with much sorrow and pain or as tribute to the strength, perseverance, and bravery exhibited. The police man then came around the corner and jumped back into his car. He drove off as suddenly as he came. Watching the police car leave, I vowed that I wouldn’t be so afraid to look at something that remind me. As after all what harm did it do. Yes I saw and slightly relived the pain, but I was also reminded of how strong I was that night, and all the nights that followed. So, don’t be afraid to watch your memories, get past the pain, and look out your window. Who knows what you can overcome.


There were no zombies like he expected.

There was no cataclysmic event that obliterated life on the surface of the earth which had been altered significantly since the great flood a few years ago that wiped out Florida and most of the Gulf Coast that now gave Tennessee a wonderful ocean shoreline, reducing the area of the United States by nearly fifty percent due to solar flares that the ozone could no longer protect the earth from.

Instead the apocalypse came from Cylon Corp. that controlled the economy of the new United States and the thirty one states that were still remaining. The programmed revolt had come from within the nerve center of the super conglomerate that had risen from the ashes of the Super Depression four decades before the Programmed Revolt as the Cylon Corp. News Center was reporting on every network station twenty four seven.

“Craig.” Some called to him, but with the power in the building shut down it was hard for him to see where the voice had originated from.

“Yeah.” He called back. “It happened.” The voice sounded quite distrubed. “Yeah.” He sat at his station, too traumatized to move, his headphones still in place, but his screen was black. “What happened?” It sounded like Doug from three stations away from his. “Cylons are running things now.” He removed his headphones. “That’s not good.” Doug emerged from the blackness of the open room. “Tell me about it.” Craig was still trying to get his computer to respond by clicking the on off toggle switch, but he knew that no matter how many times he flicked it back and forth, the Cylons were now in charge. “What are we going to do?” Doug sounded genuinely frightened.

“Sit here until we get instructions.” Craig answered, but there was not enough confidence in his response. “If we stay here, we’ll be sitting ducks.” Doug put his head against one of the dead control panels. “If we go out there, Cylon patrols will exterminate us.” Craig looked up at his partner. “You know I knew we were headed for trouble when the Cylons began coming off the assembly line.” Doug sat on the floor as his legs no longer seemed to be able to support him.

“Yeah, but you know how the management felt.” Craig allowed himself to let out a cynical chuckle even though Doug did not seem to share in his humor.

“Cylons produced over fifty percent of the corporation’s profits.” “You think the Super Depression would have taught them a lesson.” Doug whined. “Yeah, my old man told me all about it and how Russia was behind it.” Craigh snickered again, “But you know, it was even bigger than that.

It was a worldwide effort.” “Cylon was involved.” Doug moaned. “Without a doubt.” Craig affirmed. “Why would they do it?” Doug asked. “Money.

Plain and simple.

It’s like that game our ancestors used to play...what was it...oh yeah Monopoly.

The winner was the player who got all of the money.” Doug remembered reading about it in one of the online journals he subscribed to published by Cylon Publications. There was an explosion from somewhere just outside the building and Doug closed his eyes and started to pray, “Our father who art in heaven…”

“You still remember that chant?” Craig chuckled again, pulling out his laser from his desk drawer.

It wasn’t much, but it might stop one of those things in its tracks if it should come in looking for survivors.

A few feet away, Mary’s body lay on the floor, her head crushed by a heavy file cabinet unit as her boyfriend Bart stood over her like an idle mannequin with a rod protruding through his chest. Craig began to suspect that he and Doug might be the only survivors from their section.

Waldo, the section chief, had taken matters into his own hands, and put a pistol into his mouth before pulling the trigger. He made it very clear that if the Programmed Revolt happened, he did not wish to stick around and as it turned out, Waldo was good to his word.

Craig walked into his office where he was still sitting upright with a look of horror on his face and the splattered pieces of the back of his skull appearing like some kind of Rorschach inkblot test on the wall behind him.

When Craig tried to move Waldo away from his desk, Waldo’s body fell with a sickening thump to the tiled floor.

Opening the desk drawer, Craig removed the code sheet, folded it and put it in his pocket. Turning to Doug who appeared as if he was going to puke as he stared at Waldo’s body sprawled out awkwardly on the floor. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“I changed my mind.” Doug shook his head. “Those Cylons will be coming any minute and we don’t stand a chance.” Craig pulled at Doug’s arm.

With a sad moan, Doug followed Craig out of the room.

Once outside, you could see the endless expanse of the corporation as it spread over ten square miles in the secret compound, but there was no secret about Cylon.

All technological advancements were spawned here including the Cylons.

The Department of Defense was the main player in the development of the Cylons which were much more advanced than their predecessors the cyborgs.

Ten years ago there was a huge war between the Cylons and the Cyborgs and little doubt as to the outcome.

One of the errors was that the

technicians made these Cylons superior to humans in both strength and cognitive functioning or as Craig had told his now dead coworkers with the exception of Doug that humans had just created their own doom.

Waldo would always laugh hysterically whenever Craig spoke about his biggest fear, but now that fear had become a reality.

Strange how what you fear the most about something is the exact thing that takes place.

And when it does you have to deal with it.

Cylons did not need weaponry like Craig did when he shoved that laser into his pocket and then retrieved the codes from Waldo’s desk. As the pair went by the main production unit, Craig saw one of the ugly Cylons standing at the entrance of the production unit that Craig told people was the size of Rhode Island.

Carefully citing the laser, he pressed the button and pieces of Clyon rained down.

He pulled Doug into a materials bin so the other Cylons who were searching for the person who had shot their cohort, would not see them.

The engineer who had put the Sound Wave Destroyer into their program needed to become a victim of his own horrible invention.

Sound Wave Destroyer was based on a physics theory that sound waves could produce matter like behavior and could even display actual mass and volume if concentrated and since Isaac Newton told us that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time, the waves would obliterate the object in the space it wanted to occupy.

It was messy and quite effective and it did not need any sort of pre-guidance mechanism to reposition the mass and volume of the obstacle.

The Department of Defense was overjoyed to learn about this capability, but when the units were programmed, the artificial intelligence took on a life of its own and decided to use this engineered system to destroy their creators thus making Cylons the deadliest creation known to mankind.

“Do you think we’ll have another solar flare?” Doug was suddenly concerned.

“One crisis at a time, eh?” Craig snarled as he peeked out of his hiding place, not a Cylon in sight, but that did not mean they were in the clear. Still he pushed open the lid and together they stepped out into the darkness. It was so quiet for a moment Craig thought that perhaps he and Doug were the only ones left in the entire world. Seven million people were instantly incinerated where they were standing during the last flair.

If you were not able to get into an underground shelter, you would be instantly melted.

The alarm ub what was left of the city gave you about thirty seconds before the sun’s flare like a fiery tongue would slurp you up in a ball of flame.

Craig had the pleasure of watching his parents succumb

to a solar flair as they sat in the living room reading the Sunday online newspaper like all of the old folks did so many years ago. When he graduated from college, Craig had a portal installed so he could just plug it into the back of his neck where he had the portal installed.

Such a primitive practice to read the things they put online. The remains of two security guards lay near the back gate where he and Doug were trying to flee.

There were some safe places in the city they could go to, but these places were a few blocks away and there was no telling how many Cylons had already taken to the streets. As they stealthy moved through the dark city streets, there were random explosions in the distance. Was this the apocalypse? Judging from lack of human presence, this was a real possibility.

Maybe Waldo had the right idea, but then it made him chuckle when he remembered the “Where’s Waldo” books his grandmother had read him when he was a toddler.

After the Great Solar Flare, Craig had no idea what had become of them.

Where’s Waldo?

I know grandma, he blew his brains out in his office. Laughter follows.

Craig raises his laser and blasts a Cylon who is feasting on the dead lying in the streets.

Pieces of him rain down on the cold damp streets. Craig pushes Doug down to the street where they lie there for several minutes next to the dead bloated bodies as three Cylons come to investigate what the noise was.

One of them bends down and sniffs Criag and for a split second, he thinks that it will begin to eat him thinking that he was dead like all the others.

Sweat pours out of his forehead and he sucks in his breath as he hears his heart beating its way out of his chest.

Much to his surprise and relief, one of the other Cylons pats the sniffer on his back and so he straightens up and joins the others on their patrol.

“That was close.” Doug wipes the sweat off his forehead with his shirt sleeve. Craig does not say anything, he knows how lucky he is to be able to walk away.

There are even more dead lying in the street as they continue, but Craig refuses to let the carnage get to him.

He knows his brain has been scarred beyond repair, but survival seems to be the only thing he allows his brain to think about. He is also afraid that Doug is getting more fragile and if he cracks, Craig will not think twice about dispatching him if he needs to.

Checking his laser, he notes that his energy level is low and he has two maybe three more blasts at the most. None of the dead have devices, so they tredge onward.

When Craig saw him, a shadowy figure that appeared from an alleyway, he raised his laser and prepared to fire, but then when he saw the face, he could not believe who was standing in front of him.

Dr. Crowder was the chief designer of the Cylon project.

At one time, his face was more recognizable than the Premier who would address the country that all was well, when everyone knew otherwise. “I had no idea.” His face was white and there was actual terror streaking through his dark eyes.

Doug pointed to a security hover cruiser manned by three Cylons and they knew that the security officers had been exterminated and the Cylons now controlled the streets.

“How could you not know this was going to happen?” Craig was filled with hatred for his man who had brought the end of the world without a single note of regret or so he seemed when he was on television, but standing in front of him now, Dr. Crowder was a shuddering, frightened pathetic coward of a man.

“I was told I was doing this for the good of humanity.” His voice was barely a rasp, “Come, I’ll take you to the shelter.”

“Could be a trap.” Doug said dryly.

“Doesn’t look like we have much choice.” Craig pointed to another security hover cruiser a few blocks away.

There was another explosion and the trio picked up the pace a bit.

“It was supposed to be the greatest achievement for us all and look how it turned out.” Dr. Crowder explained, “We had all of the elements.

Our research was impeccable.

We just count on artificial intelligence to be the problem.

Once we had things set, the intervention of free will entered into the formula.

We did not account for it and frankly we did not think it was possible for such a thing to occur.” “But it did.” Craig pointed out.

“It was just like Oppenheimer observed during testing of the bomb in the Manhattan Project when the energy released during destination exceeded expectations and he realized they had tripped into the realm of the creator.

When you put the intellect of a highly intelligent being into a weapon, you wind up with a very intelligent destructive weapon.”

Dr. Crowder was nearly in tears.

“How much further?” Craig asked, seeing yet another hover cruiser up ahead.

“Right over there.” Dr. Crowder pointed to a blank storefront with the large window smashed in.

Inside Craig could see a few soulless shells aimlessly wandering about in the darkness. Stumbling inside all of about two dozen empty faces stared up at the three of them. “It’s alright everyone, they survivors like you.”

“They are from Cylon.” A woman stepped from the crowd.

“Like you.” Another pointed a bent finger at Dr. Crowder.

“It’s okay.” Dr. Crowder swallowed hard holding up his hand.

“Why did you create those things?” The woman asked in a bitter tone.

Dr. Crowder just collapsed on the floor and began weeping into his hand, making unintelligible sounds as he shuddered.

It was known as the Programmed Revolt, because no matter how carefully the Cylon program was managed with the introduction of free will these Cylons became executioners, an unintended consequence of the whole project that had inevitably brought about the apocalypse.

There was a small pocket of resistance, but nothing to match the horror that was going on in the streets of the ruined city.

As the lights of the early dawn took over, making hiding in the darkness impossible, the survivors would have to use caution.

There was a strange calm in the early morning light.

Silence fell over them like a comforting blanket.

The danger would be ever present, but as Dr. Crowder pointed out in the sun's first rays, we are the architects of our own destruction as we are given the tools only to build devices of hate instead of creation.

As we peel away the mysteries of the universe, instead of learning the lessons of creation we choose to use the information to destroy instead.

This Programmed Revolt occurred not because of the advancements, but rather because of our need to protect the resources we have. And as strange as it seems, we justify our reasons to use our limited resources for our own desires without regard to what we may require in the future.

Dr. Crowder was filled with these philosophical ideals once he saw what he had wrought.

The warnings and road signs were all in place, but just like the posted speed limits along the interstate, they are ignored until a flashing red light appears in the rearview mirror and by that time it is too late.


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.


PUZZLE PIECES Imagine living most of your life not knowing where your siblings were or what happened to them, living with a tiny hole in your heart and sadness you could never quite shake. Imagine the grief you never had words to explain, coming from a loss you never understood. I feel like it’s in vogue these days to say someone’s story is “theirs to tell,” but I believe that if their story intersects with my story on any level, it’s also my story to tell. Not that I would reveal their secrets or use their stories as weapons, but details are details and every detail is a piece of the puzzle that completes a life. My dad has always loved puzzles. My dad’s story began in 1938, almost 83 years ago in a small town in Arkansas. He was the third of five children born to a mother who died before she was 40. Her husband, my dad’s father, was in and out of their lives and only the first child, Nadene, and my dad, James, or Willie as he was called then, are full siblings, separated by seven years. The second daughter and two younger brothers had different fathers. It’s human inclination to judge a woman who has children by two or three different men, but times were hard and their “Mama” did what she had to do to survive and take care of them. If that meant bringing someone in for a while to lend a hand, obviously that’s what she did. It didn’t make her children love her any less. When she died, there wasn’t any father in the picture. Nadene was 14 or 15 and Willie was seven or eight. The details aren’t clear, but four of the children were in foster care or with family members for a few months before being placed in a Baptist Children’s Home. The two babies were adopted. Willie and his sister Jean lived in the orphanage for approximately the next 10 years. Nadene refused to go to the orphanage and “ran wild,” as my dad was told. For many years he didn’t talk much about that time, but as he’s aged, he shares more of his memories. It’s painfully apparent that his emotional growth was somewhat stunted, but he speaks well of the years he lived in the orphanage and he’s “risen above his raising” to make a success of his life. My parents have been married for over 60 years and there are kids, grandkids, and great grandkids adding to the puzzle. Throughout the years, bits and pieces of information have found their way to my dad and he’s been able to fill in some holes. He reconnected with his father and met him in 1978 or ‘79. I don’t know what went on between them, but I believe my dad made his peace with the man. Jean and my father stayed in contact throughout the years and lived only a few miles apart when she passed away. She had one child. My parents took him in as a young man and tried to help him find his footing, but once his mother passed away all contact between them also passed away. I know it’s a missing piece my dad grieves, though he pretends he doesn’t. He didn’t have any contact with his younger brothers since the early 60’s, but sometime in the 80’s he began communicating regularly with the youngest. From a random phone call approximately three years ago, Willie, or Jim as he’s now known, was able to connect with children of his oldest younger brother. He passed away several years ago, and his children said he was not a nice man, but his children are and came to Uncle Jim’s 80 th birthday party. He was thrilled beyond expectations to place a couple more pieces in his puzzle. Through all the births, deaths, promotions, moves, and the everyday minutiae of life, a tiny piece of Jim’s heart struggled with accepting that he would never know what happened to his beloved sister Nadene. But here’s where the story really gets interesting! All my life I knew my dad had siblings he never saw. I have three brothers and as I’ve gotten older, I can’t imagine my life without them. Even when we don’t get along, they are pieces in my life’s puzzle and there would be a hole if they were gone. My son is an only child and always wanted a sibling. He felt a loss even when he didn’t know any different. Thinking about all this, I decided to look for Nadene. At that time, she would have been 86 and I knew the chances of finding her were unlikely, much less finding her still living, but I thought maybe I could at least find where she was buried.

This story wouldn’t have the same ending and I wouldn’t have known where to start without the Internet. I signed on to one of the ancestry websites and did a family search but struck out. I conducted random searches of Nadene’s name and birthdate and variations of both but struck out again. I searched for a couple months but came up empty every time. I was disappointed to have to tell my dad I couldn’t find her. I explained all the steps I went through and the names and dates I searched, the states, the websites. I really wanted this for him, but I had to admit defeat. And then he told me something that made all the difference. I was spelling her name incorrectly. I went back to the ancestry website and entered the correct spelling of her name and found a connection to an ex-husband in Tennessee. I spoke to the husband of the ex’s daughter and he confirmed that it was the same Nadene. Unfortunately, his father-in-law and Nadene had divorced many years prior and he didn’t have any idea where she was, but I was elated. I was on the right track!

More digging led me to a woman in Texas who thought Nadene was her father’s last wife. The last she heard, Nadene had moved to Oklahoma but they never knew each other so they didn’t have any contact.

I kept digging and found an address and phone number. My parents called the number and… disconnected. My dad suffers from a mysterious nervous system condition that causes his head to shake and makes it impossible for him to write legibly, so my mom wrote a letter and provided their phone number in case it really was Nadene. And it was! She is quite hard of hearing so a friend called for her and after 71 years she was reunited with her baby brother Willie.

My niece graduated from law school in Tennessee almost four years ago and after attending graduation, my parents continued on to Oklahoma for the reunion no one ever expected. My dad is “Brother,” not Willie, not Jim, but “Brother,” and Nadene asked for permission to call my mom “Sister.”  I think saying “Brother” instead of his name indicates just how important that familial connection is to her and she cried happy tears all weekend. My parents created a photo album for her with pictures of the places we’d lived and me and my brothers and our children. Seventy plus years were dumped on her all at once and she quickly went from having no family to being part of a big one. My dad discovered that the woman in his memories he thought was his mother was actually Nadene carrying him in the yard on her hip or pulling him through the cotton fields on a burlap sack. In pictures, the family connection is obvious, and she suffers from the same mysterious nervous system condition. Nadene is a tiny, feisty woman who’s willing to go to “fist city” with anyone who tries to tell her what to do. She gives us information about her life in bits and pieces, but enough for us to know she was twice divorced and gave birth when she was very young to a daughter who died as an infant. She lives in a small town where she is well-thought of and people look out for her.  We tried to talk her into coming to the 80 th birthday party, but she was afraid to travel too far from home, and no amount of reassurance could change her mind. My oldest brother met Nadene a few months after my parents did and we have a picture of the two of them standing under an umbrella. She is smiling up at him adoringly, like she’s known him his whole life. I met her about a year and a half ago. I had to go to Oklahoma and see for myself that her living conditions and health and finances were being handled properly. I routinely send cards and letters and pictures to her so she doesn’t forget that she’s part of us. Nadene and my dad speak on the phone at least once a week. They’re both hard of hearing so the conversations aren’t long or deep, but it’s contact, and that’s really all they need. Nadene will turn 90 years old on August 2 nd and my dad, her baby brother, will be 83 on August 14 th . It still astonishes me that I was able to find her, that she’s still living, that my dad’s still living, and that we have all met.

My dad is always working a puzzle and he’s passed the hobby on to his kids and grandkids. We’ve all worked puzzles where a particular piece looks like it should fit. We try and try to cram it into the space not made for it. We do the same with people in our lives, but sometimes the pieces don’t belong in our puzzles and won’t fit no matter how much we want them to or try to make it happen. I like to think that tiny hole in my dad’s heart has been patched, the large hole in Nadene’s life has become a bit smaller, and all of us have added another piece to our life’s puzzles, a piece that fits perfectly.


Samuel Stills closed the door to his daughter’s bedroom then walked toward the kitchen when his phone vibrated. He reached into his pocket. Give me some good news.              But his heart and sinew told him there would be no good news. He raised his phone to his ear. The cold plastic a reminder that nothing in this world is ever easy.              He’d spent the last hour at the foot of his daughters bed reading the books her third grade teacher recommended. Marianna, she’s a sweet girl, very kind, her teacher said. But she’s behind the rest of her class. You should get her tested.              “It’s not good news Samuel. I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said.              Samuel hated the voice of their realtor. The way she had introduced herself, with the high pitched squeal of mouse eating its leg off a glue trap. Even when she had good news, with her tone it sounded like she was telling you your body was racked with cancer. Kiss your kids goodbye because you aren’t long for this world sweetheart.              “Let me get to a place where I can talk,” Samuel said.

             Samuel walked toward the entrance of his apartment, his limp worse than usual now that it was December and the cold air seeped into their apartment, challenging the rot coming from the factory whose smoke stacks put the town of Ackerman in perpetual fog.              He walked out of their unit, closing the door so he didn’t wake Anita. Trying to be a good husband. The rain outside brought with it the smell off sewage into the hallway, making the whole building smell like a toilet bowl in the outhouse of highway gas station.

             “I just don’t want my wife to hear. You know how much getting a new house means to her.”              The sound of a crying baby filled the hallway. The dull ache in his head was a beating hammer. Samuel pressed his fingers to his forehead.              “Fuck.”              “You alright?” Elizabeth said.              “Constant headaches.”              Squeal. That God damned squeal.              Sirens zoomed past the apartment building.

             “So, tell me. Did they accept our offer? I need good news today.”              “There was only one other offer, but they took it. It was a lot higher than you could afford to go.”               Fuck you , Samuel thought. And same to those teachers who told him his daughter was less than. You don’t know anything.              “Jesus,” Samuel said.

             “I know you’re upset, and as your realtor its illegal for me to provide much of an opinion but given what I know about this house I’m surprised they received another offer. I didn’t want to show you this house. It’s not that I’m greedy. The market is shit and I have two kids in college. My prick of a husband left me. Not that I liked him at all either. I was actually quite relieved when I walked in on him with –“              “I’m sorry, but what do you know about this house. What’s wrong with it?”              “I really shouldn’t say more than I already have.”              “I don’t understand.”              “There were rumors about that house.”              “Like what?”              “Pretty gruesome. But they are just rumors so I doubt –”              “What rumors?”

             Before Samuel could say anything, he heard the sound of Anita crying through the thin walls. He walked back toward the door, and entered his apartment. Told Elizabeth he would call her back.              “I’m scared again, Daddy,” Anita said, pulling at the threads of her pajamas.                                                                                ***              When Samuel left Marianna’s room for the second time that night, he felt like a carbon copy of his father. Obsessed with money because he never had enough of it. Calloused hands that never produced enough. Samuel’s shirt was still wet with sobs because Marianna said she’d had a nightmare and couldn’t stop crying.              What if they made a higher offer? Except there was no extra cash and even a second job would barely help. And he couldn’t ask Anita to get another job. That was the shit his Dad has asked of his Mom, but she left before he had found more ways to take advantage of her. Guess being a place to put his drunk, soft dick and status as decaying punching bag was too much for her.              That night, laying in bed, Samuel’s head rose and fell on Anita’s swelling belling. He sung to little ears still forming and the heart still growing strong inside her. I have to do something, he thought.              The next day he drove to house they so desperately wanted.                                                                                ***              Samuel reached the front door. Pain shot through knee. Each step served as a reminder life had taken something from him he would never get back. But he gritted his teeth and kept walking anyway because fuck the world and I won’t be like my father.               A half-full moving van sat in front of the garage. Furniture littered the yard. Bed-Side tables. Couches with torn cushions. Tables and bookcases. There was only fog and the rain that gently patted his coat which had grown to feel tighter and tighter since the accident. Too much beer. Too many late nights wondering if he could have done something different in the construction yard to prevent what happened.

             All he wanted was five minutes. 5 five minutes to convince the owners of the house that he’d make better use of the yard and the attic and the bedrooms than whatever asshole society deemed was more deserving to own this house. Five minutes to be a good father. Five minutes to fight against his darkest fear of not being able to provide for those he loved.

             The street smelled of hyacinths, fertilizer, and cut grass. A dog collar jingled on a limping German Shepard. Samuel turned around.              Next to the curb of the house an old man wore a baseball hat with a stitched American Flag. He was missing his right ear. The man waived, and that’s when Samuel saw it, the two missing fingers on his right hand.              The door to the house opened. She, the owner, talked so fast that Samuel couldn’t understand. Spit fell from her yellow teeth. Strands of gray hair fell over her shoulder.              “You hear me, young man? I said you need to leave. We weren’t expecting any visitors. I need to get all that stuff in the moving van and get out of here.”              “I wanted to discuss the sale of your house,” Samuel said, his voice devoid confidence.              “I’m an old woman. I need you to speak up.”              This wasn’t working. Just leave. Give up on this one and move on. She won’t listen. Can’t even here. Angry bark bellowed from the street.

             “The sale of your house. I want to discuss the sale of your house.”              “Sold it.”              “I know it’s strange. I do. But a place like this might save my family. My daughter isn’t doing well. My wife is exhausted. Where we live, its dangerous. Bad things are happening. I’ll do whatever it takes.”              A gust of wind blew across the yard. The rain hit the concrete steps hard. Flooded a a bed of dead flowers wrapped in vines.              “Bad things happen everywhere.”              “Do you have kids, Ma’am?”              “Don’t see how that matters.”              “Because if you did, you would do anything you for them. Right?”              Her blackened gums seemed to bleed on her teeth. The wrinkles beneath her ember eyes grew like rising mountains.              “I have to go.”              As she spoke it was like the rot that filled her mouth was released into the air. Still, Samuel took a step forward.

             The woman turned around. Walked back into the house. She pulled the door to where it was almost shut, and then she said, “Bad things have happened here. In these walls. You don’t want this house.”

                                                                                ***              That night, sitting at the kitchen table with Anita, Samuel stared at his phone, drowning out the voice of his wife.              Before he left the house that afternoon, Samuel had left her his business cards. The one’s he used in a past life where the construction work made them comfortable. Before they left their comfortable and moved into the shit hole. Before they were scared that Marianna might have Downs. Before his head was a fucking disaster. Before the headaches had stolen happiness.              “I know you’ve been hiding something from me,” Anita said.

             There was an open bottle of beer on the table. Samuel looked at her, deep into her brown eyes, then took a sip.              “And I thought you weren’t supposed to be drinking while on medication.”              “One or two won’t hurt.”

             Samuel took another long sip of beer. He stared at her belly. At the beauty in his wife’s eyes. He knew how lucky he was.              “So what are you hiding from me.”              His head ached worse than usual. All the Tylenol in the house was gone. The price of his prescription pain-killers had shot through the roof. He rubbed his head.              “I don’t want to talk about.”              He stared at his phone.              “Well you don’t get to ‘not talk about it’. What is going on.”              He loved her passion. Even when she frustrated and angry, it came from a good place. There would be no better mother in the world.

             “The house,” Samuel said.              “What about it?”              “We didn’t get it.”

             When Samuel took another sip, his phone rang.                                                                        ***              When Samuel walked into the threshold of the house, Abigial was on her knees bent over blood stained animal cages. There was a rag in her hand that at some point must have been a clean white but was now covered in dark red. Samuel wanted to vomit when he saw the skulls a collection of skulls in the trash bag next to her.              “You remind me of my son,” Abigail said. “And I don’t mean to scare you. We’ve been meaning to get rid of these for years. The poor devils we kept in here. Pigs. They did everything they could to get out.”              “I just want to see if there is anything I can do to change your mind. I know you said you already sold the house.”              The prior night when Samuel’s phone rang, he couldn’t believe it was her. Introduced herself as Abigail. Told him to come over the next day. And not to say anything because you still never know. Deals fall through all the time. He hadn’t told Anita because he didn’t want to disappoint her again.              “I admire you dedication to your family. I too am dedicated to my family. Can I offer you anything?”

             Seeing the blood got to him. And not just the blood in the cage, but the way it got onto the rag. On to her fingers. There were even drops of dark red on her face. Another thumping headache. “A glass of water, please.”              When Abigail walked away toward the kitchen, he couldn’t help but walk toward the animal cages. It didn’t make sense. None of it dead. Why were pigs kept in cages. Why were cages kept in the house. Samuel could feel. Like the cold breeze rising from the floorboards, something about this house, these cages, turned him cold.              He walked toward the kitchen, trying to remember this house when he and Anita had gone to see it last month. It had looked completely different. As though a family had lived here. Created memories here. This place was nothing but the carcass of animal that died in agony. And that’s when he heard it, the deep voice coming from the kitchen. Samuel stepped forward, toward the kitchen. He pressed his ear to the door.

             “Just give it to him,” said a low, tired voice              “We have to leave,” Abigail said              “The medicine, it will only last but so long,” the low voice said,              “But so will he,” Abigail said.              “Our son…I can’t take it much more,              The floor beneath Samuel’s feet creaked. The whispers went silent. Samuel backed away from the door.              “That was very rude of me. I do apologize. Here,” Abigail said, handing him the glass of water.              When Abigail returned Samuel could see the stress on her face. There was pain warped in her face, hiding behind growing wrinkles. A darkness deep within her bones that Samuel had seen in himself on the night he killed his father. Samuel wanted to leave. She handed him the cup.              “Seems like I came at a bad time. I think I should just be going.”              And that’s when the door to the kitchen opened. A man appeared. Like her, his face was a map of exhaustion. His shoulders bulged through his wrinkled shirt. His hair, likes hers was long and gray.              “Please,” Abigail said.              “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”              “Don’t make what harder.”              “Please, drink this,” Abigail said. “It will help with the pain.”              “No,” Samuel said.              He turned back toward the door. He started to run, and that’s when he felt a hand pull his collar backward. Sweat filled the thick air. A grunt echoed from behind him, and he felt himself thrusted forward toward a wall.                                                                                ***              When Samuel woke, he felt metal clasps on each wrist. He was in one of the upstairs rooms. The walls were covered with drawing that appeared to have been completed by seven or eight year-old. There was a small football in the corner of the room. A VHS collection of Disney movies. On the bedside table was a picture of woman getting bent over, and man with his jeans down to his ankles pressing up against her. And next to the picture was a folded dish towel.              Samuel pulled at the clasps.              “You should have taken the water. I don’t know how long he’s going to take. He use to do take longer, but now with the police after him its different. It makes him sad.”              Tears dripped from his eyes. His jeans were wet. The carpet beneath the chair was covered in piss.              “If he likes you, he will take you with us. That’s the worst option because that means he’ll draw out the pain. If he doesn’t like you, he’ll end it here. Tonight. Eventually,”              “What are you talking about?”              “My son of course. He’s just getting changed. He will be out of that closet soon.”              “But what about what we discussed? My family.”              “It’s all taken care of. The house is yours.”              “Just let me go.”              Samuel pulled at the restraints. Blood fell from his wrists.

             “You care about your family. And I care about mine. Look.”              The door to the closet opened. Samuel could not see the man’s face. It was concealed by some mask from a cartoon. It may have been the woman’s child, but the person who walked out of that closet was a man.              He walked toward Abigail, hugged her, and then made his way to the bedside table. He stared at the picture. Then unwrapped the dishtowel. The glistening blade of a sharp knife appeared.              The man grabbed and walked toward Samuel as Abigail began to read from a collection of children’s books sitting on her son’s bed.


He hadn’t intended on remembering the date on which they had been partnered together at work, it had just happened, implanted itself on the inside of his skull awaiting his perusal whenever he desired to peruse. If asked why he remembered it so clearly, he would answer with one of the three explanations he had crafted that he deemed nonsuspicious, the favourite of which was that there was a good game on that day that he had watched at the pub in the evening. This was the favourite story because it was true, and the safest way to tell a lie is to make it as true as possible, anyone could tell you that. He would just leave out the part where he remembered that trip to the pub so well because it was the first time he could convince his new shadow to come along with him. He had flown through six months of training utilising the tough physical regime to put off the even tougher conversations he was going to have with himself about morals as soon as his thoughts weren’t all focused on the pain in his muscles. Gaining a partner’s back to watch at shy on every waking moment was not high on his list of priorities, not that he had a choice. It was like someone buying you a puppy for Christmas - many yellow stickers in car windows appeared in his mind -, he was not confident enough in his abilities to trust that he could look after this puppy, and he most certainly hadn’t asked for one. This one wasn’t even wrapped in bows, it was grumpy and on the defensive and most certainly not endearing.

From what he had been told about him, he knew he had only been recruited a half a year before he himself had. Which meant he had a whole extra six months of working the streets under his belt, he had experience and he knew the rest of the team and he was well within his right to be standing next to him in that office with an air of distaste. As if he had much better places to be and he had to be there three minutes ago. He had been working alone so far, put on the back bench to wait for someone suitable to be identified and snapped up for the purpose of working with him. Now the time had come for the both of them to become the one thing they had been avoiding, a partnership. And neither were happy. First on the list was a stakeout and they struggled to imagine a worse situation. They had left the building both deciding whether they should be the one to volunteer to drive or whether they should just follow their new partner. An almost inhuman understanding of each other was expected of them, they had to work together like two obscenely well-oiled cogs in an equally obscenely well-oiled machine. Perhaps it was best to start at it from the very beginning, following each other around without question, in a ‘fake it till you make it’ sense. So that he did, followed the other into a long, hot morning sat in a car together, trying to make conversation with a man he had met five minutes ago and whose life had been elegantly placed in his hands in a business-like manner. No returns and only to be relieved of when it died. A puppy for Christmas.

Although a puppy was a great inconvenience, they had at least had time to prepare for this one rather than being lumped with it as a surprise from underneath a tree. Time had been had to metaphorically buy water bowls and stock up on dog toys and strange smelling food. Now was the time to introduce yourself, palms up to show you’re not a threat and let them sniff your ankles. Perhaps that was going a bit far. To compromise, he had tried to smile at the right moments, judging based off of his whole morning of experience as to whether the other man was really making a joke, or just commenting on what he could see. He figured it couldn’t hurt to smile at the wrong times too. Better than staring straight ahead and straight faced at a joke. That would not set them off on the right foot at all. By lunchtime, which he discovered his new partner thought it always was, they had stopped resolutely looking at everything else, and now allowed themselves to glance with large intervals at the other man. Was he smiling right now? Was he actually frowning, did he just go to say something and then stop himself? What was he thinking? What he was thinking probably had something to do with the fact that it really was undeniably lunchtime now. And that meant talking to each other and making arrangements, who was going to do what. He decided he would break the silence, show that, contrary to his fake it till you make it technique of following him around like a scared lamb, he could also take initiative. He knew what he was doing. So he collected lunch orders and he made his way confidently and slowly towards a fish and chips van parked in a gravel car park on the corner of the road. Now was not the time to worry about placing food orders, now was the time to do it without thinking and to focus all his attention on making his body language the very definition of relaxed. Expertly ordered fish and chips were eaten in a car that now smelt of grease and that was full of thoughts on how they should be eating, and then whether evaluating one's own eating habits to try to force some sort of comradery was going a bit too far again. But amongst the newspapers and sharing of chips, and although there was no relaxation yet, no letting down of the walls, there was acceptance. And now, years in the future, he can look back on that first summer with appreciation for what it really was. The introduction to his favourite song.