Captain Rogers has finally found what will lead him to the treasure he’s been trying to find since his whole crew of pirates came in contact with him. ‘Trying to find’ is an understatement, he has been obsessed with finding it. He had been contacted by a man claiming to own a map that would lead him to the Well of Wishes. And, after seeing the map, Captain Rogers was willing to believe that it was legit. The Captain had met the man at a tavern close to the shore and had paid him most of what he and his crew owned. He knew that would make them angry, but he also knew they wouldn’t have the courage to say it to his face. Captain Rogers gets back to his ship and can see the anger in his crew’s faces. They must have figured out by now that the Captain took almost all their valuable belongings. All the treasures they had looted recently, all the gold and riches they fought to have. However, just like he expected, no one voices their displeasure. “I have the map.” The Captain announces. “I can tell from your faces that you’re not happy about how much I have paid to get it, but I assure you all it will be worth it. The Well of Wishes can grant you whatever you ask of it. You can all get much more than what we had.” Even though he says that, the other pirates’ faces don’t change. None of them believe they will actually get to the Well of Wishes, and, if they do get there, they don’t believe it will work. “We will leave at first light tomorrow.” Captain Rogers, carrying his map, heads to his cabin for the night. He walks up to his dark wooden desk, topped with small wooden boxes, knives and a cast iron lantern with a candle inside. There are other lanterns hanging on the walls of the cabin, but it’s still dark because there is no moonlight coming from the window and the stars seem to be covered by dark clouds that don’t let them shine through. He lays the map on his desk and looks at it. They have a long way to go – days and nights of sailing – until the reach the spot marked with an ‘X’. But that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how far it is, it only matters that he finally has a way to get there. On the next morning, as soon as the first sunrays become visible, they set sail. Captain Rogers has the map in his hands and isn’t letting anyone else touch it. It’s the only thing that will make it possible for them to get there, but it’s also the only thing that proves it is real. It’s the only thing that gives him hope to have what he has wanted for so many years. They sail for days and nights, without stopping. The Captain divided his crew into two teams, one to sail during the day and another during the night. The closer they get to the location marked on the map, the worst weather they find. The waves on the sea get bigger and stronger as they sail, and the sky is almost black, announcing that a storm is about to hit them. After a while, as expected, a flash of light is seen on the sky above them, and they hear the rumble of thunder almost immediately. The storm is right on top of them. “Captain, we should get inside until the storm is over.” One of the pirates tells his captain. “It won’t be over.” Captain Rogers says, and it starts raining heavily. “It won’t be over until we get there. We need to keep going.” “Water and lighting are not a good mix. If one of those lightning bolts hit us…” “We just need to move forward. This isn’t a normal storm.” The Captain looks at the map on his hand and tightens his grip on it. “This storm is trying to make us back away so we don’t get to the Well of Wishes. Did you think it would be easy for us to get to a mythical treasure that can grant us wishes? Of course there will be tests. Now, let’s keep moving. I don’t want to hear any more whining.” The crew isn’t happy about the decision, but they do what their captain is telling them to do. More lightning flashes on the sky, and the sound of thunder keeps getting louder and scarier. Some lighting bolts fall on the sea around the ship, making the spread of electricity visible for a couple seconds. They keep moving forward, fighting against the wind that is also getting stronger and stronger. Some men have to hold on to the masts to be able to stand up. “We need to start getting this water out!” Someone yells, and a few men run to get buckets and start to throw the water overboard. One of them is hit with a strong gust of wind and isn’t able to hold on to anything. He’s pushed away from the ship and falls into the big black sea, which engulfs him mercilessly. The others stop and look at where their crewmate disappeared into the sea. No one moves, except for the Captain, who keeps barking orders. “We need to move! Keep going! Move!” His last order is loud enough to bring the pirates back to the moment, and they start moving again. The lightning flashes are getting more and more frequent and the rain is getting heavier. The only positive side of the lighting is that without it they would be sailing in complete darkness. This way, they still get flashes of light. More and more often now. One lighting bolt comes down into the ship and strikes one of the men. He starts convulsing violently, and another one runs to him. He touches the first one, and starts convulsing all the same. “Don’t touch them!” Captain Rogers orders. “Nobody touches them!” The pirates look at their captain, and then at their friends dying. They don’t move. The two men convulsing quickly stop moving and their lifeless bodies fall to the floor. There is nothing that can be done for them now, and the others still need to figure out a way to survive this storm and get wherever they need to go. The more time they spend looking for that damn Well of Wishes, the more they think it won’t be worth it. They keep filling buckets with water and throwing it overboard, trying to keep the ship steadily moving forward with the waves pushing it in all directions and, especially, doing everything in their power to survive. As the first rays of sunshine start coming through the thick clouds hovering over them, the storm also starts getting more tamed. Eventually, there’s no more lightning or thunder, and the rain is barely more than a drizzle. And, on the horizon, there is land in sight. “Captain…” “I see it.” Captain Rogers doesn’t let him finish, because he’s looking at the island they’re approaching. He looks at the map and this is the place where they’re supposed to get to. “This is it.” They keep moving forward and drop the anchor when they’re close enough to the shore. Then, they leave the ship, heading straight for the island. It seems deserted, as an island with a mythical treasure should be. The sand is white, and the sea is very clear. It looks nothing like the sea they sailed on during the night. “Are we supposed to get in there?” One of the pirates asks, pointing toward the trees in front of them. “We are.” Captain Rogers answers and starts walking in that direction. They reach the first trees and keep moving forward, entering a dense forest. “Something feels wrong.” Someone comments. “It’s too silent.” And he’s right. The only sounds are coming from them walking and moving branches and vines away from their path. There are no birds singing, or other animals walking around them. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of life on the island. One of them men in the front starts coughing violently. He turns around to look at the others and they see that his face is swollen and red. He keeps coughing until he loses strength in his legs and falls to the floor. Then, on the floor, he continues to cough, but this time blood comes out of his mouth. And others start coughing too. More than half a dozen of the men are coughing violently. “What is going on?” Captain Rogers asks and, for the first time, he seems to be panicking as much as the others. One of the men coughing tries to speak, but only choking sounds come out of his mouth. So, he raises his left hand. It’s covered in lines of red blisters. Then, with the same hand, he points to the vines swirling around the tree branches and falling almost to the floor. “It’s the vines, Captain. They’ve been touching them to move them out of the way.” The Captain looks at his own hands, because he has been moving the vines out of the way as well, and he is very thankful for his leather gloves. The first man who started to cough is not moving anymore, and there’s a small puddle of blood on the dirt under his mouth. And the others who touched the vines soon stop moving as well, on top of their own puddles of blood. “Captain, we should turn back.” “We can’t. Not now that we’re so close.” Captain Rogers says. “We have to keep going.” He tells his men, and then whispers to himself. “I have to keep going.” “What if there are other dangers that will kill us?” “We have to keep going.” The Captain turns around from his men and starts to walk, moving deeper and deeper into the center of the island. His men aren’t happy about it, but they follow him. They get to a clearing. There are trees all around them, but there are none growing there. The only thing present is an entrance to a cave. Looking from outside, there seems to be light coming from inside the cave. “Do we have to go down there? That doesn’t look good.” “It’s the only way.” Captain Rogers says and leads the way into the cave. They enter and follow the way down, stepping on the stone stairs. And they were right, there is light inside the cave. Along the dark rock walls, torches are hanging. But the flames coming out of these torches isn’t normal fire, it’s bright blue. The men look around at the torches surrounding them amazed. None of them has ever seen blue fire and, now, they’re sure there is something magical about this place. Maybe the Well of Wishes is real after all. As they go deeper and deeper into the cave, they start seeing water. And, very soon, they’re inside of it. Even after being inside of the water, it gets deeper, until it is at their chests. One of the men gasps and starts moving around. “Did you see that?” He asks the others, but no one seems to have seen anything. “Just keep moving.” “There!” He exclaims and points. The others follow the direction his finger is pointing at and they see movement under the water. Even with the blue light coming from the torches, it’s still too dark inside the cave to be able to tell what that movement was. But they’re on high alert now. “Something touched me!” Another man exclaims and starts to get away from whatever is under the water. But, he’s not fast enough, and something pulls him under water. “What the hell?” “What was that?” “We should just leave.” The man who went under water, manages to raise his head and yells for help. He is pulled under again and, even in the dim blue light of the cave, the others can see blood in the water where he was. “No, no, no. We need to get out of here.” “We need to keep going.” Captain Rogers says but, before he can take another step forward, something moves in the water in front of him. He tightens the grip on his sword and waits for whatever it was to get closer to him again. “Come on! I’m right here.” He taunts it. There is movement in the water again, approaching him, and he pushes down his sword in front of him. He hits something that feels like flesh, and he definitely knows what it feels like to drive a sword through flesh. A high-pitched shriek comes out of the creature in front of him, and some of the men cover their ears. Captain Rogers raises his sword, pulling it from the creature to be able to stab it again. But, before he manages to, the creature comes out of the water and jumps toward him. The man beside him hits it on its side before it can hurt the Captain, and the same shriek is heard again. Captain Rogers drives his sword through the creature’s head and it stops moving. He catches it before it can go under water and looks at it. “It’s a siren.” He says, still looking at it wide-eyed. While his men are getting closer to him to see the siren, more surround them and start pulling them under water. The others raise their swords and attack the sirens killing their friends. After they manage to kill them all, seven men have lost their lives. They’re all panting, leaning against one of the walls of the cave. Even the Captain himself is wondering if the Well of Wishes is worth losing the lives of all these men. If he was a selfless man he would say that it isn’t, but he knows he’s not a selfless man. Once they have caught their breath, the men keep moving forward. They walk upward and get to a place where there is no more water. It’s a roughly circular chamber, and there is a stone well in the center of it. “Is that it?” A man asks with disappointment in his voice. “We went through all of that for… this?” “This is what will grant you your wishes.” Captain Rogers tells him and moves forward. He is the first one to get to the well and looks down. He doesn’t see the end of it, only darkness. The Captain places both hands on the edge of the well and closes his eyes. He thinks about his wish and then whispers it to the inside of the well. Captain Rogers steps away from the well and his men run to it. They also start whispering their wishes inside. Chests filled with jewels and gold start appearing around them. Then, piles of gold, weapons and women materialize themselves there too. But, the Captain’s wish isn’t anywhere to be found. While his men are cheering and run toward their wishes, Captain Rogers walks around the chamber, looking for the one thing he has been wanting for years. “Where am I?” A woman’s voice comes from behind Captain Rogers. He turns around and sees a young woman standing there. Her hair is light brown and very long, just like her mother’s was, but her eyes are just like her father’s. They’re a very light blue, just like the Captain’s. He hasn’t seen her in almost twenty years, but he knows it’s her. “Bella?” He asks anyway. “Yes… Where am I?” “You don’t remember me, do you?” He tries to hide the sadness in his voice, but he’s not successful. “I…” She looks at him more closely. She was only four years old when she was taken from him. Captain Rogers’ ship was attacked by a rival pirate captain, and her mother was killed and Bella was taken by him. But, just like he knew her eyes, she knows his. “Father!” He smiles and walks closely to her. “I’ve been trying to find you for so long.” She runs to his arms and he wraps them around her. “You found me.” “I have. I found the only treasure worth finding.”


BANANA JOE.[Bananas are for eating]                         Joe Keen was seven years of age and felt that he was his own man, in charge of the house when his father was absent. He still had a lot to learn about people and places. One day he had the television on loud in the sitting room. Sarah his mother had a headache, she did not mean to shout at Joe. “You’re driving me bananas.” What is that supposed to mean? ’’Bananas grow in Jamaica; teacher showed us the map at school.’’ “Don’t argue Joe.” Replied, his mother Sarah. It was so hard being a one parent family with Joes father away at sea. Keeping a job down to fit in with Joe’s school; hours. Joe was an intelligent and popular lad at Merryvale School. She would regret shouting at him. It was not his fault she had a headache. Later she would give him an extra cuddle and take him into town to try on the new trainers he liked at Hills Store. Once her headache had ceased,                  Thinking about things, Joe made his way to see Nick two doors away Nick was polishing his car a blue Mustang. “Mom says I’m driving her bananas.”          “Do not worry son your moms probably having a bad day adults say strange things sometime without thinking, if their not well. Bananas are good for you look at the nice banana cake Ethel my wife makes.” You always enjoy Ethels cakes Joe. “Yes, and bananas come from Jamaica there are yellow and green ones.’’  “Yes, there are all nice and ripe,” said Nick.     “Then why did Mum say that?”    “Well sometimes people say the first thing that comes into their heads. She probably thought about a bunch of bananas, did you do anything to upset her Joe?   “I had the telly on.”    “Well maybe it was too loud?” I have heard people say “You’re driving me bananas if they don’t like something.” Joe went quite trying to see the reason behind Nicks wise words. After all he was only seven and the whole incident having his mother shout had taken him by surprize.   “So that’s it?” I never meant to upset my mom, like that Nick.  “Yes.” Son that is it your mother will rest and feel better when you get home. You can always help with the car and visit Ethel and myself.   “Thanks Nick.”  “That’s ok son.” Nick then smiled and patted Joe on the back, handing him a sponge to use on the car, Joe helped Nick clean the car. He enjoyed the company of Nick, watching the lather trickle down the car windscreen. It was hard work and Nick made that old Mustang shine. Sometimes they went out together in the old car, and people stared when the car blew out blue smoke. Today Joe stayed for tea with Nick and his wife Ethel. There was no Banana Cake. Joe had settled for coffee and Ginger cake instead.   Nick and Ethel were his best buddies. They always found time for him, explaining, and showing him things, in story books, cars and any other things Joe felt that he needed to know about. Maybe when he grew up, he would become a car mechanic like Nick. A smile appeared on Joes small face. After tea with Nick and Ethel, Joe made his way home.  Sarah, gave Joe a big hug “Sorry I shouted at you.”  That is fine.” replied Joe. Hugging his mother back, he knew she would not stay angry for long. They went for walks together weekends. Sarah had showed him squirrels and how to use his new library card in the library to learn from books. Later lying awake in bed that night Joe thought about his day, well that is something new to tell teacher there are two types of bananas the ones you eat and the ones that get you cross.        When Joe had gone Nick was deep in thought he hoped he had helped Joe. Ethel had agreed that it was difficult to make a small boy understand, adults sometimes. They both knew that Joe would come through okay. They were always there to give advice. Sarah did not have it easy with Joes Pa away in the navy. Maybe next time she would be more careful what she said to Joe? Growing up an only child wasn’t easy for the lad. Although when his father came on shore leave the three of them went every where together. Such a shame that sometimes the lad’s father was away months at a time. He and Ethel were always there to give a helping hand with Joe if needed.    Three days later Sarah had been called into the head teachers office at Joes prep school, she had said how sorry she was about shouting at Joe and would be more careful with her choice of words, regarding what she said in future to Joe. Mr Prince the head knew Joe came from a good family and that no harm had been intended. He could not have, Joe going around school telling others they were bananas. He smiled once Sarah had left the office it was all in a day’s work.   His thoughts went back to Joe trying to explain to his form teacher that there were angry bananas that gave you a headache. His mother would explain to Joe that it was just a slip of the tongue. If only all problems came down to a banana. The head had to smile, at least Joe had not gone around hitting the other kids with bananas.  In teaching one learnt all the time, even from those so small. Joe was a very intelligent little boy and he was sure that in years to come he would do well. He may well become an engineer like his father. They just had to watch him more closely as he had ideas way beyond his years. Poor Joe trying to solve a problem that should not have been there in the first place. Mothers had bad days, like everyone else.


At Mel’s Diner, Adam Mason sat alone contemplating a once in a lifetime tragedy. Going out into the world was his way of taking a leap of faith. In the crystal shards of sunlight shining through the window, he caught a glimpse of himself and quickly turned away. It was the first time in years that he had seen his reflection. Sure, he would look in the mirror to comb his brown hair and to make himself look presentable, but he didn’t really look at himself .

Reaching down, he took another sip of his black coffee and listened to all the hustle and bustle that was the morning rush. People would order their food and quickly hurry on their way. An old tube tv sat in the corner collecting dust, and it was always on ESPN. The place was a living breathing organism.

Adam noticed Lucy walking towards him with her order notepad. Her dirty blonde hair bounced with each step, and her beauty radiated throughout the entire diner. Lucy was his regular waitress, and she always had a cheerful personality. This was something that Adam found to be very troublesome.

“Good morning Adam. Can I get you some more coffee?” she asked. Adam placed his right hand over the cup and said, “Lucy, you know I only drink one cup every morning.” His eyes rose up to meet hers. “Why do you always insist on this.”

Lucy pinched her lips together and rolled her eyes. “First of all, I’m just doin’ my job! Secondly, you always look so glum and miserable.” She flung her hand in the air. “You’re a very nice young man, and in all the years you’ve been coming here, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile!” Pointing at him like she meant business, she continued, “It’s my duty to aggravate you to no end!” She gave him a warm smile.

Adam raised his eyebrows and said, “I think you best tend those aggravations to someone else. I’ve had enough for one morning.”

“Whatever you say, Adam,” Lucy frowned, and turned away to wait on other customers.

Adam raised the coffee cup to his lips and took another sip. His thoughts came racing in like a tsunami. How dare they invade his private isolation.

Lucy means well by flirting with me, but there’s no way she could ever know that I’m a broken man. There’s no way she would know about the broken clock in my home that helps me sleep at night, because I’m trying to forget about time. There’s no way she would understand the loneliness that dwells in my heart, because it’s been frozen over. There’s no way she would understand about the locks I’ve placed in my head to guard myself from further heartache. Adam took a deep breath and looked over at Lucy who was bringing a plate of bacon and eggs to the table in front of him. The sun reflected off the plate as she placed it on the table. Adam squinted his eyes, as the past came back to haunt him.

He remembered the car accident that claimed the lives of his wife and newborn daughter. What it felt like hanging upside down after the head-on collision with that eighteen-wheeler. Pulses of light blinking on and off in the darkness of night. His heartbeat pounding like thunder in his chest. How unfair it was that God had taken their souls to Heaven and left him there to rot . His whole world gone in an instant. The never-ending nights of crying - cutting himself off from the world.

A single tear rolled down Adam’s cheek and he quickly grabbed a napkin to wipe it away. Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy noticed that something was wrong. She decided to take her morning break and sat down across from Adam.

“What are you doing Lucy?” he asked.

“You look like you could use some company,” she said.

Shaking his head Adam replied, “I’m fine Lucy, it’s just my allergies acting up.” Her eyes narrowed as she gazed into his eyes. “I don’t think so… I know the look of sorrow when I see it.”

Adam grimaced and said, “GO AWAY!”

He slammed his hands on the table - his eyes burning with aggravation. Lucy beamed with a glowing ethereal light that seemed to put him at ease. She reached over and placed her hand on his. She gave him a once over - taking in every detail in his face. She could tell he was fighting back tears. She bit her lower lip and then gave him a half-smile.

“Look Adam, you’ve been coming in here for a long time. I know we don’t know each other that well, but if you want to talk I’m here to listen.”

The color drained from Adam’s face as sadness clouded his features. He withdrew his hand from hers and folded his arms. He took a deep breath trying to compose himself. When his eyes met hers, he noticed a twinkle in her soft blue eyes.

Does she really want to know? Can it be that she really cares? I’ve kept this tragedy buried for far too long. Maybe I should tell her. If nothing else maybe she will leave me alone, he thought to himself. He spoke in a somber voice, “A few years ago… there was this accident… my family… didn’t make it.” He took another deep breath and deeply exhaled. “I was driving my wife home from the hospital with our newborn baby girl. We crossed the intersection, and a big rig truck ran the light. He hit us straight on…”

Adam closed his eyes, and Lucy held her hands up to her trembling mouth.

“My wife and baby daughter were killed instantly. I was badly injured but somehow…I survived. I’ve been lost ever since…” Adam could no longer hold back the flood gates.

Lucy rose up from her seat and slid over to Adam. She placed her arms around him and they wept together. The warmth of her body against his sent a strange sensation to his heart. Adam thought to himself, Was this compassion, sympathy, or pity?

After a few moments, they released each other from their friendly embrace. Everyone in the diner was staring at them with eyes wide open. Adam placed his hands on his face to avoid the judgmental glances. His heart started to pound like a big bass drum, and he wanted to run away.

“Shows over folks!” Lucy shouted. “Go about your business!”

After a moment of silence and a few awkward stares, the hustle and bustle of the diner returned to normal. Tears shimmered in Lucy’s eyes and she grabbed a napkin to wipe them away. She reached over and held Adam’s hand.

She really does care... I can’t believe it. I thought everyone in this hateful world only cared about themselves , Adam thought. A glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I know how hard it is to face this world after a tragedy like that,” Lucy said. “A couple of years ago I lost someone special. My husband died from a brain aneurysm.” She lifted her eyes to Heaven and continued, “One day he was completely fine… and the next day he was gone.”  “I’m so sorry Lucy, I had no idea…” Adam said. Her face brightened, and her smile returned. “It’s not something I talk about much. I lost my whole world that day, but I knew deep down in my heart that he would have wanted me to move forward in life.” Recognition filled Adam’s face as he asked, “How did you get through it? What did you do?”

Lucy raised her eyebrows and clenched her jaw. “I decided to move on with my life. I started working here during the days, and at night I go to school. I have a silly dream to become a nurse. It’s something that I’ve always wanted to do.” She raised her eyes again, “I think he would’ve been proud of me…” Adam nodded his head. “It’s not a silly dream, and I know that he would be proud of you.”

Lucy smiled again and said, “The tragedy you went through wasn’t your fault. Stop blaming yourself. I know deep down that your wife and daughter wouldn’t want you to live a life full of misery and grief. Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith and try this thing called living.”

Adam blushed, and a single tear fell from his eye. “I think you're right… Maybe I should try to move on.”

Lucy stood up and said, “I know I’m right. It won’t be easy. When times get hard, and there will be some hard times...remember that you have at least one friend to help you along the way.” Lucy looked down at her watch and said, “Well… I need to get back to work. Can I get you anything?”

Adam gazed down at his coffee cup and said, “I think I’ll take that refill now.”

Lucy smiled and noticed the corners of Adam’s lips turn up… He was smiling.

The End Daniel R. Hayes


Trigger warning: domestic abuse “I threw my hands forward and I pushed all of the negative energy towards him. I felt this big 'whoosh' of forces, and when I was done, I knew I had done something I wasn’t supposed to do. I’m no saint, however. You know how sometimes you just can’t help it? The next morning he woke up with a broken tooth. It was hilarious. He came into the kitchen and his tooth was split in half, right up the center! It happened while he was asleep. Serves him right!”

“Wait, a minute? Are you saying you broke his tooth?”

“I’m saying karma broke his tooth. I just directed it at him.”

I smiled and asked, “The same one as me?”

I had woken up six months before to what sounded like a gunshot to my face. I put my hands to my mouth and blood poured out onto them. My phone lay next to me. My husband never admitted to knocking my tooth out in my sleep but I knew he had done it. I tried to believe him for a while. It’s not like I had any evidence that he had been the one to knock my tooth out and break my jaw. But, I knew. Every time I looked in the mirror, the fact stared back at me.

“So, tell me about your man,” she said.

“He’s barely making it. He messaged me the other night sounding pretty bad off. I tried to comfort him. I’m so glad I’m gone. When I think about going back, I can’t breathe. When are you going to get yours out of here?”

“I feel so much better now that he’s living in the garage. You were in my house. You could actually be in there. Before, people would want to get out as quick as they could. But, now, they linger. And the ghost is much happier. It was like a war-zone here between the ghost and the demons that surround him when he was living in the house.”

“So, you see ghosts now?” I chuckled.

“I don’t see ghosts, I only hear them. I have to tell you about the creepy thing the ghost did. You aren’t going to believe it!"

“I can’t wait to hear this!” I said, relishing in the anticipatory excitement of a good story.

“I had this guy over to do yard work and when he was done, I pulled out sixty-five dollars in cash and handed it to him and then asked if he wanted a drink. I went and got him some ice water and when I came back, he asked me, ‘What about the money?’ I said, ‘I just handed it to you,’ and he said, ‘No you didn’t.’ I was sure I had given it to him. He told me that I had pulled out the money and showed it to him and then walked away. We started looking all over for it. I even looked in the fridge. Eventually, I sat down and cried and tried to give him the rest that I had. He wouldn’t take it. He asked me if I’d like to go over to his place for awhile. He’s a nice man so I accepted. On the way there, I told him that we have a ghost in our house and he sometimes steals stuff from me.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that we need to accept our ghosts."

"And?"

"And, so I did. I told the ghost, ‘I know you are there,’ and the craziest thing happened.”

“What?”

“I felt the wad of money appear in my hand.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. He didn’t believe me either. He said that I must have pulled it out of a pocket, but I hadn’t. He looked at me suspiciously and I tried to explain to him that my pockets had buttons and I couldn’t have undone them without moving my hand.”

“That’s crazy. What did you do at his house?”

“I was so shaken I sat on the couch and rocked back and forth. I asked him to take me back home and he did.”

“Did you ever hear from him again?”

“Yes, I did. He asked me to dinner and I went. We had a good time.”

“Did you tell him about Steve?”

“How could I tell him that I live with a man who has given me three concussions and broken five of my bones? You think he will come around here after that? No, I told him he was my roommate, which is true, by the way. It’s not like we’ve had sex in two years. And, anyway, he does what I say these days."

“What do you mean?”

“Recently, I asked him to do the dishes and he started to get upset and I saw his eyes do that change we've talked about. I held up the phone and said, ‘leave me alone or I’ll call 911.’ He went outside and when he came back his eyes were normal again. He was trying really hard to be nice to me. He even offered to fire up the barbecue.”

“Funny.”

“Yeah, I should have known he’d been drinking. I was so stupid to not pay attention to that. Like, obviously, he was at the bar. What was I thinking asking him about the dishes? But, then again, you just never know how he is going to respond.”

“So, tell me more about your karmic superpower.”

“You are funny. I don’t know. This is something that I’ve always had. One time a man stole my bicycle and he got hit by a car. Another time, someone hurt me and they died in a surfing accident. I know it’s bad to actively try to hurt people, but sometimes I just can’t help but to stop holding back the cosmic forces from crashing down on them.”

I laughed out loud. When you have a powerless life you fantasize about power. And it doesn’t matter who you are before the abuse starts. Afterwards, it changes you. Others will tell you about their bad relationships and think they understand. But, they don’t. Fyodor Dostoevsky was forever changed by the experience of being put before the firing squad and then reprieved. He wrote about it in many of his books. You might say he was obsessed with it, or that this close call with death forever changed his life. I think he would understand.


Tears rolled down his cheeks as he pinned down every single word on to the paper to finally complete the writing of his will. Writing this will was one nightmare that John dreaded to the latter but knew that he stood no choice but to write it anyway. The recent tragedic events in his life had such an effect on him that he considered it was best to write this will no sooner than later. The accidents, divorce, and his recent admission into the hospital for a major heart failure hastened the very process of writing this will. Of course, he knew so well that the only person who would like his will was himself. In no way did he even think that his family and other people would so much treat a will such as his with hospitality. Imagine a will where a father wills his property to a child he only adopted a few months back. Leaving his entire family with nothing but the house they resided in. However, to John, this was no obstacle to the writing of the will. John was determined to write as planned no matter what submission or selfish thought anyone would have on him. It was no longer about people, it was only about him. Much as it hurt him to write a will that stood no approval, he knew it was the only right thing to do. ‘’There are times when it’s not about people as long as it’s the right thing to do’’, he thought. He had a lot in his memories to support his decision of writing such a will. As a reputable man in society, all he ever wanted was to give his children a proper upbringing. The more he thought about the efforts he invested in raising in his kids, the more remorse he grew. His first son James moved out of the home barely at the age of sixteen. He refused school despite the efforts of his father to keep him in school at all costs. From the time he left home, his father knew not of James's whereabouts until the news reached that he was charged for drug trafficking. His only little sister left the home too after getting pregnant for John’s office assistant. The world came crushing for John the very day he lost all his money and watched the company he had so much built brick by a brick collapse in a single day. He had read so many stories on fraudsters but did not think of the fact that he was a victim himself in the making. John had tried to keep his married life happy and stable. However, the recent loss of his enterprise birthed a whole new definition to his marriage. It was hard for him to effectively run the family with daily demands. His wife grew tired of what she often dismissed as ‘’empty words’’ whenever John said everything would be fine sooner than later. John hoped that things would get better. On the contrary, things became darker so that day and night did not matter to him anymore. For him, there was no difference anymore between the two since both day and night only increased his sorrow. Even his friends avoided him, his circles were so narrowed that his best friend and companion was nothing but alcohol. Even the respect he commanded from his wife was soon fading. She always barked at him and noted several times how she regrets ever marrying a man of his kind. By now, it was not unusual for her to come back home late. It did not take long before Clara left her husband’s house. This event is one of the kind that sent chills and tremors down his feet each time he recounted the experience. He was all alone in the house now. John never knew how much his luck was in the world anymore. He was not even sure if he should continue saying to himself that things were going to get better soon. He desired death more than anything in the world again. Clara knew that was the end of John. She found it much disturbing to think that a man who had just lost $1.4billion worth of investments would stand a chance of rising again not to talk of the loans he owed several banks. She knew it was time to say goodbye for good. John had earlier reported the case to the police but had not heard from them in a very long time. He decided to drink at a bar onetime. He got so drunk that he could hardly move an inch. John managed to roll himself out of the bar. He staggered all the way that leads to his home. It was quite a rainy day that night, he fell into a pool of water and was almost drowning. A passerby noticed something fishy and came to his rescue. The stranger recognized him as john was a very popular man in society. The boy carried him to his house where they both spent a night at John’s place. John did not recall much of what had transpired in the night not until Peter explained to him how he saved him from nearly drowning in a pool of water. Peter was an orphan but disciplined and likable. John offered him shelter and the two got along quite well and easily. Peter was fine doing most of the house chores in John’s house. Peter’s sense of humor and livelihood painted some happiness in the life of John. It was not long before John received information from the inspector of police that criminals who had robbed him of his fortune were now in custody. That was not the only good news, all of John’s money had also been recovered. The statement of ‘’things will get better soon’’ had now started to make meaning in the life of John. He was able to put back his company all together again and was back in business like never before. News soon reached his wife and children who immediately came back to their father’s house. John did not present much resistance to them but it was clear they had lost much of his trust and love. The episodes of accidents and illness that suddenly followed John’s life printed clear signals that life could end anytime. He did not want to die and have people fighting for his property. His major nightmare was also to imagine that his wife and sons would inherit his property after all they did to him. Of course, it was their right to inherit their father’s belongings but not after the way they had treated him. As he held that pen, he made sure all his property was willed to Peter. Afterall he saved his life. He signed it with so much courage. However, one clear fact did not leave his mind, he knew people would not like it, but again it did not matter to him anymore.


Author's note: This is one part of the Melted collection. These stories can be read individually or in any order. "Got everything?" asked Tucker yet again. "And then some!" Christina had been prepared for years. Like any sane person (and there would be very few of them left now) she was upset that the Doomsday Clock had struck midnight. Despite herself, Christina was almost excited. For years, she had carefully stocked the bunker with canned goods, food, water, entertainment, and first aid kits. A triple-layered zero particulate air filter system kept pathogens at bay. Daylight-simulating bulbs cheerfully lit the radiation-proof bunker. She spent a small fortune installing a self-contained plumbing system and a backup generator for the backup generator. A small arsenal was tucked behind a trapdoor in the main bedroom. Just in case. They would be ready to live underground for years if they had to. She and Tucker had only started dating in December. They met at a joint Christmas party in the atrium of their office building. The building housed a wide variety of boring-sounding businesses and offices, the heads of which decided a holiday mixer would liven things up. The weather on Christmas Eve was warm enough that she was able to wear a red velvet Santa skirt to the party. She pulled the tiny skirt down in the front while simultaneously trying to keep it high enough in the back. Christina regretted her costume choice. Her form-fitting green and red striped top rose up to expose her belly as she refilled her punch glass. She wasn't sure how many refills she had had, no thanks to Carolyn. Carolyn continually refilled everyone's glass in a desperate attempt to keep the party alive, but Christina suspected she was just trying to cover up her alcoholism. The punch was much stronger than it let on. A lanky man who she vaguely recognized as a paralegal from upstairs walked up to the punch table. Christina knew it was cliche, so she was glad she didn’t say what she was thinking out loud. Her immediate impression was that he defined tall, dark, and handsome. She could not help but stare at the jarring contrast between his striking face and his horrible clothing. He wore the ugliest Christmas sweater she had ever seen in her life. Jingle bells, glitter, and pompoms announced his every movement. Puff paint ran up and down the sleeves and a rainbow of sequins caught the light like a disco ball. Christmas lights strung around the applique pine tree blinked irregularly. “How do you wash a sweater like that?” Christina heard herself wonder aloud. The paralegal stopped filling his punch glass and looked down. “You know, I’m not exactly sure? I just bought this thing and I hadn’t really considered what I’d do with it after today.” Christina could not tear her eyes away from the Santa peeking out from behind the tree on his sweater. Santa's expression was slightly menacing. Tucker bent down to get in her line of sight and caught her attention. He stuck out a slender ringless hand.

“I’m Tucker. Anthony Tucker.” Christina rolled her eyes. “Okay, Bond James Bond," she muttered. Tucker’s cheeks turned maroon. “Sorry, that was awkward. It’s just that everyone calls me Tucker,” he said as he moved to step away from the punch table. “No, no,” Christina began. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Idris Elba? I guess that’s why it made me think of James Bond, I don't know.” He snorted in self-deprecation and turned to leave. She grabbed the paralegal’s wrist and he flushed even deeper. She looked down at her strong knuckled grasp, unaware that she was clutching with all her might. Cheeks already reddened from the punch, she could not blush. She blinked up at the handsome face in front of her and tried to focus. She felt herself swaying, but wasn’t sure if it was because of the punch or the paralegal. “If you want, I can call an uber for you,” Tucker offered delicately. He gently loosened her fingers. “That’s okay. Can you just... bring me some sugar cookies?” He gently steered her towards a table and made sure she had her purse tucked safely at her side before he left. Tucker returned with a bottle of water and a plate piled high with sprinkled reindeer-shaped cookies. They sat on folding chairs and people-watched. They ranked Christmas sweaters by ugliness. Tucker won by a landslide. When he wasn't pushing pencils on the sixth floor, Tucker said he was an amateur painter. He focused on cubism, but was thinking about moving into postmodernism. Christina did not mention her hobby and munched cookies, listening with genuine interest. "Feeling better?" "Much," Christina said truthfully. They sat in comfortable silence, staring out at their coworkers milling around awkwardly. "So why 'Tucker'? Anthony isn't such a bad name." "It's not, I agree. It's just that I'm the third one. I think Tucker has a little more flavor anyway." He paused. "Do you go by Tina? Chrissy?" "Absolutely not! It's Christina or Miss Watterson. I'm the CFO, after all. No nicknames allowed." She glanced at her companion and felt a familiar wave of pleasure at his flash of surprise. Very few people expected her to have a corner office and she relished revealing her title. To his credit, Anthony Tucker needed only a moment to process the information. "Well then, Miss Watterson, do you have plans for New Year's?" Christina remembered that night with wistful clarity. It felt like ages ago, so much had happened since. Before Tucker, Christina dated casually and rarely stayed with anyone very long. When she finally admitted to her dates that she was a doomsday prepper and had an underground bunker larger than her house, most men stopped calling. She was fine with that because that just meant that they were risk takers in a way she wasn’t. She enjoyed living dangerously - she had tried skydiving, thank you very much - but only by choice. No outside forces were going to take her down without a fight. So when Christina heard the news of the Thwaites Glacier discovery, she had to inform Tucker about her obsession far earlier than she would have liked. Four days passed before she heard from him again. But when Dr. Eleanor Lee - a member of the team in Antarctica that discovered the algae in the glacier - died from Melting after her plane landed in Argentina, Tucker texted her. There were rumors of a case of Melting in New York City, but none where she lived. Yet. Christina offered Tucker an ultimatum. On January 31st, six days after the discovery in the glacier and thirty-eight days into their relationship, Christina and Tucker took the plunge into the bunker.

Their footsteps echoed on the tin stairs as they descended into their new steel and concrete home.

"Last chance," said Christina. Tucker squeezed her wrist. They walked through a second steel door, closed it, and turned the heavy lock. Tucker exhaled a long-held breath. Christina turned and took both his hands in hers.

"It's gonna be okay." "They're dying out there. There are more Melting every day. The temperature keeps rising. They're going mad and they're… My sisters are going to…" Tucker crumpled. Christina held him up. "It's gonna be okay," she repeated. Tucker felt cold sweat prickle his neck. "Did you remember my paints? If I can't paint--" "Don't worry. I even made a little studio for you." She led the way into a smaller room set up with easels, palettes, and a huge crate of oil paints, watercolors, and acrylics. A tall shelf housed boxes of paintbrushes, scrapers, cans of paint thinner, tools, and aprons. A mountain of canvases was neatly stacked against the wall. "It looks like you got enough for about ten years of painting. I'll be a regular Picasso by the time we get out." "Okay, rule number one. We never talk about how long we're in the bunker. We will drive ourselves crazy if we circle a date on the calendar and wait. We have no idea how long this will be, so let's just take it one day at a time." "Fair. Rule number two?" "Not so much a rule as a request. Can you try impressionism someday? I'm more of a Renoir kinda gal." "We'll see," Tucker laughed. He folded her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. They stood like that for a long time or maybe just a moment. Christina kept no clocks in the bunker. “If this is the end, I’m glad I’m spending it with you.”

Tucker squeezed Christina’s wrist tightly.


We call it the guest room. Well, Esther does, but she's always been the more optimistic of the two of us. The guest room, though we've never had guests in there, and likely won't for a while. The guest room, though used to be my Mom's room. It used to be. The pandemic had screwed everything up. Mom couldn't stay in the retirement home anymore. Before the lockdown hit us, we got her out. I didn't want her to be alone. Esther agreed, and so we did it. We saved her. Or, so I thought. It wasn't the pandemic that killed her. It had killed so many, but not Mom. We were careful. Masks. Sanitizing. I went to the store alone. Esther could work from home, so Mom wasn't even alone during the day. But it was the cancer. It came back, it was worse. Doctors only did video-chats with Mom, saying bedrest was all they could do. Hospitals weren't safe for her compromised immune system.

It only took six months. Six months after she moved in and she was gone. No funeral. No family. We had her cremated, kept the ashes. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. But she was gone. I couldn't believe it. She was gone. Until she came back. The evening was going as they had for the last year: lazy supper, binge watching some "look-at-your-phone-while-it's-in-the-background" show, and early to bed. Esther had said just one more episode and then bed, but that was three episodes ago. As I clicked "Next Episode", she groaned. "Seriously, honey?" Esther complained. She turned to me, pulling out her best pouty face. It's hard to resist, that one. But I did my best. I returned my best smirk. "Seriously? It's only 8:30. We can watch another one." Esther shook her head. "You haven't watched any of them. You're so deep in you phone, do you even remember what this show is called?"

My eyes shot to the screen. The title was usually showing between episodes, but it had already jumped to the start of the episode. Esther quickly reached over and snapped up the remote, turning off the TV before I could remember which show that particular collection of characters belonged to.

I sighed. "Sorry. Yeah, let's go bed." She smiled at me, throwing the remote back at me, hitting my chest.

BOOM. We both jumped. I stared down at the remote, confused. Was that the remote hitting my chest? I looked up at Esther. She was staring at the ceiling. "What was that?" she asked, more angry than afraid. I shook my head, though she didn't look at me, and I followed her gaze.

BOOM. Again, louder, I think. Or maybe it was because we saw the ceiling thud with the noise, the hanging plant sway from the commotion. I stood up, headed for the stairs. Esther was right behind me. As we ran up the stairs, another boom. I felt this one. As we rounded the stairs, we stopped dead in our tracks. Mom's room door, the guest room door was closed. And someone was banging on it, from the inside.

I backed up slowly, bumping into Esther. She had her phone out, and was talking. I couldn't hear her words. I just stared. My fear turned to curiosity, too quickly. Who was it? The front door was locked, they always locked it after supper. Right? I turned to Esther. "Let's go back down" I whispered. She nodded. As I followed her down the stairs, I could hear her giving our address. My eyes stayed on the top of the stairs and the door. My Mom's door. The guest room door. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard Esther say, too loudly "30 minutes? Are you %$#&ing kidding me? We could be murdered by then!"

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The booming became louder more frantic, as if convinced that someone was there. Someone could hear it. Someone could answer. "We should go outside," I whispered, failing to hide the fear in the voice. Esther's eyes flashed to mine. I saw the transition from angry woman to protective warrior. She glance down, then took a deep breath. "You know what? I've got a bat. %$#& you. I'll deal with it myself."

Esther hung up her phone to audible protests, then tossed me her phone. She reached over, grabbing the baseball bat we kept by the front door. I'd never considered it before, but the bat was our last line of defence in this house. Esther hadn't played in years, but I valued her swing over mine. I followed her as she slowly made her way back up the stairs. It wasn't until we reached the top that I realized the knocking had stopped. Perhaps it had stopped when Esther had screamed into her phone, or when she grabbed the bat. I couldn't be sure, but I pushed the thought away as Esther moved in on Mom's room, the guest room door. "Whoever's in there, get ready to get %$#&ed up!" "Esther!" I said, barely above a whisper. She shot me a glance. It spoke volumes: both "shut up" and "I got this" in one. But the moment she looked away from the door... BOOM! I don't know if it was the fear, the sudden break in silence, or that something from beyond the door literally shook the house; but I fell. It was almost as embarrassing as it was painful. I landed square on my ass. Esther (damn, what a woman) had only steadied herself against the threat, raising the bat to strike the knocking invader.

"You okay?" she called. I whimpered a response, confirming I was. I slowly got back to my feet as Esther inched towards the door. The booming had ramped up, a constant barrage of thunderous knocking. Esther, barefoot and wearing the cute penguin pyjamas I had got her on her birthday, reared up like a combat soldier and kicked in the door. The wood of the frame fractured as the door gave way. Mom's room, the guest room, opened to us, dark and boring. The booming stopped, but so did my heart. Standing in the middle of the room, Mom's room, the guest room was the ghostly form of... "Mom?"


“Oma!” Julia’s pudgy little legs danced as her arms reached up to her grandmother. The old woman smiled brightly and picked up the toddler. “Oma Santa is coming soon! Daddy said he’s in the ocean right now.” Julia’s excitement filled the room with momentum. “Well, he won’t come unless you eat all your dinner and mind your manners. He will pass right by without a glance.” Uncle Oscar stood tall but the war left him with a cynical eye. “Nonsense my little one. Santa will come as long as we follow tradition.” Julia’s mother scooped her into her arms while Oscar helped his mother to a chair. No longer wanting to be held Julia squirmed free and ran to her cousins who sat in a circle discussing the tedious politics of middle school life. Julia’s mother pulled Oscar aside and lowered her voice, “Please try to be a little compassionate. She is only four.” Oscar nodded in agreement but remained stoic and silent. Peter and his children were the next to arrive. Already in high school they remained in the living room adding and questioning the various topics deemed too adult for the others. Julia didn’t care for conversation. She wanted to play, and her cousins eventually gave in to her pleas. “Mom do you want to help me in the kitchen any?” Danielle, Julia’s eldest aunt, popped her head through the doorway, loose strands of hair bounced free from the tie. Julia’s mother attempted to help but the old woman gently pushed her aside as she made her way to the kitchen. “That smells amazing Dani.” Being the youngest of his siblings, Julia’s father played with the children while everyone else discussed what seemed like more important topics. “Julie Santa is on the West coast and heading this way!” Julia squealed as the cousins clapped along. “After dinner we’ll hop in the van and see if we can spot Rudolf’s nose before they get to the house.” Julia nodded to her mother then went back to climbing on her cousins as if they were mountains and she would conquer them all. Her cousins did not enjoy this game as much and her father chuckled at their faces silently screaming for help. He groaned as he pried Julia from her cousin’s legs. “Why can’t Santa come sooner? Why do we have to do all these things and then he comes?” “Well,” Her father carefully considered his next words. “it’s tradition and Santa honors them.” Peter snorted from the oversized armchair. Lowering his legs from the ottoman, “We have been doing things this way since before you were born.” He turned to Julia, “I think hearing it from the oldest of us would be best.” Julia’s father rolled his eyes but did not argue. Peter cleared his throat as Julia’s big eyes shined in wonder. “Now, magic flows through the world and Santa is the guardian of that magic. He keeps a watchful on the youngsters of the world and ensures that their kept safe and happy. Each family has a different magical tradition. These traditions are what lets Santa know that the family still has magic in their hearts. So, we eat the food properly prepared by our matriarchs. Specifically a large goose with red cabbage, cucumber salad, mashed potatoes, and to finish a beautiful stollen!” Peter paused for a moment to wipe the drool gathering in the corner of his mouth. “Then we lay out the wonderful cookies you made and a glass of milk for Santa as an offering for his visit.” “But why do we hunt for Rudolf?” Julia’s father looked towards Peter with a smug grin. Peter coughed twice, “He follows the trail of magic you leave behind. So, we go find Rudolf in the sky to lead them to our house.” “Who said that’s what we do though uncle Peter?” Julia crossed her arms defiantly and ready for her presents. “For generations our family has come together to determine how much magic our traditions bring for Santa to see.” Peter triumphant with his story leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. “What tales you spin Peter.” Danielle came from the back bedroom. She had changed into a simple red dress with a thin white belt and Christmas tree earrings. Her hair was neatly curled around her face. “You definitely painted a picture for us but I would like to set the record straight on how these traditions were started. Why don’t you go help mother set the table while I tell Julia how our tradition started since the matriarchs are done cooking.” Danielle glowered at Peter and plopped into his chair as he went into the dining room. “So, most of what Uncle Peter said is true but we follow these traditions that are laid out by our ancestors. Years and years ago Santa’s magic flowed through everyone equally but when families from different regions became one and had to integrate their traditions. So the dinner we eat brings both our southern and German heritage together as one and strengthens the connection we have to our family. When we strengthen our bonds with each other the magic that flows through each of us is able to power Santa’s sleigh and give the reindeer their ability to fly.” Proud of her version she tapped Julia on the nose before heading into the dining room to scold Peter for his inability to set the table. Julia pulled at her braids her mother spent two hours trying to get her to sit still for. “Let’s get you washed up for dinner then we’ll hunt for Rudolf.” Her father’s voice, rough from years of coaching basketball, was still soft when speaking to her. The family enjoyed their dinner in the crowded dining room. Julia ended up wearing more of her food than eating it. Her mother took her to the bathroom after desert while the cousins readied themselves in the car. “Mommy, is Uncle Peter or Aunt Dani right about why we go look for Rudolf?” Her mother folded the moist towel and continued to clean her face and outfit. “What do you think kiddo?” Julia thought for a moment, “I think Santa loves us no matter what we do as long as we’ve been good.” She nodded to her mother confident in her answer. Her mother smiled sweetly and agreed. “Maybe Oma can tell you more about it later. Let’s go find Rudolf and lead them back to the house.” Julia’s little feet raced out into the cold for only a moment before she was tucked between her cousins in the warm van. Her mother stayed behind along with her aunt, uncle, and grandmother. Julia’s father and her uncle Oscar rode in the front while the kids lined the seats in the back. The family ooed and awed at the wonderful array of lights the neighborhoods had lined their houses with. They spotted several blinking red lights that were deemed planes. Then Julia looked to her left and saw a constant floating red light. “I found him Daddy! Quick tell him where we live.” She hollered at the window refusing to take her eyes off of the light. Her father whipped the car around and sped home. When they arrived Julia bolted inside the house to find dozens of presents crowded under the tree. “You just missed him sweety.” Her mother held a camera in her hands, “I tried to get a picture for you this year but he was too fast.” “Ah but look he enjoyed the cookies you left for him and left you a note!” Peter puffed his chest as her father rolled his eyes once again. Two of the three cookies were gone and half of the last remained while the glass of milk was gone entirely. Oma sat in her rocking chair. Her wrinkles deepening as she smiled. As tradition goes the youngest gets the first presents while the rest are passed out. Julia ripped through her presents and adored them all. Her favorite gift, addressed to her from Santa, was a glass doll from Europe. She held it close as she climbed into her Oma’s lap. Oma kissed the top of the young girls head as she curled into a ball before falling asleep. “We should probably be heading home soon. It’s a ways past her bedtime.” Julia’s mother and father began carrying their presents to the car. Oma very gently woke the girl so she could say goodbye to everyone. She carried Julia to the car herself while her parents said their own goodbyes. “Oma did you really have to change your tradition when you married grandaddy?” Julia attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes. “Oh my girl, we never stopped changing. One day you will carry the traditions you love with you and change them how you wish to match the love that surrounds you. Magic never dies as long as you continue to do what makes you happy.” Oma kissed Julia’s puffy cheek and buckled her tight into her car seat. “You children bring our traditions to life. I look forward to seeing your little family grow as you interpret and continue them how you see the world. Just like our ever changing world you will grow and change even when I am far away from here. But, you keep believing in yourself, in love, and you will find your traditions will be the same just done differently.” As Julia grew and family became sparse that message was never forgotten.


“Jennifer, hurry you’re going to miss your flight!” Mom shouted up. Mom, I thought and let those words sink in. I was nineteen and my Mom was my rock, best friend and confidant. It made this trip hard. We talked and talked till the early hours sharing our thoughts, she understood, she always did. Yet I know she feared losing me and however much I tried to reassure her and no matter how much she professed her understanding, there was that look of doubt and uncertainty which pained me no end. I ran down the stairs with my luggage almost toppling over. Mom was standing at the bottom smiling but her face showed her true emotions. “Dad is in the car.” She said like this was a trip to the supermarket but this was no ordinary trip. As I opened the front door Dad ran from the car to take my bags. “I have them princess.” he said. I had always been his princess. Thinking about that I felt the tears well up, when I was a freshman in high school, I was embarrassed when he called me princess in front of my friends. Dad being Dad shrugged it off and for a long time never called me his princess. Then my boyfriend broke up with me and I remember Dad coming to my room with my favorite chocolates, Rolos! “For my princess.” He said and I just fell in his arms and wept buckets. “Are you sure about me going?” I asked as we loaded the car. “Of course you must go.” My dad told me. “You are the only ones I will ever think of as Mom and Dad.” I said, again probably for the hundredth time. “Jennifer, we have talked about this and of course you want to meet her. That is why we remained in contact with her through Mother Lee.” Mom replied pragmatically. I hugged her inhaling her scent and got in the car. In my worry of hurting my parents I had pushed away the excitement and trepidation of this trip. My parents had always wanted to take me to Vietnam but it had never happened but now I was going there to meet my biological mother. She had been so young, younger than I was now and thanks to my parents’ openness and honesty I bore no resentment. There was the natural response of feeling abandoned and unloved but my Mom had always been quick to point out that leaving me in the orphanage was simply an act of love and the hardest thing any woman could do. Vietnam, I thought, my mother had always talked about it. Her best friend Aunt Felicity, my Godmother, was totally obsessed with the place and it was her who had told my Mom about the orphanage. I was surprised Aunt Felicity was not coming with me to Nam as she liked to call it. Mom and Dad had talked about coming but I needed to do this alone and besides they had my siblings to think about. After years of infertility, they finally got pregnant after my adoption. I never felt less loved or wanted when their “own” children came along but there is always the curiosity. The missing jigsaw piece that I needed to make me whole. Aunt Flick had told me Nam was an infectious place and I would never be the same again. “Nam will get you Jenny, she will cast her spell and you will be mesmerized by her.” Over the years she had bought me everything Vietnamese. I had an Áo dài (in every color imaginable). These are made of silk and are the national dress consisting of a long tunic with slits up the side worn over pants. Aunt Flick gave me the full history lesson one time going back to the Ming dynasty. I wondered if the Vietnamese would think it odd that I did not speak much Vietnamese and the little I did speak was not great.  I was Vietnamese yet I was not. Who was I then? The seeds that were planted within were germinating and suddenly I felt so unsure of myself. “Jenny, did you hear a word I said?” I jolted back to the present. “Sorry Mom I was .” She cut me off and finished my sentence. “Daydreaming.” With that we both laughed, it was a common occurrence! “I was checking you have everything we are nearly there.” “It’s all here. Did you put the extra suitcase in for the orphanage.” “Yes I did. It’s probably overweight, Aunt Flick kept adding more things.” We chatted some more as we walked to the check in desk and I was already dreading saying goodbye. I promised myself not to cry but Mom and I set each other off and I watched Dad wipe a tear. I went through security and waved at them until they were out of sight. I breathed a deep breath as I embarked on the journey to my Motherland. It was a long journey giving me time to think and dwell on what I was about to encounter. I realized I was fortunate to be able to meet my birth mother. Many of the orphans never had any details of their parents as they were often abandoned. My mother had sought out Mother Lee in her late pregnancy, the nun had provided her with a safe refuge. I was excited that I would be meeting Mother Lee, she had sent me a Birthday and Christmas card every year and I in turn had written to her over the years. Aunt Flick had warned me she was getting frail. She still lived in the orphanage but it was now run by a young woman who had grown up there but had never been adopted. She had one arm and was left on the orphanage when she was a few days old, unwanted because of what she was lacking. As we touched down in Hanoi, I surveyed all the surroundings. Aunt Flick had told me about the war bunkers and she was right! A reminder of the past. I headed towards immigration to the foreigner line and was stopped by an official wearing what seemed like military uniform. My heart went into my mouth as he rambled on in Vietnamese. He was pointing to something and I looked to see it was the Vietnamese lines which were empty. In my limited Vietnamese I told him I was American and showed him my passport. He smiled broadly and spoke “But you Vietnamese this way.” “I have American passport.” I exclaimed. “No you Vietnamese, come.” I had no choice but to follow him to a desk with no line. The officer at the desk said “You American passport but you Vietnamese. First time Hanoi?” “Thank you, yes it’s my first time to Vietnam since I left as a baby.” “You one of us, we happy you come.” I smiled at the broken English aware of how much better it was than my Vietnamese. This was the Nam way Aunt Flick had described. Instantly I felt like I belonged here, a place where everyone was like me except for the language barrier. Mother Lee had arranged transport to take me to the hotel and as I made my way to arrivals I saw a sign with my name. I made my way to a man not much older than myself; he was incredibly good looking. “Jennifer.” He said in his accented voice. I nodded and he started to talk in Vietnamese and I realized this was going to be a thing for the whole trip and wished I had paid better attention to the lessons my parents had made me take. It turned out his English was superb and we chatted like old friends all the way to the hotel. Aunt Flick for my graduation had paid for me to stay in the Hotel Metropole, an old French hotel. We pulled up and I was overcome with the grandeur and fairytale feel of the place. My driver took my bags and gave me his card to call if I needed anything, otherwise he would be back the day after tomorrow to take me to the orphanage. It was there I would meet Mother Lee and my birth mother. I was excited but scared all at once. I thanked him then checked in and was shown to the most beautiful room which was so Parisian yet full of Indochina charm. I was suddenly very weary and realized it was 5am back home. It was 4pm here and I knew if I could just stay awake for a few hours I could crash for the night. I was ravenous, I took a quick shower and put on some fresh clothes and headed out to the streets of Hanoi and was just charmed. The smell of French bread mingled with, what was that dreadful smell? Drains it was the infamous drain smell Aunt Flick had warned me about!  I settled on some local food. I was familiar with Vietnamese food and could cook many dishes. I ordered some Pho with my limited Vietnamese. They blurted back in full speed Vietnamese and I had to recoil. Thankfully they spoke some English. My Pho came and it was the most heavenly thing I have tasted and I wondered what the secret was! I paid the bill and wondered around for a little longer just soaking in the fact that I was in Nam. There was something very transient about it and although I had never been here it evoked such familiarity. I went back to the hotel, showered, texted my parents as it was still early but they called immediately. I should have known they would have been waiting. We chatted briefly and then I had to go as I could barely keep my eyes open! I slept like a baby and awoke at about 9am. I wondered where I was but then remembered Nam! I dressed quickly and went down to breakfast. I took a table at the window and watched the bicycles and motorbikes pass by, often with a whole family on them and all their shopping!  Some would gaze in and wave so I waved back. Breakfast was divine with exquisite French pastries that just melted and the best coffee I have ever tasted. After breakfast I decided to go to Old Quarter and then wanted to go and see Uncle Ho in his mausoleum. I was fascinated by Ho Chi Minh and Aunt Flick had told me it was a must. I hailed a cyclo and in my limited Vietnamese asked to go there. When I got there, I thought I was in Moscow. The beautiful French architecture was replaced by a cold bland grey square. Uhm not sure Uncle Ho would have liked this! Sadly, I got there to find out he had been sent to Russia for embalming. I shuddered it was a weird concept of keeping someone on show like this! At that I saw my cyclo driver as he had stopped to talk with someone and I asked if he could take me to Uncle Ho’s stilt house. He kindly obliged and chatted the whole way there telling me all about the revered Uncle Ho. I enjoyed seeing his house and hearing the propaganda, here in the North he was of course a hero. My cyclo driver had offered to wait and I found him talking to someone, the Nam way! I wanted to see the Hoan Kiem lake so he took me there, from there I knew I could walk back to the hotel. The lake was beautiful evoking a dreamlike feeling. I learnt of the story of the famous sword and turtle and loved the Turtle Tower. By the time I got to St Joesph’s cathedral - where I had to pinch myself as I thought it was Notre Dame, I was ravenous. I found a little cafe and sat outside and started thinking about tomorrow. Going to the orphanage where I was born was an odd feeling and I had no idea what to expect. Obviously, I had no memory of the place I was barely six months old when I left. I wondered how my birth mother would feel meeting me there. Was that a little cruel for her to go back to the place she had to leave me or would it provide the closure she needed. I am sure Mother Lee would have thought it through, she was astute and tuned in and according to Aunt Flick the most Christlike and amazing person you would ever meet. I was lost in my thoughts when the waitress came and gave me my check.

I walked back to the hotel and went for a quick swim then ordered some sandwiches.  I called my parents who were excited to hear about my day, I showered and barely remembered my head hitting the pillow. I awoke to my alarm, dressed and went to breakfast and waited for my driver with trepidation.

In the car we chatted and he told me all about Mother Lee and the orphanage. How it was run down but illuminated by love which is what Aunt Flick had told me. As Hanoi went out of sight, paddy fields became the scenery with water buffalo. It was picturesque and I was mesmerized. Finally, we pulled up to some old wrought iron gates in dire need of painting. As we approached children appeared and an older child opened the gate. We drove through slowly with children chasing us and waving. The orphanage was a large building but it was almost dilapidated. As we approached a young woman with one arm who I deduced was the person who now ran the place, she had the most beautiful smile. She hugged me and then shuffling slowly I saw Mother Lee. Something jolted inside, this woman had saved me she had a presence I could not describe almost saintly and I was in awe. “My child, look at you, I am so happy to see you.” She held her arms out and I ran into them and wept. Some internal mechanism recognized this embrace. I looked at her face and saw her tears, her love radiating out of her, just so pure and it was all I could do not to cry again. “I am so happy to see you Mother Lee.”  Mother Lee I realized was like saying motherly I had not noticed that before, how appropriate. “Come child let’s go to my study, there is someone waiting to meet you.” I tensed and Mother Lee sensed my mood. “Would you prefer look around first.” She asked kindly. “No, we have waited both waited long enough.” I followed her noticing how run down the place was. I was glad of her slow pace to give my stomach time to settle. I peered in through open doors and saw a room with a row of cribs and tiny babies. It was hard to think of me there. There was an older child attending to a crying baby shushing her gently. Mother Lee saw me looking in. “It is an act of love when a mother gives up her child, it is not an easy decision.” I smiled and nodded my agreement. She stopped at that and took my hands into her frail liver spotted hands, “Your mother had no choice; she came to me and I helped her she was fifteen. Several times a year she comes here to hear the news of you and see your photos. She has waited for this moment to reunite with you since she left you here, you were barely a week old. She has never once forgotten you.” Tears sprung in my eyes and once she embraced me in that familiar way that made me yearn. “Come child let’s not keep her waiting any longer.” I followed her once more as she opened a creaky door. A woman got to her feet and I froze. I was just like her, there was no mistaking my mother. We locked eyes and ran to each other amid sobs and tears. We never noticed Mother Lee slip out. “My baby, forgive me.” She said in amazingly good English. I looked at her. “There is nothing to forgive.” And with that we both started to cry once more. A few minutes later there was a knock and Mother Lee had returned with tea and cookies, carried by one of the older children. We sat and chatted easily without any inhibitions. She told me how grateful she was to Mother Lee and my parents. She also went on to tell me she was married with two sons, eight and nine. My brothers I thought. We spent the rest of the afternoon together and I told her if she wanted to meet again before I left, I would like that. She of course did and asked if I would like to meet my brothers. I was leaving to see Saigon or Ho Chi Minh City as it was now known but Aunt Flick had told me it was sacrilege to call it anything but Saigon. I was also going to Nha Trang then returning to Hanoi. I could have got a flight from Saigon but there was a part of me that had hoped my birth mother would want to see me again. I decided to change my flight and leave a few days later so we could spend more time and she had insisted that I stay with them. It felt natural and right and for the first time in my life I finally felt whole. Aunt Flick had been right I was totally in love and besotted with Nam. I belonged here, a belonging I never knew existed deep within my soul.


The future will always be unknown, and for people with severe anxiety, the thought of something being unknown is unfathomable. There once was a girl that I knew who tried so hard to be prepared for the future, she became scared of it. She became so scared that she limited her abilities, her goals, and her passions. Some may consider her doing that to herself as some sort of self-sabotage, but for her, it was completely the most logical thing to do. If the world has a 50% chance of ending negatively for her, why risk 100% of it? We’re taught in life that you must give to receive, you must be equal with the Earth and the people with-in it. However, that simply is not a reality.

            It is hard to be a ‘logical-wanderer’ as this person called her dilemma. Of course she had amazing dreams, and sometimes risked so much to get so little. She once spent almost $20,000 to move across the country at 18 to be somewhere she’s never set foot in, all because of a calling. The calling was telling her that this would be best for her future and of course that was her selling point when she brought it up to her parents. The future would be filled with job opportunities, amazing weather, and a good college education. But, when she was left alone, surrounded by her own thoughts in the late-night, she thought, there was really no promising future.

            She witnessed the smartest people she knew be dead broke, the hardest workers behind on payments, and so on and so forth. While she believed in hard work and dreaming big, she saw that sometimes, those don’t work. It was a constant battle for her. One day she was fighting for her future, staying up for hours doing work, and the next week she would miss several assignments and opportunities because she essentially stopped believing. She tried so hard to make sense of her likes and dislikes in relation to the world and thought herself to be unique, but she would then later feel irrelevant or unimportant towards the universe with her ‘uniqueness.’

            That is one major thing people do not talk about when it comes to being a wanderer. In the movies, books, and songs, people describe having a spotless mind as being a carefree teenager, post-manic pixie dream and a ‘flower-child’ complex. While those are all true, there are some other key parts that are unhighlighted. Those parts are dark, and one part specifically was really big for this girl. They were the nights crying and feeling like this is nowhere near the life you want, and the feeling that you’ll never find it because all you’ve ever done was chase temporary happiness, but at the time it was not just ‘temporary happiness,’ but rather a small joy that motivates you to find the next. Never being satisfied or settled can be so damaging. You can only chase so much until your heart gives up, and you have to hope that it will give up in a spot and mental position you adore, otherwise you’ll realize that you chased the world for absolutely nothing. Maybe it is for something, but there it goes again. Uncertainty.

            I also had a friend, or an acquaintance would be better to say, who was a complete science nerd. But he once told me a statistic and a fact about the world that confirmed this girl’s favorite quote of all time. First, I will share the fact. The science fanatic told me that with the right conditions, in space, you technically move faster than time itself. While I, myself, am not too big on science and space, this fact really intrigued me. It essentially has something to do with the weight and the light when you are in space. I thought that was pretty cool, as it is almost like the future is chasing you. How ironic.

            Anyway, the quote this girl absolutely adored was always butchered by her. She only knows of this quote because she saw it in the english-translated subtitle of an Asian Television drama she watched in the 8th grade as has tried her hardest to find the name of. The show was about a girl who dresses up as a guy to get inside a really good track and field program at an all boys school. However, the quote literally has nothing to do with the plot. Despite always messing up the quote, you could still get the general idea of it. It goes something like: “Although the world spins at a predetermined speed, I will not let the weight of this world determine how fast I go.”             It was funny that I learned the scientific meaning of this quote almost 5 years later. Maybe I heard because It was important for me to hear, and in terms of general ‘dream chasing motivational speaking,’ I am certain that this quote and the facts to back it up are very important for everyone to hear.             In the end, I do not think this girl stopped chasing her dreams, no matter how much it killed her. She was not a wanderer by nature, but by fear of what the world may have for her. She tried everything and she went everywhere to see where the perfect place to set up shop was. I think it would be absolutely idiotic for her to give up, but then again here’s me talking with the faith and good sides of being a wanderer. It is good to have both lenses. Now, it may be the assumption of someone reading: Why should I care about the writer’s opinion when the situation is not even about her?

            You would not be wrong. I do find myself being critical of people of things and either not having the experience as those people, or I either have done the same stupid thing I am criticizing. However, I am the girl who just spent $20,000 to travel across the country to live in a city i’ve never even blinked in.


Don't you have anything better to do? his brother asked. Sam Roebuck smiled. Not at the moment, he thought back. But you seem rather busy at the moment. Not everyone can swill whiskey and idly write all day, his twin brother, Liam Roebuck, thought as he entered the warehouse. Triple homicides don't solve themselves. And best sellers that pay for the lake house don't write themselves, either, Sam retorted. Now shut up and do your job. Liam glanced at a nearby window and gave his reflection the middle finger. Sam grinned wider. He and his brother had shared this connection all their lives; all one brother had to do was close his eyes, reach out to the other, and he would see from his brother's perspective--both literally and figuratively. Liam and Sam had used this connection to their benefit on numerous occasions--whether it be stealing the neighbor's Halloween candy when they were kids, or stealing their parent's vodka when they were slightly larger kids--but none had proved more fruitful than their current arrangement. Liam ventured out into the world as a detective for the Boston Police Department, and Sam used those experiences for the basis of his thrillers. Of course, Sam always served up these stories with an extra dollop of melodrama on top--a habit that annoyed Liam as much as it filled his publishers with glee. "Not much to see here, sir," a plain-clothes police officer told Liam as he passed into the warehouse. He was a short man with beady eyes and a moss of red stubble across his jaw. "We've got three in the back office. There are some footprints around the bed, a few smudges by the window, and not much else." "No fingerprints?" Liam asked. "None that don't belong to the victims." That's a shame, Sam thought. This one might actually be interesting. Apologies if most of my life is too boring for you, Liam thought as he followed the police officer into the back room. Does this at least pique your interest? In fact, it did. The bodies were arranged in a row, arm to arm, across a dirty mattress. They wore heavy winter jackets and hats and gloves. Scarves were laid over their faces, almost ceremonially. If there were any signs of trauma, Sam couldn't spot them--but the bodies weren't moving. These people were certainly dead, there was no doubting that. "Who called it in?" Liam asked as he pulled on his gloves. "Not sure, sir," said the plain-clothes officer as he scratched at the stubble on his chin. "We got an anonymous tip. Came from a pay phone, believe it or not." "Pay phone," Liam muttered as he made a circle of the room. "I'm surprised there are any left in the city." "There aren't, which makes life a bit easier. We tracked down the phone pretty quickly, but we're stilling running through nearby security camera footage to see if we can make an ID." The officer shrugged. "It's a strange city." And it gets stranger every day, Sam thought. He opened his eyes--transporting himself back to his office--and made a quick note about pay phones on a yellow legal pad in front of him. Going from his brother's mind and back to his own could be a little jarring, especially when he swapped out dank, dim warehouses for his broad mahogany desk in his too-expensive office. Sam again felt grateful that he was the one with the literary gene, and closed his eyes. "... will the coroner get here?" Liam was in a different position in the room now, standing near the window. "Soon," said the officer. "I guess there's an accident off route 93 that's got everything backed up." "Figures," Liam muttered as he crouched by the bodies. It wasn't uncommon for a detective to arrive at a murder scene before the coroner or forensics, but Liam didn't like it. He preferred to bounce his ideas off people--a particularly Holmesian trait, Sam observed--and, lacking anyone else, he turned to his brother. See anything of interest up there? Sam didn't. The bodies were still and rigid; no doubt rigor mortis had set in, meaning they had passed away at least four hours ago. Maybe longer. Clothes look cheap, Sam commented. Cheap, but clean. Maybe even new. Almost looks like they decked themselves out at the dollar store before coming out here to die. "Why would they do that?" Liam muttered. "Do what?" The plain-clothes police officer knelt beside Liam. A little too close for comfort, in Sam's opinion. "These clothes..." Liam shook his head. "Has anyone in the neighborhood reported anything?" "Neighborhood?" He chuckled. "Ain't much of a neighborhood to speak of, sir." Liam rubbed his chin. "Did the anonymous caller say that this was a murder?" The officer shrugged. "I believe so, yes." "That's odd," Liam said. "I can't see any gunshots, stab marks, signs of strangulation..." Liam flicked on his flashlight. There wasn't much he could see, like the police officer had noted, but he could see glimpses of skin between the scarves and the jackets--and what he could see was unnaturally white. Do you think the killer kidnapped these people? Sam thought. Maybe he murdered them and he called it in himself. Could be, Liam thought. But he could tell that his brother's mind was moving along a different track. And he was getting nervous. What's wrong? Sam thought. Liam didn't answer him. He moved around the bed and positioned himself by one of the bodies. " Limbs are stiff," he said as he pressed his fingers into one of their arms. The office stood and leaned over Liam. "Friggin hell," he muttered. "That's bizarre." Liam lifted the arm. It rose easily--too easily, like it weighed almost nothing. Liam, Sam thought. I really don't like this. His brother ignored him. Liam was the brave one--another gene that went to one brother and not the other. Sam knew that Liam felt fear, panic, uncertainty, all those things, but he had a leash on each of them; Liam never allowed them to run wild, or bark too loudly. Sam, watching as his brother reached for the scarf, realized that he didn't have a tenth of that control. He was afraid. Really afraid. Under the scarf was an empty, blank face. No mouth, no eyes, no ears. Just Styrofoam-smoothness, carved and molded into a vaguely human face. You need to get out of here, Sam thought. He could feel his palms sweating, miles away in his comfy, well-heated office. Liam pulled the scarf from the next body--and revealed another mannequin. He was reaching for the third when the blow fell. Something hit Liam on the back of the head--and his brother collapsed. "Gotcha," the officer muttered. He flipped Liam over--the small bat that was hidden under his coat now in his hand--and began to drag him by his heels. Liam! Sam thought. LIAM WAKE UP!!! But his brother didn't respond. This had happened before--back when Sam would pass out drunk, Liam would take a peak in his head to make sure he wasn't lying on his back so he wouldn't choke on his own vomit--but it was always a disconcerting experience. Sam left alone and cold inside his unconscious brother's mind. His eyes rolled, but Sam's thoughts weren't as muddled by pain and disorientation. He could watch what was happening--or, at least, he could try his best. And that was enough for him to recognize the face of the officer. Dennis Reily. He looked different without his beard; in fact, the beard had once been his defining feature--long and thick and red, in stark contrast to his pale face and thin blond hair. Dennis had been in and out of BPD holding cells all his life--more than once, at Liam's hands. He must be out on parole. They both thought Dennis had been full of it when he swore to get even with Liam, after his arrest on drug trafficking charges. Liam had laughed it off, and Sam had laughed with him, not willing to betray the nervousness he felt in his gut. But then days passed, uneventful and bloody-revenge-free. Days became months, then months became years, and Dennis Reily slowly became less than a bad memory; they never thought about him at all. Now we'll never be able to forget. Dennis dragged his brother off the mattress and out of the room when Sam forced his eyes open. He wasn't doing any good here--sitting in his plush office while his brother was in the hands of... He slapped himself. No point panicking now. Fortunately he had been in his brother's head when he got the call--a call that, in retrospect, was extremely suspicious. Just got a call from a lieutenant on the south side, Liam had said, popping into Sam's head while he was staring at his blank legal pad. I see the writing is going well. Piss off, Sam had said, writing an expletive on the notepad. What have you got? It sounded inviting enough--but the drive over had proved otherwise. Liam and Sam had gotten into a spat over the lake house; Liam wanted to take his wife and children up next weekend, but Sam had already made firm and indelible plans to drink himself into a stupor. They had gotten into a fight and Sam left his brother alone... until he spent a few more minutes alone with that yellow legal pad, and then he was back in his twin's mind just as he walked into the warehouse. South side, Sam thought as he jammed the key into the ignition of his old BMW. How many abandoned warehouses could there be on the south side? Of course his experience in Boston's south side has been limited to whatever his Uber driver drove past after he'd been kicked out of one brewery or another. Driving in Boston was a nightmare. He'd never get there in time. Just as he got on route 93, he closed his eyes--just for a moment. Dennis was dragging Liam up a flight of stairs. He could feel Liam's head bouncing off the wooden steps. Sam opened his eyes with a gasp--and slammed on the brakes. The old BMW skidded to a halt mere inches from the car in front of him. I guess Dennis wasn't lying about an accident on 93. Or, maybe he had been. Saying there was an accident on 93 was like saying the sun was shining; half the time, that was undoubtedly true. Sam pulled into the breakdown lane and slammed on the accelerator. The scene of the accident snapped past in an instance--followed by more than a few middle fingers. Why is everyone flipping me off today? Whatever, they could be as mad as they wanted. He only had to make it to the next exit, then he could snake his way through downtown to get to the docks, and from there he could follow his brother's footsteps to the warehouse. Sirens whirled to life behind him. The police officer pulled up close; the grill and swirling red and blue lights filled his rear-view mirror. "Of course ," Sam said through gritted teeth as he took the off ramp. At least he had backup when he got to the warehouse--assuming they weren't busy arresting him for one of the dozen traffic laws he had violated (including trying to lubricate a case of writer's block with a few shots of Dewar's before getting behind the wheel). He zipped through the south side, going off memory alone. The police blasted their sirens; he was vaguely aware that more than one had joined the fray. Sam's heart nearly burst when he spotted something familiar--his brother's sedan, parked in front of an old warehouse. He slammed on the brakes and cut the wheel hard. The police behind him obviously weren't ready for the maneuver and skidded past him. Sam pulled into the parking lot, beside his brother's car. Where are you? When he closed his eyes, he saw the sky. "Always thought you were better than me," Dennis muttered into Liam's ear. "Always thought you were a great, great man, eh? That's what always bothered me about you, pig." Liam's head rose. Dennis was lifting him. "Now you'll be nothing but a goddamn puddle. " Sam opened his eyes. He didn't need his connection with his twin to see what was happening now; Dennis, with Liam's body draped over his shoulder, was standing on the roof of the building. "How am I supposed to stop this?" Sam said. The words came as a surprise to him. What could he do, really? Anything? Dennis shifted. He planted his foot on the roof behind him. He's getting ready to throw him. A thought flashed into his mind. It might be stupid--truly, truly stupid--but it was the only thing he could think of. Sam threw his car in reverse and backed up. Dennis raised his brother, clearly struggling under the weight. Sam barely had time to put his car in drive before Liam started falling. Sam punched the accelerator and maneuvered the car as best he could. Liam's body fell with alarming speed--too fast, too goddamned fast! Sam positioned the car as best he could, but there was no telling if he was in the right spot, or if he had gone too far, or if-- And then the roof caved in. Liam slammed into Sam's car, breaking his fall, leaving an ugly, deep indent on the roof. Sam had to angle his head to get out. The police, who had pulled into the lot mere moments before, stared at him in shock. "I think the lunatic tossing people off buildings in the bigger priority, eh?" The offices, blinking away their shock, seemed to agree. They rushed into the abandoned warehouse moments later. Sam grabbed Liam's wrist. His brother was in bad shape; he'd need stitches and casts and a lot of painkillers (which, no doubt, he'd be an ass about sharing). But he had a pulse. And, to Sam's shock, he could feel Liam's presence in his mind. Yikes, Liam thought. I look bad. You've looked worse. Have I? After that weekend in Vegas, yeah. But not by much. A police officer checked Liam's vitals and radioed for an ambulance. Dennis Reily was taken from the building moments later. He met Sam's gaze--and his mouth dropped open. "I'm just a twin," Sam shouted. "But don't worry, the original model is just fine." Dennis was about to say something back when he was stuffed into the back of a squad car. The arresting officers weren't too careful about banging the suspect's head against the car door. I've had an idea, Sam thought. Why don't I come to the lake house with you and the family this weekend? I don't know. Martha really hates the whole "drunken stupor" act. "Then I guess I'll need to postpone," Sam said. "I can get drunk any weekend." Liam did his best to smile at his brother. And for once, the finger he raised to Sam wasn't the middle one. It was his thumb. Sam chuckled. "This is going to make one hell of a read." Liam groaned. Sorry, but I think I'll have to skip it.