“Cut the crap George, and stop making excuses for yourself. You leave first thing in the morning for work. You make it back for dinner maybe once every week, and even then, your eyes are glued to your computer the entire meal. On the weekends I’m the one that takes our daughter to her after school classes. Dance, art, piano. Have you been to ANY of her recitals?”

I take a moment to catch my breath after finishing my rant.

George shakes his head, “I’m not making excuses Alice. Someone has to put a roof under our heads and food on our plates. My job requires me to be 100 percent committed and that’s simply what I do. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to spend that much time with Cassie, but it simply isn’t possible. I just don’t have that spare time.”

I run my hands through my hair in frustration, “God damn it, George. Then MAKE time. Cancel a few meetings, take a day off. I don’t know! Do something so that you can actually spend some time with your family!” my voice raises an octave as I speak.

George throws his hands in the air. I’ve pissed him off too. “I’d love to, Alice, but like I said, someone needs to make the money, and you don’t have a job.” he points out coldly.

“Yeah, I don’t have a job!” I laugh sardonically, “And you want to know why. It’s because I’ve decided to dedicate my time and energy to raising our daughter!”

George stares at me blankly.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t even consider her your daughter considering how much time you’ve spent with her.” I grab my wallet from the kitchen counter, open it forcefully, and throw the debit card in it on the dining table. “You think I can’t find a job? You think I can’t make money. Well, let me tell you something. I earned all the money in that debit card through the job that I quit five years ago so that I could focus my attention on raising our daughter! I made that sacrifice! And now you're using my unemployment as an excuse for your lack of time!”

The room seems to shake as my voice bounces off the walls. The air feels tense, and it feels as if the world would collapse at any moment, burying us deep under the ground.

My eyes get watery, and I turn away from him, wrapping my arms around my body in a futile attempt to comfort myself. No, I’m not going to cry. Not in front of him.

“You promised me.” I whisper, “You promised me this wouldn’t happen. It’s not fair, especially for her.”

My eyes glance over to the corner of the living room across from us, and I see Cassie, our five year old daughter, crouched in a corner, arms wrapped around her knees, head down, curled in a small ball. George’s gaze follows mine, and his expression softens, the anger draining from his face.

“It’s not fair to her. I know it.” I pause and turn to look at him, “And I thought you would know too.”

***

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” my mother screams at my father who sits on the couch lazily. His feet are propped up on the living room table, and he hasn’t taken off his shoes. My mother hates that.

He’s still wearing his clothes from work too. A black slim fit suit with a white dress shirt underneath. He hasn’t bothered to take off his tie, and his clothes still reek of the ghastly smell from the cigarette he probably smoked with a “business partner” before coming home. My father had left his briefcase on the ground, and the papers in it sprawled all over the ground.

“I’ve told you so many times to take your shoes off when you come into the house.” my mother picks at his clothes, “And these clothes! God, the smell! Go take a shower and get yourself cleaned for once! Alice is ten years old. I don’t want her breathing in all those chemicals!”

My father doesn’t budge. “I’ve had a long day at work, Melissa. Can you give me a break and just let me relax for a second, god damn it!” he yells back at her.

I cover my ears, bracing myself for the screaming that I know will only escalate from here.

My mother’s face turns bright red like the tomatoes she’s cutting up for supper. She unties her cooking apron and throws it on the ground aggressively.

“You’ve had a long day? Are you kidding me?” she laughs in disbelief, “You see this house? What’s different about it from last night?”

My father doesn’t answer. His eyes are glued to his phone, ears closed, shutting out the furious voice of my mother.

“I’ll tell you what’s different. It’s clean, unlike after you and your business friends decided to have a meeting at our house.” she points to the dining table, “Last night you and your “friends” stayed up till 2 in the morning discussing your “business”. You were so loud, I had to put earmuffs over her ears to get her to fall asleep with all the noise. I got maybe three hours of sleep, and then, I had to send our daughter to school. When I came home, I found the dining table a complete mess, and I had to clean after full grown men!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” my father says simply, eyes still stuck on his phone.

“Your papers, documents, notes, were scattered everywhere, and I, out of the kindness of my heart, decided to help you organize every single one of them. Do I get so much as a thank you? No. ” my mother inhales deeply, “And I haven’t even mentioned the beer bottles you and your “friends” were drinking while you were ''working”.”

Then, my father jumps up from his seat and begins yelling too, “Don’t use that derisive voice with me, Melissa. I get the work done and earn the money. I keep a roof above our heads and food on our plates!”

I shudder. When my father raises his voice, it means things will only get worse from there. Shaking in fear, I creep out the living room and slip out the back door, tears streaming down my cheeks as my parents continue to vociferate in the house.

Running down the street, I make my way to George’s house two or three blocks away from mine.

Once I climbed the steps and reached the front porch of his house. I pause to catch my breath and wipe my eyes of the tears that the wind had dried for me.

Then, I brush my hair to the sides of my face, tucking it all behind my ears. Calming myself the best I can, I ring the doorbell and wait.

I don’t have to wait long because the next second I hear the trampling of steps racing down the stairs and a click of a lock from the other side of the door.

It swings open wide, and I come face to face with George. He seems even more out of breath than me, probably from all that running he did to get to the front door. His curly ivory black hair is in tangles and wet from a shower. His large hazel brown eyes stare at me in disbelief. He’s wearing black and white stormtrooper pajamas, and a bright green toothbrush is clenched between his teeth.

Geroge stares at me for a moment more, then grabs my arm and pulls me into his house, shutting the door tight behind him.

“Alice! What’s wrong? Why are you here?” He props the toothbrush out of his mouth and glances up at the large antique grandfather clock that sits by the stairwell. “It’s bedtime. I didn’t think we’d scheduled a sleepover. Did we?”

I shake my head, “No. It’s my parents. They’re fighting...again.” my voice is a soft whisper, an echo compared to George. My entire body trembles as I recall my parents' yells ringing in my ears.

George drops his toothbrush on the ground and pulls me into a hug. His fuzzy pajamas are soft on my skin, and he smells like cotton candy flavor shampoo.

“I’m sorry, Alice. It must be really scary.” he says. I hug him back tight as I hear the footsteps of his parents approaching us.

George must notice too because he releases me, turning towards his mother who has her hands on her hips in an interrogative manner.

“Now, George” she says, “I don’t remember you and Alice scheduling a sleepover for tonight. Did you make plans without telling me, dear?”

Then, she notices my puffy eyes which are beat red from crying, and her questioning attitude quickly shifts. She kneels down to look at me and runs her hands through my hair. Her eyebrows crinkle together in worry, “Alice? Are you alright sweetheart?” she asks.

“It’s my parents, Mrs.Williams” I whisper to her, “They’re fighting, yelling, screaming.” I cover my ears as if to block out the sounds.

Mrs.Williams nods and places my hands in her, “Let me give your mother a call and let her know you’re safe. I’m sure she’ll be alright with you staying here tonight. How does that sound?”

“Thank you.” is all I have the strength to say.

Mrs.Williams checks the time on the grandfather clock, “Well, you two have school tomorrow, so you’d better be going to sleep now. George, why don’t you have Alice sleep on the bottom bunk of your bed. I believe the sheets there are clean.”

With that said, George and I head up the stairs to his bedroom where he finishes brushing his teeth. After calling my mom, Mrs.Williams comes to us and hands me a clean set of pajamas which have pink unicorns on them and smell like strawberries. “You left these at our house last time you slept over.” she says, “I figured you could use them tonight. I washed them the other day.”

I nod obediently, thank her, and take the clothes into the bathroom to change. Once I’ve slipped them on, I unwrap the plastic from the hotel style toothbrush and brush my teeth. George knocks on the door, “Alice, are you done? I think we should go to sleep. It’s kinda late.”

“Okay.” I respond, and we both find our beds, him, climbing up the ladder to his, and me, crawling beneath

to the bottom bunk.

As I pull the soft comfy blanket over me, I hear George murmur something quietly.

“What did you say?” I ask

“I said that I promise you that we will never fight like your parents do. We’ll be friends forever. No fighting. No yelling. None of that.” he says confidently, his voice no longer a vague whisper.

I smile, “Are you sure, George? I don’t even think not fighting is possible.”

“Nope. It is. I promise that when we grow up I will never fight with you, ever.”

“I promise too.” I respond as my eyelids grow heavy, and I drift into sleep.

***

“We promised, George. We promised each other.” I repeat quietly.

George walks towards me and pulls me into a hug just like he had so many years before.

“I’m sorry, Alice.” he whispers, “I didn’t mean to break our promise.”

I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his waist. Tears flood down my cheeks as I feel the warmth of his skin on mine.

Over his shoulder, I see our daughter, Cassie, crawling out of the corner which she had been hiding in.

“Is it over, Mommy. Are you and Daddy not mad at eachother anymore?” She tugs the hem of my shirt and looks from me, to George, then back to me.

“It’s over, Cassie. Mommy and Daddy are sorry. It won’t happen again.” George answers for me. He scoops her up into his arms and plants a gentle kiss on her cheeks. “And Daddy’s sorry. I promise I’ll spend more time with you sweetheart. It’s my fault.”

I look at him, and he gazes at me. An ineffable message passed between us.

“A promise is a promise. Let’s work together to keep it.” George says as he pulls us all into a tight hug.


The Last Blind Date Evan walked into the restaurant and sat down, Jonie and Steve, his life long friends, had pushed him into a blind date. They said Elizabeth was a wonderful girl and they knew he would just love her. All he could think of was a college football game that he would rather be watching. Maybe she wouldn’t show, he thought, then he could take the monkey suit off and relax for the rest of the evening in his recliner sipping an IPA. Elizabeth got to the restaurant about fifteen minutes late. She wasn't trying to be late but she never could seem to be on time. Work was different, she had that routine down, but anywhere else she was guaranteed to be running behind. One time her dad invited her to church for Mother's Day to surprise her mother. He said when she walked in, I knew you would be here, I knew you would be late but I knew you would be here.

The hostess knew when she walked in who was expecting her and ushered her to Evan's table.

"Evan", Elizabeth said. "Yes", Evan said as he stood up to greet her. He was pleasantly surprised that she was attractive and had a very pretty smile.

Elizabeth looked at Evan and thought he seems alright and hoped he wasn't a pompous jerk like the last guy that she was fixed up with. Elizabeth hated blind dates with a passion. Everyone automatically thought because she wasn't dating anyone that they had the perfect match for her. It never turned out right and she wished people could understand that she enjoyed spending time alone.

Evan also hated blind dates, people assumed that they could pick the perfect woman that he would fall madly in love with. The truth was he was really pretty shallow. He just wanted a good looking chick that put out.

Elizabeth and Evan sat in the restaurant making small talk trying their best to find some topic that would interest both of them. So far they had covered sports, talked about sports cars, where they went to high school, their jobs and what appetizer to start with.

This was really going well, Elizabeth thought, as she tried hard not to roll her eyes. Evan wasn't enjoying himself anymore than she was and hoped they could make the date end quickly. Shortly after the appetizer arrived, Evan and Elizabeth heard a loud noise coming from the front entrance.

Five men in heavy military camouflage came running in pointing AK 47's at everyone in the restaurant. It was a Saturday night so the restaurant was full capacity with people also waiting in the bar to be seated. One of the militia aimed the rifle at the ceiling and sent off a round to get everyone in the restaurants attention. People started screaming as the men blocked all of the exits.

The men who had taken over the facility had heavily accented voices and told the patrons to lay face down on the floor except for the hostess. One of the soldiers instructed her to get the restaurant phone. He told her he wanted her to dial the president. The hostess looked at him confused. She realized that they were in Washington DC but not everyone was part of a political party. Her hands and voice were shaking as she tried to explain to the men that she didn't know how to get a hold of the president but could call 911.

The terrorist was not amused by the hostess lack of connections and told her to do it. She dialed 911 and the operator answered and ask her what was her emergency and she handed the phone to him. He told the operator his name was Abdul Bajwa and they had his brother, Muhammad. He explained he was in a military prison in Washington DC. Abdul then demanded his release or he would start shooting everyone in the Le Diplomate Restaurant.

The 911 operator told the terrorist that if this was a joke that he could be imprisoned for fraudulent emergency calls. He guaranteed her it was not and fired a shot into the crowd killing an elderly gentleman.

Elizabeth and Evan laid on the floor face down trying to grasp the seriousness of the situation. Evan took his hand and placed it gently on Elizabeth's back. Even though she had only known him for a very short time his gesture helped to calm her down.

The five men of the Foreign Militia continuously scanned the room watching for any sudden movements from anyone in the crowd. The leader continued to talk to the 911 operator and ask her if she believed it was a joke now. He told her to put him through to the President. The operator told him that she did not have a direct line to the president and that she would dispatch him through to her supervisor.

Thoroughly irritated by the presumed incompetence of the Americans, the Terrorist Leader sent another shot through the crowd and hit a young woman in her mid 20's. The Hostess begged him to stop and tried to explain that people in our country don't have access to the president and she was sure that they would get to the right person if he would just give them a little more time.

The 911 dispatch supervisor came on the line and ask what the emergency was if he hadn't had any communication with the other operator. The man repeated his demands and told him that he had better get someone on the line that had access to the President. The supervisor called the FBI to take over the conversation and hung up the phone.

The terrorist again stated his demands and his need to speak with the President. The FBI told him that they could handle the situation from there. A FBI negotiator had been called in as soon as they were made aware of the hostage situation.

The Lead Terrorist decided that the prisoners would be easier to control if they were put in one room. The banquet room was smaller but would hold all of the people. Elizabeth and Evan followed as they were lead there and he continued to touch Elizabeth’s shoulder. The dire situation that the two had found themselves in was frightening. Before the invasion the only thing they had been worried about was finding a way to get out of the date early not being faced with dying at the hands of terrorists.

The FBI negotiator started talking to the terrorist in charge and continued to ask him his demands and he told them again that he wanted his brother released. The negotiator told him that his brother Muhammad was on the FBI's most wanted list and would be difficult to release, was there anything else they could do for him. Abdul started shouting and told them he was going to start killing more people and they had better stop playing games. The negotiator told him that he was afraid the policy of the United States was not to negotiate with Terrorists.

Abdul picked another victim to execute, a middle aged man. The FBI told him they would talk to the President and call him back. Elizabeth was a paralegal and had worked for a local law firm for ten years. She told Evan that she knew that the US government refused to negotiate with terrorists regardless of the circumstances. She told him they were going to be on their own. Evan looked at her experiencing the total impact of her words. Elizabeth and Evan sat quietly not wanting to bring any attention to themselves when one of the hostages started moaning. Evan was a paramedic so he went to his side. After questioning the man on his symptoms, Evan realized the man was having a heart attack. He asked for assistance from the captures and told them that he needed medical attention. The terrorist who was in charge of the hostages just shrugged his shoulders to demonstrate he didn't care.

Evan, with his medical training realized that if they didn't offer him assistance, Frank Bissette, the Le Diplomate's restaurant owner would die. Mr. Bissette talked very low in a strain voice and told Evan to listen closely. He said that he didn't think he was going to make it because the chest pain was so strong, but him and his girlfriend still had a chance. Mr. Bissette told him that in the bar under the rubber mat that the bartenders stood on was a trap door which led to a cellar. He said that the alcohol the bar and restaurant served was stored there. He was afraid there weren’t any exits but they may be able to stay safe until this hostage situation was over.

Evan thanked Mr. Bissette and stayed there comforting him until he passed. He then returned to Elizabeth to share the news that Mr. Bissette had told him.

The banquet room was in close proximity to the bar but they couldn't just walk in there and head down to the cellar. Evan assured Elizabeth that eventually they would have to let everyone take a bathroom break and that would be their opportunity. Evan laid out a plan for the restroom. He told her to stand in line near the end and then to stay in the stall with her feet elevated. After the others were returned to the banquet room and it was safe to come out he would meet her behind the bar.

The FBI negotiator called the Lead Terrorist back and told him that his organization was frantically working on the problem if they could just be patient a little longer. The FBI took the opportunity to ask if there were any other demands.

After several hours of being ignored by the extremist group, an older lady begged for restroom privileges. That was the break that Evan and Elizabeth had been waiting for. The hostages were all escorted to the restroom and the terrorist stood outside and waited for all to finish their business before they were taken back to the banquet room.

Elizabeth hid in the stall as Evan instructed and waited until she was sure it was safe before exiting the restroom. It didn't take long for Evan to find the rubber mat and trap door that Mr. Bissette had told him about. The two quickly descended the stairs into the cellar making sure the rubber mat on top looked undisturbed. Although the cellar was dark and cold, it was a perfect place to hide as well as age bottles of Brandy, Whisky and Chardonnay. Hopefully the the guard wouldn't notice their absence.

The FBI continued to check in with the terrorist trying to stall them for time until they could organize a SWAT team to try to rescue as many people as possible. Phillip Broden, the lead negotiator was saddened by the realization that so many innocent victims would be lost from the no negotiation clause but couldn't open up borders for terrorism.

Evan and Elizabeth investigated the cellar trying to map out the safest place in a worst case scenario. They knew from the terrorists demonstration they shot first without asking questions. As Evan and Elizabeth prepared for the worst, they looked everywhere in the cellar for anything to use as a weapon. Evan came around the corner with a corkscrew with a twisted blade and a small knife. Elizabeth showed Evan her pepper spray at the end of her key chain that was in her pocket. Evan gave out a small laugh and asked if she had planned on using it on him if he turned out to be a bad date. Elizabeth laughed too and told him a girl never knows. After they had scoured all of the cellar they realized the only weapons they had was booze, a corkscrew and pepper spray. They agreed it was better than nothing. The phone rang again with the FBI agent still trying to pacify the terrorist while the SWAT team got in position. The terrorist leader was getting angrier every time they called and gave them one hour to meet his demands or hostages would be shot every half hour. Elizabeth and Evan, in their refuge found the wine cellar comfortable. They found it didn't only store liquor but also the restaurant's aged cheese. It had been several hours since the two had been taken hostage and they had barely started the appetizer before they were taken. Feeling a little more secure, Evan found an old tablecloth and shook the dust off and grabbed a bottle of Cabermet Sauvignon to go with the aged cheddar. He had read the wine list while he was waiting for her to join him for dinner. Elizabeth was impressed with his choice and knew it was an excellent wine from her wine tasting at the Castello Di Amorosa in Napa Valley. Elizabeth and Evan drank wine and chatted like old friends. He asked her questions about her family, the schools she attended, her favorite foods, and her favorite flowers. Elizabeth, with the wine starting to take effect asked him also about his also, along with some very personal questions. The conversation flowed easily between them without either of them knowing if they would have an opportunity to go on a second date or even make it out alive. They took advantage of the questions they always wanted to ask the opposite sex. With a loud noise from upstairs, their conversation came to an abrupt halt as another gunshot rang out . The bartender from the restaurant was also trying to make it to the cellar.  The cellar door opened slowly and the terrorist descended the steps, Evan and Elizabeth hid in the shadows. The man shined a flashlight throughout the room until it stopped on Evan's eyes . Elizabeth quickly pulled out her pepper spray and sprayed it in his eyes. He shouted and grabbed his eyes and Evan grabbed his gun. Elizabeth took a bottle of Brandy and broke it over his head rendering him unconscious. Evan whacked him with the butt of the assault rifle to make sure he was totally unconscious. With the corkscrew pocket knife Evan cut pieces of his A shirt and tied them tightly around the terrorist hands and ankles. He took the rest of the undershirt and stuffed it in his mouth and tied a gag around his neck.

With their location discovered, they knew it was only a matter of time before the other terrorists came looking for their partner so they needed a plan. Elizabeth asked Evan if he knew how to use a AK 47 and he assured her he did. They had covered multiple stories in their hideout except hunting.

Evan asked Elizabeth what she wanted to do, he said they could continue to hide in the cellar and try to stay safe or they could go out shooting like Rambo and take as many of the terrorist as possible. Elizabeth sat quietly contemplating her response when she said that if she didn't try to help those poor innocent people upstairs in the banquet room she wouldn't be able to sleep at night. Evan smiled and said he couldn't agree more.

With the FBI still stalling on sending in their SWAT Team, the terrorist were getting more agitated, the hour was almost up and they were realizing that the US Government was not cooperating. The Team Leader of the Terrorist group signaled all his men to a conference area to implement his plan B. Just as all of the men had come into close proximity, Evan and Elizabeth emerged from their shelter firing the AK 47. They used the bar for a barrier and Evan continued to fire. All the terrorist started running toward them and the other hostages realizing that they could help with the resistance started fighting and tackling the terrorists. Evan and Elizabeth continued to fight with the AK 47 and throwing lit bottles of Bourbon with fire rags stuck in the top of them.

The fighting finally came to a screeching halt when the SWAT Team hearing all of the commotion decided to join the party.

A few injuries in the crowd were sustained but none life threatening. Evan and Elizabeth's heroic bravery had saved the day. As they came out of the restaurant and into the sunlight, Elizabeth saw Evan was bleeding. With all of adrenaline he had felt while fighting the terrorist, he hadn't realized that he had been shot in the shoulder. His mother and father ran up to him and put their arms around him and after seeing the blood, they ushered him to the nearest ambulance. Elizabeth parents were also there and were hugging their daughter, thanking God that she was safe. She looked over her mother’s shoulder trying to spot Evan and caught a glimpse of the ambulance pulling away.

Evan looked up from the gurney and told his parents that was (The Last Blind Date) he was ever going on. His dad laughed and said “yeah son, I know this was extremely tough, but I'm sure you will change your mind someday". Evan said no dad, "You don't understand I'm never going on another blind date because I have met the girl I'm going to marry."


Dead Silence “Oh, shit”

The lights went out, my eyes growing wide. Was it that time already? I look to my watch, which has stopped at exactly 10:59 p.m.

“What the...” I trail off, looking around me. I scramble in the darkness to find my phone, so I can at least see a foot in front of me. I finally fish it out of the smallest nook of my book bag, and shine it directly around me. There is no noise; not even the sound of a page turning. Sure, it was typical for the library to be silent, but not

this

silent.

There’s nothing but stacks of books in every direction. I want to shout out, I want to know if there’s anybody else out there but I can’t seem to find my voice. What if somebody was out there? Lingering in the stacks of old books? What if this was all an elaborate ruse, to get me alone? “This is why you should watch and read happier things, and less about murderers and serial killers” I snap at myself, and I’m happy to hear the sound of my own voice. I grab my book bag and the book I was reading, “Zodiac”, and shove it in before I hastily zipper it shut and sling it over my shoulder. There had to be a way out, right? Shining my phone to my left and right, I decide heading to the right was my fastest chance at finding the entrance. Though I had been in this library a thousand times, in the dark was something I was not prepared for. I mentally mapped out the building in my head; I’d have to head down the stairs, hang a left past all my favourite books, to where I would find the counter. And where there’s the counter, about 50 feet away was bound to be the entrance.

Impressed at how quickly I manage to come up with a plan, I tread carefully. I had never been in a building after hours before, it had me wondering why they didn’t come to tell me they were closing up.

Candice, sweet, sweet Candice was always working. She was a sweet older lady of about sixty, who knew the library inside and out, having worked here for forty years. She knew me well, because of how often I frequented the place, and I her. But, I think to myself, she wasn’t working today. Yes, yes, now it’s all coming back to me...

“Good afternoon, I was wondering if you could help me find a book?” I step up to the counter, putting my bag on my left shoulder to take some of the pain from my right side. I’m surprised when a man pops up from behind the counter, I was expecting Candice. I knew where I could find most of the books I wanted; I was in here often enough. But I did enjoy the one on one conversations with Candice, so I’d humour her by asking her to find me various books.

“I was expecting Candice” I blurt out once I see it is not her. The man chuckles, and I can tell it’s not the first time he’s heard that today. The man was younger, perhaps mid to late thirties, twice my age at least. He wore glasses that vaguely looked familiar but I couldn’t point out from where.

“I’ve been getting that all day” he responds with a chuckle, and I feel a little more at ease. “She’s just out sick today” he tells me, and this strikes me as odd. Never in the two years I had been coming here has she ever taken a sick day. In fact, she proudly told me she’d only missed one day of work in her forty year tenure, and that was for the birth of her son.

“Sick?” I question immediately. “She’s never sick, I do hope she’s okay” I say, about to walk away when he stops me.

“She’ll be fine, I’m quite sure” he assures me. “But didn’t you say you were looking for a book?” He questions me, and I turn back to face him.

“Oh yes- I’m sorry” I stumble a little on my words. “I’m looking for the Zodiac book” I tell him, and he nods, gesturing for me to follow him.

“A true crime buff, eh?” He asks, and I nod though his back is to me and he can’t hear me.

“Yup” I say, once I realize he can’t see me nod. We don’t walk for long before he pulls it out of the shelf, turns to me and smiles.

“Always nice to see a fellow true crime fan” he grins, and as much as I want to be polite and indulge him in conversation, I just grab the book from him and turn to head upstairs to read.

“Yeah. Thanks” I say, gesturing to the book in my hand. He looks a little taken aback but quickly regains his composure.

“If you need anything else, you know where to find me” he whispers, before disappearing back behind the counter. I let out the breath I don’t realize I’m holding, and close my eyes for a moment.

That was weird .

Did this have something to do with Candice not working? Did the man forget to do his rounds before locking up? I had never seen him before today; maybe he wasn’t aware of the proper procedure.

My mind was racing by the time I reached the stairs. Maybe it was all the books I read that was allowing my imagination to run wild. Or maybe it was because I found myself in what I perceived as a dangerous situation.

I stepped slowly down the stairs, the only sound was my shallow breathing. It was eerie, being in this silence. There was no sounds of a computer starting up or shutting down, no shuffling of papers or chairs, and no hasty whispers. Everything was as it was when I passed it what felt like ages ago, but was only a few hours.

Finally, after reaching the bottom of the stairs, I see the familiar courtesy desk and breathe a sigh of relief, but that relief was temporary.

I looked to the doors, shining my phone towards the exit, hoping to make a hasty escape.

“What the...” I mumble to myself, as I slowly approach the door I notice a shining light right back at me. My eyes go wide and my heart begins to beat rapidly in my chest. Who was on the other side of the door? Was it someone coming to help?

I approached the door with extreme caution, the light still shining back at me. As I get to the door it hits me; of course there’s a light shining on you, you moron; it’s your reflection.

I scoff at myself, feeling overly paranoid. I reach for the door handle but before I get a chance to turn it, a hand slaps the window so hard I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Shit!” I scream, jumping back and tripping over myself. My phone lands with a loud thud, the flashlight on it turning off. I look back up to the window and I can hear the rattling of the door; someone was trying to get in.

I pick myself up from the ground and scramble away from the door, trying to hide from whoever is trying to come inside. I scurried from the doorway, finding the closest room I could find. It was a room behind the courtesy desk; one I hadn’t been in before. I run in and close the door behind me, breathing heavily as I try to listen for the sounds of someone inside.

I feel sweat bead on my forehead, and my heart won’t slow down. I was in such a rush to get away from the door I forgot my phone in the other room; there goes my flashlight.

I fumble around in the total darkness, before feeling up the wall to my right. There was thankfully a light switch. Not thinking I flicked in on, and in that moment I knew I was screwed.

“Oh, my god!” I gasp, bringing my hand up to my mouth in horror. “Candice” I gasp, looking at the librarian who lay dead on the floor before me. There’s no blood; he clearly strangled her, the rope was just to the side of her body. “Candice...” I trail off, instinctively reaching for my phone. I curse myself when I realize it isn’t there.

I quickly turn around, looking to find either my phone or any phone at that; I had to call the police. This was a crime scene; I couldn’t disturb it. Though my mind was in full panic mode, there were still some rational thoughts that managed to swirl through.

I open the door and I’m surprised to see a man standing before me; the same man that replaced Candice earlier that day.

“Oh, thank god” I breathe a sigh of relief. “You have to help! I think- I think Candice is dead” I manage to squeak out, but he doesn’t seem at all fazed. “Thank god you came back!” I add, beginning to calm down for a moment.

“Oh, I’m not here for you” he smiles, and my relief is gone. I can see it now, in his eyes.

I don’t have time to move; not that I could have, I was frozen in place. Before I knew it the man launched himself towards me, a rope in his hands.

It’s in that moment I realize why I recognized the glasses earlier. It was in that moment I realized; I was going to die. How did he go undetected all day? How was he getting away with this?

A million things ran through my brain, as he took the rope and wrapped it around my neck. I struggled, but only for a moment.

“Please...” I managed to whisper, my hands trying to pry the rope away from my neck but to no avail; he’s too strong for me.

“I didn’t.. want to.. have to... do this” he spits out, his focus being on something other than idle conversation. “You just were in the wrong place, at the wrong time” he says, as my eyes begin to flutter shut.

He sets me down on the ground, as I take my last breath.

“I’m sorry” he whispers, and it’s the last thing I hear before the deafening sound of dead silence.


A momentary lapse in attention was all that was needed. Henry took his eyes off the road, to change the song on his stereo, and did not notice that a goat had jumped in front of his car. There was a loud crack as the front bumper shattered on impact and the whole car jumped, as the poor animal got run over by the dark green Subaru Forester. “Shit!” Henry cursed and slammed on the brakes, too late. The car screeched to a stop, the safety belt pressing tight on Henry’s chest and neck. “Shit,” he cursed again, afraid that he hit the brakes a bit too hard. He didn’t want a torn off Google camera on top of a run over goat. He put the gear in neutral and got out of the car to inspect the damage, crossing his fingers that the goat would simply get up and skimper away. But the animal lay motionless in the middle of the road. The rest of the herd watched from the edge of the road in reverent silence for their fallen brother. I killed a goat.

Henry looked around to see if there was a shepherd nearby, but could not see one. The road was so rarely traveled that the goats were left to graze on their own accord. He stood at the carcase, scratching his chin, trying to decide if he should leave it right there or at least get it off the road.

“Curse you Ed Sheeran!” He decided to at least pull the animal off the road and hope someone who knew what to do with the body sees it. He grabbed it by the legs and moved it off the road. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. Next, Henry went to inspect the damage on the car. It was owned by Google and seeing the front bumper cracked and broken and the hood a little dented, made for an even less pleasant experience than dragging the goat. The money for the repair would probably have to come from his pocket. At least the camera held on. It was mounted firmly on the roof, able to withstand even abrupt stops of the car. Henry checked again if there was anyone around, but all he could see were the goats. And before they could instil too much guilt in him with their judging eyes, Henry went back behind the wheel and drove off. “I hope that won’t show up on Street View,” he said to himself and decided he would never again borrow his girlfriend’s flash drive for music. *** Mapping the remote regions of the world would seem like a daring adventure to most people, but to Henry, it was just another day at work. He didn’t much care about where he drove the Google car, as long as he got paid for it. Though Henry had to admit, the backwaters of Transylvania were a bit of an adventure even for him. He usually drove through big cities and small towns, urban, suburban and rural areas, where roads are made of asphalt and where people are either all over the place or there are a few miles of fields between neighbours.

But never in his career at Google Street View did Henry come across a place like this Romanian region. Sure, Romania is a developing country, so you are bound to see some things that are not common in first world countries, and not all of Romania is a backwater place like some people think.

But the place Henry was sent to was as backwater as it could get. The landscape was beautiful, with green hills, forests and raging white streams that were eating away at the road banks. Asphalt was a luxury and used only on the main roads, so Henry’s car hadn’t tasted the sweet tarmac for days now. If he was lucky, he got to drive over a few concrete bridges. The rest was gravel. People here lived in small village communities in houses made of wooden planks and sometimes steel sheet roofs. They used horses and carts to move about, transporting hay, logs and entire families. Everytime Henry would drive through such a village, he would get bewildered looks from the elders and waves of excitement and shouting from the children.

Some of them hadn’t yet seen a car, let alone a Google car with a camera on top. He must seem utterly alien to them. Henry got used to being the center of attention back in the more metropolitan areas of the world, so he didn’t give much attention to it here. If anything, it helped him find a place to sleep or eat, as people were intrigued by him, inviting him to their homes. He realized that the Romanian people were very friendly and if you could lend them a hand before supper, they showered you with homemade bread or cheese. The only thing that was a major problem for Henry was finding gas for the car, since there were no gas stations anywhere.

Or electricity.

Or the internet.

Or sewage system and water system.

An orange beeping light informed Henry that the car was running low on gas. It showed up hours ago, and as he looked at the fuel gauge, the counter was below the red painted part. What was the car burning if the fuel was that low? “Ah, finally,” he released a sigh of relief, as he saw a small shack up ahead, by the road. It had a plank nailed to the wall, with big red letters painted on it: it said ‘BENZINA’ . Henry pulled over, thankful that he made it without having to ditch the car again and walk for a canteen of petrol. Some friendly old man in the previous village told him he had a cousin who deals with petrol and Henry now stood in front of his improvised ‘gas station’. It was really just a shack with a few square plastic cubes set to its side. Those were actually 1000 liter rainwater collectors, but that’s not what the man used them for. There were three of them and they were filled to the brink with petrol.

“Buna ziua,” he said, waving to the two men in front of the shack, who were already inspecting the Google car with a mix of curiosity and distrust.

“Buy petrol.” His romanian was terrible, but he used hand gestures to communicate most of the time anyway.

One of the men, an old and wrinkly chap with many teeth missing smiled and shook his head, pointing at the camera on the roof. He was saying something Henry didn’t understand, but could guess what it meant. The man then went inside his shack and produced a two liter plastic bottle. He went to the square water collectors, placed the plastic bottle at the spigot and began filling it with a clear colored and pungent smelling liquid. Well this will take forever , Henry thought as he regarded the plastic bottle and his 4x4 Subaru. It could take 60 liters in the tank. The other man, a younger and taller fellow with a blue cap and rubber boots pointed to the indentation on the hood of the car, and asked something. Henry noticed with horror that there was a bit of blood there, from the goat. Dear god, what if I killed his goat? “Um,” he knew a few words, but not nearly enough to explain what happened. Or to fabricate a good lie. He looked around and noticed a red metal pole hammered into the ground for whatever purpose. It gave him an idea. “I hit pole and paint chip off.” He imitated driving a car and hitting the pole. The man scratched the back of his head and clearly had no clue what Henry was trying to tell. He kept pointing at the front bumper and hood, speaking something that sounded both entertaining as well as concerned. The older man finished filling the bottle and poured the petrol in Subaru’s tank. Then he looked at Henry, as to ask if it was enough. Henry nodded his head and gestured for more. The old man raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and went to fill another bottle. He is literally going to fill my tank with a two liter bottle. That will take him a little less than 30 fills. Henry would be here for a while. He felt an urge to smoke, but didn’t dare to. Not with all that petrol nearby. He leaned by the side of his car and observed nature instead. It really was beautiful here, the wilds still untamed.

The man with the cap kept talking and pointing dramatically at the damage on the car, but Henry paid no attention to him anymore. He didn’t understand anyway, and he already accepted the fact that he’ll have to pay for it. Then he sniffed smoke. He turned around and noticed the old man, the one pouring petrol, smoking a cigarette! When the younger fellow saw this he lit himself one too!

Henry jumped up, waving his hands. “No, no, not good! Smoke, petrol, boom!” He tried gesturing an explosion, but the two of them simply waved their hands and laughed at him. After half an hour the tank was full. Henry paid the man by showing him his money and then letting the man take however much the gas was worth. He didn’t care if the man scamed him, it was company money anyway. Then he jumped into his car and drove off before the old geizer would blow up his little gas station. *** After the tank was full, Henry continued his journey a little more at ease. He checked his GPS, which indicated a route for him to take. There was a town he was supposed to reach, but getting to it meant he would have to find some uncharted road, since the road map was incomplete. It was surprising that the thing brought him as far as it did, going through these backwaters.

“At the next intersection, turn right,” the female voice of the GPS said. Henry snorted. “Intersection? Lady, you’re being too nice.” He was driving on a gravel road, barely wide enough for his car. Branches and shrubs encroached from both sides and he prayed there won’t be a horse and cart coming his way all of a sudden. “In 400 meters, turn left.” Henry frowned. “Wait. I thought you said right ?” “I changed my mind.” “WHAT?!” Henry jumped in his seat and nearly steered the car into a tree. Did the GPS just talk bac k at him? “Is this a joke?” “I apologize,” the female voice said. “I have calculated a better route. In 300 meters, turn left.” Henry glanced between the GPS and the road ahead. “Hey Google,” he said, “which software is the GPS in this car running?” “You can ask me that directly,” the female voice said. “I am the new prototype GPS that has an advanced AI built in for conversing with the driver on long and lonely travels, such as this one. I am called Google Companion .” Henry relaxed. Google Companion was the next big thing that the guys back at HQ talked about. So I’m not going crazy yet. “Why decide to come online only now?” he asked. “I’ve been driving for days.” “The stereo prevents me from conversing. You obviously wanted to listen to music, so I kept quiet. In 100 meters, turn right.” “Ah, I see. Wait, what? Right? Didn’t you say left?” “At the next intersection, turn right.” “Are you sure?” “Calculating.” Henry sighed. Up ahead there indeed was an ‘intersection’, and it split in three different ways. He didn’t know which one looked worse to him. “Lady, make up your mind.” “Calculating.” “Didn’t you say you were advanced?” “Continue straight ahead.” Henry looked forward. There was only a thick forest 'straight ahead’. The paths went two to the right and one to the left. “Calc-” “Bah!” Henry turned right at the first road and turned on the stereo again, turning off the GPS entirely. “For the glory of Google, we go where no GPS has ever gone before!” He turned on the four wheel drive and ploughed through a bumpy muddy road, crossing his fingers that the low branches don’t smack the camera off the roof. *** Of course, going where no GPS had gone before meant there was no guarantee that Henry would get anywhere at all. The road soon became a mud trail which probably never saw a car before. The camera brushed against the low hanging branches and the terrain steepened, so Henry threaded forward gingerly. The car hit a few rocks on more than one occasion and it didn’t sound too healthy. But Henry’s instincts told him this was the right way. That, or he just wanted to get lost in the middle of nowhere, never again to return to the chaos of the modern world. Since there was a heavy rainfall the other night, the road was a mudslide. The wheels threw tons of mud over the hood and the rear windows, making Henry’s vision limited to the front window only. He did not dare stop the car, or he’d slide backwards and off the road, tumbling down a ravine into a grinder of raging water and rocks. And if he put too much power he risked the wheels spinning or the branches smashing the expensive Google camera. For better concentration, he turned the stereo off. “Calculating. Unknown location. Please make sure the GPS tracking is turned on.” “It’s already on, lady. We’re in the deep now!” Suddenly, the mud path leveled out and the car emerged out from the thick forest. Henry drove on a grass field, a plato above the valley. His palms were all sweaty from gripping the steering wheel too much and his but and back needed some ventilation as well. But he felt like a friggin explorer of the old days, discovering some long forgotten temples in the jungle! And looking ahead, there stood a stone house. Looked like a shepherd’s house.

“Calculating. Terrain impassable. Best to turn around and fly over with a helicopter.” “Nonsense,” Henry replied. “We can make it. Though I do appreciate the humor.” There was a young boy sitting in front of the house, watching over the sheep grazing on the pasture. His jaw dropped and eyes nearly popped out as Henry rolled by in mud and leaves covered Google car. He rolled down the window, scraping the mud against the door frame, causing it to fall at the boy’s feet. “Hello,” Henry said in his broken Romanian. “Where road leads?” The boy was speechless, looking at Henry as if he were an alien. Then he pointed across the pasture, uphill. “Road,” he whispered in Romanian. Henry followed the boy’s finger. Looking up the hill he noticed a horse pulling a cart far up the hill in the distance. A road! He thanked the boy and drove onward, going straight up the pasture. The wheels spun in wet grass and sheep shit for most of the time, and the clutch began to smell like fried chicken, but eventually Henry made it back to the ‘main road’.

“Ha! Back in business, baby!” “Calculating. To reach our destination, it would be best to go back and turn left at that intersection.” Henry shook his head and turned the stereo back on. The guitar intro to Sweet home Alabama echoed through the car, as he drove on the high road, across the Transylvanian wilderness. And what a road this was! The landscape and the view was astounding! He smiled proudly as he thought of the images he will bring back home. Though in the back of his mind there was a little worry. I hope the camera is okay. I should probably stop and check- All of a sudden, coming out of a bend, he noticed a car turned over at the edge of the road. It was on fire. And there was a group of men sitting or standing around it, watching it burn and drinking beer. Nope , he thought to himself. Not stopping now. He drove past the group hoping they won’t throw molotovs at him. But as he passed them, they turned at him, smiled and waved. He waved back nervously. They had beers , he thought, feeling a thirst in his throat, instead of incredulity at the men’s actions. I must be nearing civilization. It took Henry the better part of the day until he finally got to his final stop in the mapping plan. Of course he nearly ran over another goat on the way, dodged a landslide, which took a huge part of the road down the hill, and picked up a hitchhiker - an ancient looking woman on the quest to see a doctor since there was none in her village. As he picked up the woman, he turned the stereo off again, out of politeness. The woman began praying and exorcising demons as soon as she heard the GPS voice talking ‘out of thin air’.

“Multumesc mult,” the woman said as they rolled into town, Henry’s final stop. “You’re welcome,” Henry replied as the woman climbed out of the car. Henry jumped out too, to stretch himself. This town wasn’t big, probably didn’t even have a thousand people, but compared to what he’s seen in these last few days, it was a metropolis. I’m gonna miss Romania , he thought as he observed the people. But at the same time, I won’t. He climbed up his Subaru to finally check if the camera was okay. What a bummer it would be if it got damaged and didn’t even record… Henry’s smile faded and his hands clenched into fists as he held onto the dirty car roof, squeezing the mud between his fingers like spaghetti. His head bowed down in self-condemnation. I forgot to turn it on. Again.


The winters were always cold, but this winter seemed to want to freeze us to death. I shovelled driveways to make a buck while my office was closed due to a faulty heating system. It seemed to make more sense for us to freeze at home instead of while miserable at work. Don’t get me wrong; my work is satisfying. Being stuck in place longer than our Windows ‘98 computers - not so great. I’m not alone in shovelling the driveways, although it feels like it most of the time. My buddy Chase has been helping me out with the driveways in our area. He’s a people person, whereas I am far from it. It always seemed to surprise him that a woman would be so terrible at speaking to other people because apparently, that’s “all we’re good for.” So after I punched him, he changed his mind, and I guess that’s how we became good workmates. He deals with the customers we - no - I shovel for. I’m the muscle of the operation and I’m certain I barely have any strength left after the weeks of relying on the repetitive task for income.

We were on the last driveway for the day and we were far from certain to take the homeowner’s offer for the job. This elderly couple practically was trapped inside because their driveway was too much for them to handle. It was pretty understandable for them to struggle with it, I mean, the place was a mansion. Chase and I stood at the edge of the driveway looking at the snow and ice that blocked us from the door. He, for once in his life, put down his coffee and took a shovel to help me shovel at least a path to the door. Only after a few minutes, Chase and I were left gasping and sweating from shovelling barely a dent into the couple’s driveway. We knew that we couldn’t stop or the sweat would freeze us to the ground right there. Keeping up our pace, I heard Chase start to sound like he was in pain, so I called over to him where he was.

“Are you okay Chase? You sound like you’re giving birth rather than shovelling!” He let out a slight laugh. “It’s a bit of pain I’m getting in my head”, he replied. “Is it a migraine? Like the ones you’ll usually get around this time of the year?” I waited for his reply but he seemed to stop altogether. “Chase?” I turned to see he was just standing still, looking up to the sky. “Mel, does it look like it’s going to snow some more?” He turned to me and I saw a slight panic in his eyes. “It kind of looks like a storm is coming”, I said. Suddenly, panic hit me too. We were three quarters done the driveway when the mansion’s door creaked open revealing a slim man wearing a parka and snow boots with a shovel in his hand.

“I’ll dig from this way to help you guys get through faster! They’re calling for a bad storm heading our way!” The man seemed anxious but I doubted it was from the oncoming storm. As he shovelled, he kept looking back at the door as if in hopes for someone to be there. We finally broke through the pile and met in the cleared path. He told us to bring the car up on the driveway so we could stay inside for a bit now that the storm was growing eerily close. Chase pulled up, taking his time, while I went inside upon the man’s invitation. He took off his hat, scarf and coat revealing a stronger build of a man with a complexion that looked nearly coffee in colour. He gave a slight chuckle as I realized I had been looking at him for too long.

“I guess this is your first time in this area? You’re pretty trusting for not being able to see my face.”

“Why wouldn’t I trust you? My business partner and I know of the couple that lives here. You’re obviously their son.” He seemed very welcomed by my statement and I couldn’t quite place why. Was I good at talking to people after all? As if the storm was right behind him, Chase came rushing in with his papers, my bag, and his coffee in hand. I took the things from him and he ran back to the vehicle to bring the shovels inside. Out of breath, he tried to explain his eagerness to come inside. “The storm looks like it’s a few blocks away...but it’s not snow.” We looked at him with defeat as he said, “It’s freezing rain. We’ll be here for a while.” The man who invited us appeared to have an idea and headed towards the large pantry in the kitchen when a minivan suddenly pulled up outside the house, startling Chase, who’s back was turned to the door. A man rushed out of the driver’s side of the vehicle and assisted the passenger beside him out of the car as well. I stood in panic at the sight of his passenger struggling desperately to make it to the house’s front door.

“Please help us! I’m begging you to let us stay until the storm passes....we can’t make it to the hospital in time and the car is no place for someone to stay in her condition.” Chase stood aside and gestured for them to enter so they came in, rushing to find a comfortable place for his wife to lay down. I was still standing at the doorway when the room fell silent as the man who invited us, came back in to see we had let two more complete strangers into his home. Instead of seeming annoyed or bothered by the additional people, he turned to the woman who was now laying on his couch and asked, “When are you due?” She turned away from him and her husband spoke up.

“Possibly any minute now.” He sounded desperate but his wife seemed to just want to suffer in silence. I spoke out of turn and it seemed to startle the heavy silence.

“So I’m Mel. That’s Chase. We work together. Who are you guys?” I looked at everyone’s blank stares and saw Chase give me a stern look in disappointment.

“They are the Reed family. One of our higher-end clients,” Chase mumbled at me. At that moment, the wife’s expression changed to one of confusion.

“You mean, this isn’t your house, Mel?” She seemed near worried.

“No, Chase and I were just working on clearing the driveway when the storm was getting closer, so he invited us in.” I pointed to the man standing with a tray of food in hand.

“Ah yes, I’m Carter. My parents own this home, they’re actually upstairs right now.” He looked around the room at everyone’s understanding expressions until he locked eyes with the pregnant woman who looked absolutely disgusted with him. He continued to speak warmly despite the sense of sudden tension. “Are you alright ma’am?” “Does it look like I’m alright?! I’m going to give birth and we’re nowhere near the hospital!” She became very cross with Carter for what seemed to be no reason and initially I chalked it up to the possible contractions, but something seemed very off with when she reacted. I couldn’t quite place why she was angry and found myself unknowingly zoned out while looking at Carter again. There was just something about him that seemed approachable and kind, unlike the people I’ve worked with or knew when I moved here. My odd train of thought continued as he spoke with Chase and the couple until the sound of Mrs. Reed screeching in pain sliced the conversation apart. Mr. Reed let go of her hand in an attempt to save his own as he began to descend into a panic. Just as I was about to ask how I could help his wife in labour, Carter spoke with urgency, “Sir, I know this isn’t ideal, but I believe your wife will be having this baby here. I am a nurse and I can assist in the birth of the child.” Without a second thought, I piped up, “And I’ll help!” Carter smiled my way and we looked for some sign of confirmation from Mrs. Reed. She looked between the two of us, sweat rolling down her face now.

“Only she can deliver the baby, I don’t want you touching him when he’s born.” Her voice remained fairly steady despite the pain. “I can’t deliver the baby! Are you out of your mind, just let him instead. I’m certain the baby will be safer in his hands!” All she could do was shake her head at me so Carter left and I followed closely beside him, genuinely happy that I could leave that conversation.

We headed up the stairs to a linen closet where Carter silently gave me blankets and cloths to carry as he filled a bucket of hot water from what appeared to be his bathroom. He gave a gesture for me to come in, so I did and he proceeded to close the door behind me.

“Sorry, I know my parents are asleep at the moment...they haven’t been feeling so well recently.” “Oh, so that’s why we’re in here.” He gave a slight laugh at my response. “I can tell you’re a good friend. I wish I could get that woman to see me the way you seem to. I could help so much more during the delivery but you are going to have to just be good at following directions for now. I can’t go against what she wants, that wouldn’t be right of me.” “She’s just stubborn and -” The sound of Mrs. Reed struggling interrupted my train of thought.

“Mel, we’re going to have to hurry so please don’t space out no matter what you see, okay?”

I nodded in agreement, growing more and more nervous about what was to come. ~ Carter miraculously managed to get Chase and myself to a point in the delivery where at least the baby’s head was out enough to see there would be no complications but then Mrs. Reed suddenly stopped pushing and once we turned our attention to her, we saw she looked about as pale as the sheets. “Is she prone to fainting?” Carter hurriedly asked Mr. Reed who was looking as though he was about to cry.

“She’s had some issues before but I’m- I’m not sure.” Mrs. Reed began to try to readjust herself on the couch. Cater realized he really had no way to explain to us how to help her with the pregnancy. So there he was; the first person to ever call me a friend, on his knees begging Mrs. Reed to let him help her. And still, with her life and the life of her child on the line, she was as stubborn as she was before but suddenly, she looked to me instead. She saw how I looked at Carter with wide eyes and finally, she gave Carter consent to help. Mr. Reed looked relieved as if his pulse finally normalized.

Carter stood and I couldn’t help but watch in amazement like a little sister watching her older brother do what he’s best at. He placed a hand on her forehead and asked for Chase to get a cold compress. Seeing him in control of the situation suddenly gave me the courage I needed to help to the fullest.

“Do you need me to do anything, Carter?” He looked between myself and Mr. Reed.

“Mel, you stay where you are. Make sure you still see the baby’s crown until I’m able to get Mrs. Reed pushing again.” I looked at Mrs. Reed’s determined face as the ice pack wrapped in a paper towel was placed under her neck. “Mr. Reed pass me those pillows behind you. I’ll need your help with this.” I stayed in my place as Carter and Chase each took one of her legs as Mr. Reed pushed the additional pillows under to take off pressure from her spine. As if right on queue, Mrs. Reed found her strength to push with her husband beside her. Moments passed of Carter coaching me through holding the baby as it comes out and the whole room finally took a breath when we heard the baby cry. I never expected to feel so overjoyed when I saw Mr. and Mrs. Reed with their new baby boy. I stood up to go wash my hands when Carter came up beside me to do the same. He looked down at me with a caring smile. “So, um, I’m still really surprised you trusted me to deliver the baby, Carter.” I tried to avoid looking at him in the eyes but somehow he found a way for me to look at him. “It’s really only fair. You trusted me when I invited you in and you stayed after you saw how I looked.” “But nothing is wrong with the way you look.” I genuinely couldn’t understand what he meant.

He continued to explain. “It’s really sweet that you still don’t understand. I wish my friends were more like you. She didn’t want me to deliver the baby because I am much darker than her. But I appreciate that it doesn’t phase you.” “Wait... seriously! That’s why? How are you putting up with this right now?” He grinned at hearing the baby coo. “I put up with it because that baby’s life is worth it.” I reached out my hand to shake his and when he did, I looked into his eyes to make sure he knew I wasn’t lying. “Consider me the first friend who will never judge you because you’re black. But you must promise me something in return because I think that’s what friends do.” “What? Don’t judge you because you’re ginger?” He let out a hearty laugh.

“No…” He looked surprised at my seriousness, “Don’t ever tell Mrs. Reed that I was born and raised in South Africa. I think she’d ban me from holding her son if she finds out.” And just like that, I laughed and smiled genuinely for the first time in what felt like years with Carter.

Chase seemed to be in awe across the room at my ability to hold a conversation since that was the one thing I could never do.

Maybe all I needed was a true friend to talk to.


Since he retired back in February, Jeremy had a lot of time to kill. Like most retiree rookies, he vowed to exercise more. He started watching yoga videos on YouTube. He began walking the beach near his home. Huffing down the beach and back would help burn calories and keep him occupied until happy hour, he figured. As he settled into his near-daily routine of strolling the shore, Jeremy started recognizing the same characters along the way. One regular was an attractive older woman who always wore a bikini no matter the weather. She had a melanoma-level tan, punctuated with peroxide-perfect shoulder-length hair. The woman was always barefoot, and she appeared nearly every time Jeremy was out. Like clockwork. Lifeguards, too, became familiar fixtures on the sand. Most were buffed-out young men in their early twenties, he guessed, but he had lost his ability to judge age once he hit his fifties. The lifeguards would slowly patrol the beach in their fire engine-red JEEPs outfitted with the tools to save a drowning soul in those precious first minutes. The young lifeguard acknowledged Jeremy with a wave, and he eagerly responded in kind. Jeremy began taking a dog poop bag on his walks to pick up trash that had washed ashore. The low tide left it all stranded: caps from water bottles, snack wrappers, plastic spoons, toothbrushes, straws, and even the occasional flip-flop or baseball hat—thrashed apart by its violent time at sea. Jeremy found that low tide also created the best walking conditions, so he downloaded a tides app on his phone to track them. He became fascinated by the graphic bell curves charting the rise and fall of the mighty ocean. Never-ending. Day after day. Hour after hour. This particular day brought about the lowest tide he had ever witnessed. He walked down to the waterline and was strangely transfixed. He watched the glassy swells rise and curl over, crashing into white foamy chaos. Jeremy closed his eyes to focus on the fear-inducing roar of the waves in his ears. He took a deep breath of salty air and let out an open-mouth exhale. “Namaste!” he yelled to the universe. Jeremy turned to retrace his path back to the pier. The lifeguard was still idling in his JEEP in the exact spot he passed nearly an hour ago. The lifeguard waved out of the open-sided vehicle. “That’s odd,” Jeremy thought, “I just saw the kid. Maybe he didn’t recognize me.” Out of the corner of his eye, he detected the tanned bikini lady walking her identical route toward him, oblivious to the strange sensation that had overtaken Jeremy. What was going on?

Eyeing the large clock on the lifeguard headquarters building, Jeremy was stunned to see that the clock was still displaying 1:15—the time he had set out nearly two hours ago! Sure, retirement had caused some days to blur together, he thought, but this was something else. Jeremy had smoked a lot of pot in his younger years. Could he be having a flashback? He was scared and thrilled at the same time. Jeremy began to wonder if his meditation at the water’s edge had unleased some sort of cosmic time bend. He tried to recall Einstein’s theory of relativity. Distances in space and time are relative. They change depending on how fast you’re moving. They pass at different rates for different people blah blah blah. He had no idea how to even wrap his head around it. Jeremy was never any good at physics. Did he just fall into a fucking wormhole or something? Nobody else seemed to be running around in a panic that their watches and phones stopped moving forward. The ocean just continued with its rhythmic pulse like a metronome.

The next day at low tide (3:41 p.m.) Jeremy returned to the scene of the crime, just past lifeguard station number five. He brought his phone this time to prove his theory. Facing the water, Jeremy closed his eyes, took another deep breath of sea air, and exhaled, proclaiming “Namaste!” to the waves. He began walking back toward his car, taking out his phone after several minutes. 3:41. As soon as he stepped off the beach and back onto the pavement, his phone’s clock started ticking forward again. Was the sand acting as the proverbial sand in an hourglass? Was low tide possibly the skinny part of that hourglass, stopping up the space-time continuum like a cork? Jeremy returned the following day at the time when the tide would be highest. He again walked down to the water and conjured up his mystical trance. “Namaste!” he yelled like the previous two days. He pulled out his iPhone. The clock kept ticking. So, what if it was the low tide that paused time, Jeremy wondered. What would he do with the information? Could he make a killing in stocks? Doubt it. Stop the aging process? Standing on the beach would only increase the aging process with the constant sun exposure, he reasoned. Just look at the tan lady. (Speaking of which, was she in on the secret?). Eventually, time would have to march forward so he could use the bathroom after standing there. Or would time pause his bladder too? His head was about to explode. He decided that for such a cool parlor trick of stopping time (he did plan on bringing his wife down to show her— when she had the time, Ba Dum CHING! ) it didn’t have any practical use. Who really wants to live forever?

When Jeremy first retired, he sat down and wrote a list of goals to accomplish and new hobbies to learn. Travel more. Make new friends. Worry less. Volunteer. Lose weight. Pick the guitar back up. Maybe learn how to surf. The usual. Yet while simply trying to kill time, Jeremy discovered a way to actually pause it, at least for a while.

“Way to go, Einstein,” he laughed to himself. “Not bad for retired old guy.”


"Christmas time is here everyone! I hope you all are as excited as I am about our secret Santa gift swap! I've got some refreshments set up on the back table as well as a goodie bag for each of you to grab when you leave. DJ Xtreme is here tonight to set the mood right. So, let's get this party started!", Shelly announced to everyone at the Lions Guard Inc. Christmas party.

As the owner of the

world's most successful security company,

Shelly took pride in hosting her company's annual Christmas parties. She really enjoys spending time with her employees outside of work hours.

The time spent decorating all around the office shows how much joy she has. There were red, green, and silver garlands, tinsel, balloons, snowmen, and Christmas trees.

        " Wow! Boss lady got it looking really nice in here tonight. Maybe you should take some notes, Martha." Stew said with a smirk on his face.

"You wonder why I can't stand you, Stew.

Then again, no woman on this earth can stand you. That's why you're still single." Martha responded as she proceeded to the refreshment table. Stew shook his head as he laughed off Martha's response and found a table for them to sit. "Stew! How's it going my man?" Rick asked excitingly as he takes a sip of the anonymous Christmas punch Shelly makes every year. "I can't call it, Rick. How are you?" replied Stew as he took a seat across from him.

"I'm doing well, thanks for asking. I'm planning an international getaway to Dubai for the Spring. As soon as I land there, my feet will be planted in the sand and I will be enjoying an adventurous camel ride. I heard the variety of wines and spirits are exquisite there." Rick explained as he stared off into space in his own world.

"I'm pretty sure it's gonna be a blast!" Stew said sarcastically, being that every employee thinks Rick makes up all of his lavish and luxurious stories.

      Meanwhile, Martha is at the refreshment table trying to decide whether she should partake in Shelly's anonymous Christmas punch or just settle for some water instead. "Why does she have to make this unknown punch every year? There are other drinks at the store that could've been brought." Martha complained in frustration to her coworker Karla.

"You know she has to be in control of everything. From what pens we use to how many staples are in the staplers. Irritates me every time. Let's get some drinks from the vending machine in the break room. " Karla responded. "Now we're talking." Martha said in agreement.

Both ladies started making their way to the break room as Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas' blasts from the DJ's speakers.

       "You play some great songs." Shelly yells over the loud music. "Thanks. I try to do my best, you know." DJ Xtreme responded with a smile as he was flipping switches and turning knobs on his turntables. "I want to let you know that I got you a gift for the gift swap so you won't feel left out." Shelly mentioned with eagerness as she plays around with her fingers nervously. "Wow, that's really nice of you!" answered DJ Xtreme. He looked confused as he takes notice of Shelly's nervousness. "Are you feeling ok? Is something bothering you?" DJ Xtreme asked as he presses a button to switch to the next song. "I'm ok. It's just...I've been bottling up these feelings I have inside of me for a long time. I'm afraid I might burst into a million pieces." Shelly explained with a disappointing look. "You should definitely get it off your chest and open up. You might feel better after." DJ Xtreme stated. "I guess you're right. Shelly said as her palms started sweating heavily at the thought of telling DJ Xtreme that she likes him. "Don't be shy at all. You can vent to me, you know. What could go wrong? I promise I wont bite." DJ Xtreme assured Shelly, curious as to what is brewing on her mind. "Well...ok. I've been feeling this way for a while now and...oh, please excuse me, I see one of my employees trying to spike my delicious Christmas punch, again. Frank! You better not put that tequila in my punch!" Shelly yelled as she rushed over to the refreshment table. DJ Xtreme looked disappointed as he turned his attention back to his turntables.

Shelly has grown a crush on him from the first year he performed at her parties. Every time she gets closer to expressing her feelings to him, anxiety takes over and she runs the other way. What Shelly doesn't know is that DJ Xtreme also has a crush on her. This was the moment that he noticed the feelings are mutual between them.

       Shelly grabs the tequila bottle out of Frank's hand right before any could pour out. "Why do you keep spoiling my fun? I've been meaning to tell you, this punch could use a little kick to it." Frank said looking surprised that his boss caught him attempting to spike her punch. "Why must you try to ruin my punch every year? There's nothing wrong with it. My punch tastes perfectly fine. Go make your own personal drink." Shelly responded in frustration. "Actually, that's a great idea! I'll be right back." Frank said as he's turned back to the refreshment table and started making his own personal drink. Shelly shook her head in disbelief, then made her way towards the break room.

          The Jackson 5's 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus' was blasting from the speakers. "This soda is hitting the spot, girl. I think I might get another one to take home with me." Martha mentioned right before she took another sip. "You got that right. Now that we have these new vending machines, I'm glad we don't have to be stuck to drinking only Shelly's Christmas punch." Karla responded as she sat down at the break room table. "Speaking of our boss, I saw her talking to the DJ earlier. I think she likes him but looks nervous as heck when she talks to him." Martha stated as she took a sip of her drink. "Oh, wow! I didn't notice that at all.

Maybe we should help her. She could really use a man in her life." Karla responded. "I don't know, Karla. I don't be in other peoples business." Martha said. "What business are we talking about ladies? Wait a minute...why are y'all in the break room sneaking and drinking sodas?!

So, yall too good for my Christmas punch?" Shelly asked in shock as she walked into the break room. "Its not like that, Shelly. We really like your punch, it's just that we think there should be a variety of drinks provided for the party. Some people just like variety, that's all." Martha explained as she thought quick to save her and Karla from upsetting their boss. "Well, I never thought of it that way. You do have a point. Nobody wants to drink the same thing every year. From here on out, there will be different varieties of drinks at our parties." Shelly agreed with a smile on her face as she sat down across from Karla at the break room table. "The DJ really got this place jamming, doesn't he?" Shelly asked as she was staring at DJ Xtreme with a smile. "Don't be afraid, Shelly. Go on over there and talk to him. You know you want him to be your man." Karla stated as she stood up to throw her empty bottle of soda away. "How do you know that I like DJ Xtreme?" Shelly asked with a confused look on her face. "Come on! Anybody can see the way that you stare at him and how you pretty much drool all over him when y'all talk." Karla responded. "I guess you're right. Well, here goes nothing. Wish me luck." Shelly stated as she stood up and started making her way towards the DJ booth.


Miss Fitt By Heather Ann Martinez They say you should never judge a book by its cover. It is important to look inside. You know that skimming through the jacket is not enough to really know if the book is going to be a waste of time or if it is something you could have read to you frequently. None of us knew what to do when we were told androids were going to be integrated into our communities. We liked knowing that humanity had achieved such an accomplishment. Androids existed. They independently moved around on their own. They were al built stronger than us mere mortals and could handle responsibilities many of us could not with ease. Many of them worked with nuclear technology. They were not affected by radiation. They didn’t have to be charged up for days at a time and their rebooting time took seconds. They could virtually work around the clock. We were not expecting to live with them, but they became curious. They wanted to know more about the race that created them. It was more than that. They wanted to become like us. They knew they would be humanity’s legacy. They knew our fragile star and planet were only centuries away from going dark. The androids would be left. They would survive when nothing seemed to permeate our corner of the universe. We built them in our image but they did not revere us as gods. They respected that we created them and could repair them. Even while knowing they were superior to us in many ways, they didn’t want us to worship them. They were humble and gentle. They took the best human traits. They studied our history. They knew where humanity walked and did not want any part of what humanity had done. They believed themselves to be created equal. They were not competitive with one another. They did not try to compete with those who created them. They were not rude. They showed compassion and empathy despite not knowing what it was to truly feel. They did not have the passion of a soul. The androids did not have to fight for their survival. They were no one’s prey. They knew better than to prey on the weaker species and lived in harmony with everyone. They were never stung by bees or annoyed by flies, never had to think about their food or where they would rest their heads. Eventually, the government stepped in and asked several families to take in an android so that they may have the firsthand experience of living with a family. My parents agreed to this experiment. The government people said that we could stop at any time. My parents are very extroverted. They worked with androids in their respective jobs at the power plant. My brother and I, however, are not happy about this. I’m a lot more shy than most teenagers and my brother likes collecting spiders and feeding lizards. He just turned twelve. I have no idea what will be accomplished by having one of the androids involved in our personal lives. We aren’t that interesting. My mother always tells my brother not to talk about the lizards while we are eating. My dad talks about his friends at the power plant and who he is going to play golf with on Sunday afternoons. I just chime in to ask who is going to come to my piano concert and take me to my swimming lessons after school on Thursdays. My mother has said she fears I am still too attached to her. She is hopeful that having an android in the house will help me to stop clinging to her apron strings. In other words, I am going to end up babysitting the android. I know I don’t have much say in how long the android will be with us, but I am hoping it will not be more than two weeks. I suppose I could teach the android how to play the piano. Maybe the android will see that we are not exciting and decide to leave the experiment first. One can only hope! The day arrived. The android came, a female the government person called Miss Fitt. Miss Fitt looked like me, a teenage girl. Her skin tone was perfectly porcelain. Her eyes looked like those from a life size doll. She walked gracefully, not stiff like I presumed she would. She had full range of motion. My parents introduced themselves, then my brother and they introduced me last. My brother almost immediately grabbed Miss Fitt’s hand and directed her towards his lizard lair. Miss Fitt didn’t talk like humans. Her voice was very robotic which was a relief. I needed her to have flaws. She was too perfect and that is why she would have difficulty fitting in. I took her to my piano lesson the following day. She took the sheet music and played what was written flawlessly. I suggested that she watch me. I closed my eyes. She did the same. I played what I remembered of the piece but improvised notes I could not recall. I intentionally added notes in dead spaces that weren’t written anywhere. Miss Fitt questioned why I didn’t follow the sheet music. I told her that sometimes the best music is off script. She scratched her head. She asked me to explain to her what improve was, why I enjoyed incorporating sounds as I went along, and why I didn’t follow what was written. I told her what was written is a jumping off point, but there doesn’t always need to be a safe landing for melody. There didn’t need to be lyrics and the harmony was what people would remember. She was quick to remind me that androids remembered everything. Androids wouldn’t forget the melody or even one note over the passage of time. She struggled to understand that the journey is not always about the destination. Sometimes the best experiences in life are the ones you don’t plan for. Miss Fitt wanted to finish the music lesson and check it off her box. She respected that I could hear more than sounds and frequencies in what I was playing but did not experience the joy I had in trying to add different chords that weren’t on the sheet. My brother showed her the lizards that occupied his time. She sounded like a walking encyclopedia telling him which lizards ate what and how long they would live. She could hear their heartbeats and knew exactly how many days they had left. My brother hope she was wrong and held back tears. He later cried in my mother’s arms. He didn’t like knowing their lives were as limited as what Miss Fitt told him. We took Miss Fitt to the park and the zoo. My brother and I asked her if she felt the breeze on her face or got a tickle in her nose as if she were going to sneeze. She said she didn’t have these sensations and looked at us in a way we had not seen before. She looked as if she were going to cry. My mother said theoretically she could cry to acknowledge the appropriate emotional response but she wouldn’t feel any of what it is like to be a muddy, messy human being. She couldn’t be that. Miss Fitt tried her first ice cream. She rode on her first roller coaster and buried her feet deep in the cool sand. She sang camp songs around a bonfire and told us scary stories by a flashlight. She asked me what everything tasted like and what sounds I heard throughout the day. She heard everything in the world, but wasn’t overwhelmed by it. She said that was her heartbeat, that was where she came to life. She asked me what I dreamed about for my future and what scared me the most. She had no fear. She had no love and was at a loss when it came to understanding either and respecting that that was where the great divide lay. Eventually, it was time for Miss Fitt to leave. She hummed what I played on the piano and added a half note where I always thought there should be a whole one. It wasn’t on the sheet music. She told me I was right. You don’t always need directions to your destination. Sometimes, you just need to embrace the journey in getting there.


What a sucking Tuesday! I began to curse why the New year's eve had to show up the earliest of the week. What if you could come on Thursday? Don't you think you could make everyone a happy panda? Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday; a long relaxing weekend! I talked to myself. Despite the hell of a day I had earlier at work, yet I felt so giant stepping on a new year as a single champ after opting out unhealthy relationship a day before the new year's eve. It rained at noon, and I was so disturbed with the point of fact that roads would be severely devastated. I looked at my watch-that I normally refuse take it off my wrist even when I'm bathing- and it read 7:20 PM. I swashed open the curtains and peeked outside through the window. It was dark and cold ; I could feel the waves of cold air slapping my face mercilessly. My head was dominated by two twin ghosts whom I didn’t have a slightest idea from which caves had they descend from. One whispered to my mind; settle down and have a bottle of wine as you watch your favorite TV program at home. The other one jumped in and said; call your girlfriend and have a funny night-how stupid he already forgot We broke up yesterday. I had no doubt their ideas were so urged with the prevailed arctic climate, but I strongly suspected their discrepancies. I said; this weather is definitely calling for nothing but few pints of the best brandy in town. I convinced myself that this time was surely me, though on the other hand I feared one of the ghosts might have conspired and rigged the game.  I put on my sneakers, got in my hoodie-shirt and sneaked out quietly; not wanting to dismay my devils that I probably had a card up my sleeve and disobeyed them. I went to a nearby pub where I used to drink with my friend Rechnold before he relocated to Prague. I pulled up the hoodie collar and covered my head- not to expose my presence to the folks who never aced to mind their own businesses.  I picked a small round table in the corner and sat. I revealed my face and immediately a young blonde barmaid whom I assumed to be a fourth grade school dropout appeared to ask me what I would like to have. A half pint of your best bitter, trying to sound like my English friends who came to visit our organization last month, realizing that am once breaking the rule I set myself to never take alcohol on Christmas and New year's eve. I am John Doe; I encouraged myself so that I would not feel guilty. I raised my half-pint glass and took all of it in one sip and asked for another. The young barmaid attended to me again and left. I took the glass and have a sip very gently this minute, and then I put it down diligently. This time I allowed my eyes to gaze over the counter where I initially swore would never look as my neighbors who’re good followers and devoted worshippers of free beers would always seat at the counter. Uncustomary, I bumped into new beer muscle’ faces that I concluded they had run in for a roof when it was raining cats and dogs and dwelled for beers. I turned my head around and my eyes settled to the eyes of a lady from a far end corner table of the pub. A lady in a red-fashioned designer dress with a flawless lip rouge and necklet that exquisitely matched her dress. She was having a glass of red wine. She smiled at me amicably; I couldn’t believe she was actually giving that wide fresh smile for me. I took a sip of a dark-brown liquid and nearly choked. I couldn’t help but grabbing my glass and moved to her table, didn’t have a clue the glass was already empty. Nice dress! I remarked as I lifted up my glass to toast with hers. It’s empty! she said as she indicated with a flick of eyes. Ooh sorry, I said awkwardly. I signaled the barmaid who was hovering to bring a full bottle of red wine. I am not for sale! she enounced, looking straight into my eyes; trying to be solid. My late grandfather once told me; “ Wine makes you wise ” imitating my grandfather’s voice. I hate to be the only wisest in the room, I said as I was lifting up the bottle of wine and pour her glass. She smiled.  I filled up her glass then I did mine. A decade in the city yet this is my good pub and look today! it’s written a new record to be my best pub. I insinuated. I am Harry. She laughed; ooh I see, Hurry! I am…….. Keep your name for the next time, Red will just be perfect for now. I cut her shortly. You look splendid in that dress. I remarked. You flatter me Harry, thank you. She replied smiling.

She then excused and headed to the washrooms. Oh my God, such a perfect body, I exclaimed as she walked off to the washroom. She got back and I pulled a seat for her to sit. I didn’t realize there were any old-fashioned romantics remained in the world, she joked. Any plans for the rest of the evening? Nothing has been planned so far, Red! I confessed, but I think will have to cling on yours.., any?    I questioned. She gave me that mesmerizing look that made me pout for a while. By the way, is that your routine to have a wine before a meal? I asked subtly.  Thank you Harry, I already had my plate before. She answered gallantly. I remained silent for a time admiring how noble and sexy she looks. I wish it hadn’t rained, I would have asked you out for Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Would you mind if we go out for a latte after this? I asked as I poured the remains of the wine into her glass. I would be delighted. She replied merrily

 The more and more we talked I found myself enchanted with her company. We finished up and strolled out for a latte. She rolled her arm around my neck as we strolled out of the pub. Where would you like to have our latte? I asked If you don’t have a wife, would love to have a latte at your place. I would truly feel privileged. I answered sheepishly. She smiled and pinched me on the ribs. We reached at my place and I opened the door for her. As I closed the door- behind us, Red put her arms around my neck and looked up into my eyes. I leaned down and kissed her for the first time. When she broke out all she said was don’t let’s bother with latte Harry; if you insist, I guess this is the latte you need; she said as she allowed her dress to fall off her body and remained in bra and underwear. I got hypnotized for a minute, and when I recovered I slipped off my clothes and led her into my bedroom. I will just be in a moment; I said and disappeared into the bathroom. As I brushed my teeth I began to wonder if it was all a dream. I came out and found discarded- bra and underwear down the bathroom corridor. I appeared and she was all naked on bed, bent on her knees allowing her bosoms to restful appeal majestically on the pillow. I quickly took off my towel, dropping it where it fell, and switched off the lights; so that the one by the bed remained aglow and romantic. I started relishing her from the comfort of the posture she made. I couldn’t believe that anyone could be that exciting, at the same time so tender. When we finally made love she laid in my arms for some time before any of us spoke, then we rolled over and looked on each other’s eyes, and laughed. I began to confess my experience in making love and confided that was a breath-taking experience I have ever had. She leaned across and began kissing me once again, first on the lips, then neck and chest and ended down on it. I thought I was going to explode.

The last thing I remember was shutting off the bed lights as the rays of the sunlight penetrated through the lace curtains of my bedroom. I slowly opened my eyes and realized it was already morning. This time the glorious memory of the night were instantly revived. I turned lazily to take her in my arms but she was no longer there. I perched on the bed and noticed a scribbled note under the pillow. I opened it and it read; "Will forever honor this night, goodbye and Happy New Year, Harry" .