NOTE: My main character describes a short scene involving suicide and gore on his phone. I was in my room on a late Friday morning (it was a Flex Day at Brennan’s Glenn High School, which meant school budget meetings and planning for the next school year—teachers get stuck in boring meetings all day and students get to stay home, except for the football team and cheer squad). I was listening to my music when the doorbell rang. I hit pause and removed my earphones to make sure it was the doorbell and not part of the music. After making sure that there really was someone at the door, I ran down the stairs to open it. “Yes?” I said, cocking my eyebrow at the mailman. “Delivery for Christopher Robinson?” the mailman said, dragging a long cardboard box onto our front porch. “Please sign here.” I caught a glimpse of the label on the package. Amazon. That was weird. “Hold up!” I said. “I didn’t order anything!” “Says here you did,” the mailman said shortly. “I certainly did not,” I denied. “There has to be a mistake.” “Nope,” the mailman replied. “No mistake. Just…sign the thing.” “Alright, fine,” I said with an exasperated sigh, taking the electronic pad from him. “But I am not happy about this. I’m returning this thing because there is no way in Hell that I ordered anything from Amazon.” “Up to you,” the mailman said laconically with a shrug before walking back to his truck. I shook my head and dragged the thing inside. Before I opened it, however, I went back upstairs to fire up my computer. The first thing I did was to check my bank account. See if there were any charges. Perhaps someone had gotten my card number and was using it to buy stuff. I had my card locked. The next thing I did was to contact Amazon—twice—once on the phone, and then by email, demanding to know what the Hell was going on. And then a thought occurred to me. What if this was a prank? So I called my best friend Antony, who was best known in the small town of Brennan’s Glenn as “Loki the Trickster God.” That kid has been pranking people since the day he learned how to walk! “Alright, bro, you got me,” I said with a sigh as soon as he picked up. “That was a really good prank.” “The Hell you talkin’ about, man?” he asked in confusion. “What prank? I haven’t planned any pranks in two years!” “So you didn’t order anything off of Amazon and had it shipped to my address?” I asked incredulously. “Heck no!” Antony protested. “Why would I waste my money on a prank?” “I don’t know,” I said. “You tell me. You’re the Master Prankster.” “I may be a prankster but I’m very careful with my money,” Antony answered. “I’m saving up for the future.” “If you say so,” I said with a shrug. “Wanna come over and see what this thing is? Open it with me? Maybe we can figure this mystery out together, you and me.” “Sure, why not?” Antony said. “I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.” Within ten minutes, Antony was walking up the pathway leading to our front porch, his skateboard under his arm. I opened the door before he could ring the bell. “Hey, Chris!” he greeted. “What you got?” “Check this out,” I said, ushering him in. “It came with a note.” “Whoso pulleth this sword out of this box and Styrofoam, is right wise king born of all England,” Antony said. “Now I see why you’d think it was a joke. Maybe it is. This one isn’t mine though. Let’s open it, shall we?” And open it we did. Or at least tried to. No matter how many times Antony hacked away at the tape with a kitchen knife, the thing wouldn’t budge. It was as if the tape was made of steel or something. “Here,” I said, palm open. “Give it.” Antony handed me the knife, and when I cut through the tape, the blade sailed through it like a hot knife on butter. I opened the package and pulled out the foam casing out of the box with ease. I removed the top layer, revealing the ornate sword within. I shot Antony a look and he nodded, attempting to take the sword out of the lower half of its Styrofoam prison. He failed miserably. He grunted and groaned, pulled and lifted. Nothing. The sword wouldn’t budge. “Wanna have a go at it?” Antony asked, motioning for me to try. “This is ridiculous,” I said, prying the gleaming weapon out of its foam prison. In one swift, fluid motion, I was able to do so and its grip fit right in my hand like a perfectly tailored glove. As soon as my right hand closed around the sword’s grip, I was transported to a time lost long ago and into the glorious fortress of Camelot. I found myself arrayed in royal robes of scarlet and gold with a solid gold circlet around my head. All around me were my knights. My dearest friends. Hidden enemies and secret traitors. Lancelot, Geraint, Gawain, Percival, Bors, Lamorak, Kay, Gareth, Bedivere, Gaheris, Galahad, Lucan, Dagonet, Mordred, Valiant, and Tristan. The bravest men—and women—I had ever known and ever had the privilege to fight alongside with. “Holy Mother of Helga Hufflepuff!” Antony said, kneeling on the floor with one knee and bowing his head, snatching me up out of my reverie. I stared at him for five seconds too long and he felt the daggers I was throwing with my eyes. He looked up. “What? What is it?” he asked in alarm. “I was—am—King Arthur,” I said, trying very hard to swallow the bitter gall rising in my throat. I’m sure the sudden disgust was evident on my face. It all made sense now. His intense infatuation on Ellie made absolutely perfect sense in that moment. He has never stopped loving her. Not in 800 years. Or more. My Ellie. My Guinevere. “Holy Hufflepuff!” he said in awe. “Does that mean—” “Yes,” I said with a nod, immediately understanding his unfinished question. “Holy crap!” he exclaimed. “So Ellie is—” “Yes, she is,” I said with another nod. “Oh, wow,” he whispered with a breathy exhale. “Yep,” I said. “And my sister Caitlyn was…is Sir Kay.” “Get outta here!” Antony said. “No freaking way! Shut the front door!” “And you’ll never guess who Sir Bors is in this lifetime,” I added. “Who?” Antony asked, his pitch rising, just how it rises every time he is curious or excited. “Who is Sir Bors?” “Cody,” I said with a smile. “Cody as in… Our neighbor Cody?” Antony guessed. “Cody as in Caitlyn’s boyfriend Cody?” “One and the same,” I said with a nod. “Interesting,” Antony thought out loud with the side of his curled index finger on his lips and his thumb on his cheek. “I did not see that one coming.” “Neither did I,” I said, turning the sword and examining it. “That was an unexpected revelation. I never thought I’d say this, but… I kinda ship them.” “Cody and Caitlyn?” Antony asked. “Or Sir Bors and Sir Kay?” “Both,” I answered. “Here, check this out! There’s something written on both sides of the blade. It’s in runes though, so I can’t read it.” “Take me up, cast me away,” a deep booming voice came from behind us and Antony and I both jumped a foot in the air, Excalibur at ready. I trained my sword at the old man suddenly standing before us. “Who are you?” I asked. “Explain yourself! Where did you come from and how did you get in here? Start talking before I call the cops!” “My name is Merlin,” the old man said. “And I have been with you since you were a boy.” When he saw the confusion on my face, Merlin shifted forms, growing smaller and smaller, eventually turning into my cat, Mr. Spock. “Spock?” I said in surprise. “No,” he said, his little cat lips moving. “Merlin.” It was super weird. I had never seen a talking cat before. I mean, I’ve seen Salem on TV, but that was fiction. I’ve never heard of or seen a talking cat in real life. And with that, the wizard morphed from his cat form to his true form—a tall old man with a flowing white beard that seemed to glow in the late morning sun, dressed in purple and silvery robes. “The Awakening has begun,” the wizard said cryptically. “The Awakening?” I asked. “ What awakening?” “Mordred has risen from the grave to seek his last revenge,” Merlin warned. “He brings with him his army of Sleepers.” “Sleepers?” Antony asked. “Dead rotting men who rise from the grave,” Merlin answered. “And whose sole purpose is to feed on the flesh of the living.” “Really?” I said with a humorless laugh. “A zombie apocalypse? Get outta here!” “If what you say is true, then it would have been big news,” Antony interjected. “Why isn’t it on the news? Why hasn’t anyone heard about it yet? Surely everyone would have known by now.” “This realm’s present government is trying to suppress it,” the wizard answered. “So as not to create a panic. But a panic is inevitable. They cannot keep this hidden for long. The end of the world is also inevitable. Unless you stop it.” “You’ve clearly got the wrong guy,” I protested. “I mean, why me? I’m not even British! I’m American! I’m just a regular small town guy from Brennan’s Glenn, Washington.” “You have always been the Chosen One, Arthur,” Merlin said. “And the time of your return is at hand. Excalibur chose you once before because of your purity of heart. It chose you again for this very same reason. England’s need is greatest. The world’s need is greatest. You hold the key to stopping the extermination of all mankind in your very hands.” “What’s my mission?” I asked. “You must raise an army of your own to stave off Mordred’s undead horde,” Merlin answered. “Well, you have me,” Antony said, kneeling before me again. “Say the word and I will fight for you— with you .” “What about the rest of the Knights of the Round Table?” I asked. “I mean, there’s my sister and her boyfriend, but I’m not sure how I can convince them.” “They shall know you by your sword,” Merlin said. “When you raise your sword, your men will fall at your feet.” “What am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Run around like a madman with a sword? I’d be arrested! ” The old wizard smiled and turned Excalibur into a pen. Right… Because the pen is mightier than the sword. Of course. Perfect disguise. Also, Percy Jackson vibes right there! “Once you have summoned the Knights, I want you to take Sir Lancelot, Sir Bors, and Sir Kay,” Merlin instructed. “A private ship awaits you in the harbour. You are to set sail for the Orkney Islands.” “Orkney Islands?” Antony said. “Why? What’s there in Orkney?” “Long ago, Arthur’s sister Morgan placed a strong sleeping curse on sixty-five thousand knights and men-at-arms,” Merlin explained. “There they lie in an enchanted cave in the Orkney Islands to this very day. The entrance to the cave is sealed with nearly unbreakable chains reinforced with the darkest of magic. Only a drop of blood from Arthur’s pricked finger can break the chains and wake the sleeping knights. You need to free them if you are to win against Mordred’s damned forces.” “Alrighty then,” I said. “No pressure. Just another normal day for a high school senior.” “Who did you see in your vision earlier?” Antony asked. “Maybe we can narrow it down, figure out who the rest of the Knights are. Then we can call or text them to meet up somewhere—the park?” “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Too risky. What if Mordred has spies? We need to meet somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden.” “The New Hope Lutheran basement!” Antony suddenly said. “I remember seeing a round table there once.” “Perfect,” I said. “Text or call anyone you can to meet us there.” “What time are we meeting?” Antony asked. “7:45,” I said. “How long do we have until this blows out into the open, Merlin?” Antony asked. “You have two and twenty days,” Merlin answered. “Mordred’s army of Sleepers is growing by the minute.” “Twenty-two days to raise an army?” I said. “Twenty-two days to whip them into shape? Are you serious right now?” “You can do it,” Antony said, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. “ We can do it. I believe in us.” “Thank you, Antony,” I said. “Call me Lancelot,” he said with a smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said with a laugh. “I haven’t knighted you yet.” “You can knight me now,” Antony said, kneeling once more. “You have your sword.” “Very well,” I said, clicking my pen twice to turn it into Excalibur. Then I placed the flat of its blade on Antony’s right shoulder and then his left. “Rise, Sir Lancelot… Knight of Camelot!” That afternoon, we spent hours making a list and then contacting those on that list, telling them to meet us in the basement of New Hope Lutheran. When the hour had finally come, we all gathered in that dim church basement, seated around a circular wooden table with adjustable metal legs. “What’s this all about?” my twin sister Caitlyn asked. “Why are we all here?” “Yeah,” Cody said, “I had to leave football practice early tonight. Good thing Coach was in a good mood today.” “Yeah, me too!” Cody’s friend and teammate Craig said. “I had to leave football practice early! Coach told us not to make a habit of it.” “The world is in trouble,” I said, putting my phone in the middle of the table. I pressed play on a video that I had ready. It was the news. The clip was of a scene in New York City were three people—two men and one woman—were devouring a young man in the back of a car in front of a café. Up above, glass windows bodies were falling. People tried to escape the Sleepers the only way they knew how—killing themselves. “And only we can stop it—together.” “We? Hold on a minute, George Washington!” Craig said. “What do you mean by ‘we’? Who’s we? What’s this got to do with us.” “I hold the key to keeping the darkness at bay,” I said, clicking my pen twice, revealing its true form, the mighty Excalibur. At the sight of my sword held aloft, everyone present stood up from their seats and fell to the floor, kneeling. “Long live the king!” Caitlyn said, and all the rest picked up the cry. “Long live the king!” “Mordred is out for blood—my blood,” I said loudly, my voice echoing in that small basement room. “He is raising an army of the dead called Sleepers. They are moving fast. We have twenty-two days to raise an army and face Mordred and his evil horde of zombie knights—and the unfortunate regular people who have been turned into Sleepers. Who’s with me?” “I am!” Craig shouted proudly. One by one, they shouted their allegiance. “I am! I am! We are!” I went around the table, knighting everyone present except for Antony, who I had knighted earlier that day. Then I pulled Caitlyn and Cody aside, just as Merlin had instructed, and told them of our mission to the Orkney Islands. “Who’s going to help train the others while we’re away on this mission?” Cody asked. “Sir Tristan—Jeremy—is more than capable enough,” I said. “I trust him. He’ll have them ready in no time.” “That’s good,” Cody said. “So! What time do we leave tomorrow and which port do we sail from?” “Merlin said it was docked at the Bremerton marina,” I replied. “And we leave at the crack of dawn. The earlier, the better.” That Caitlyn, Cody, Antony, and I packed our bags and caught a few hours of ample sleep. We drove to Bremerton very early in the morning, walked down the dock in search of the yacht, and found it in the very last berth. “Is this it?” Caitlyn asked. “Merlin said its name was the Prydwen II ,” Antony responded. “So this must be it.” “He said the captain would meet us here,” I said. “Where is he then?” Antony asked. “Patience, Mr. Ross,” the captain replied, coming down the gangway to meet us. “Morning, gents! Miss! Welcome aboard the Prydwen II !” I didn’t recognize him at first without the long flowing beard, but it was Merlin in another one of his many disguises. He was dressed like an old sea captain with a short properly trimmed beard, complete with a wooden pipe and peacoat. Merlin helped us onto the yacht, starting with Antony, followed by Cody, and then Caitlyn. I was the last to board. I was suddenly having second thoughts about this whole thing. I briefly looked back before stepping aboard. That’s when I saw a Sleeper, its eyes fixed on its victim. Then came the woman’s scream. “Go! Go!” I said, turning to the others. “I’ll catch up with you!” “Chris! Don’t!” Antony shouted. “There’s no time!” Cody said. “We have to hurry!” Too late. I was running down the gangplank and down the dock, Excalibur drawn from its scabbard and held high above my head. I let out a beastly scream as I charged forward swished my sword in the air, lopping off the head of the offending Sleeper. But he wasn’t the only one. There was another, and then another, and then another. Soon, I was surrounded. But when things looked grimmest, Merlin and my knights stood bravely by my side.


It all starts with a knock at my door. Or more accurately my door bell. I stand up and make my way stiffly to the door, I’ve been working on a petticoat all day and my body is aching for a break.

I open the door to find a young woman who is probably in her early twenties. Her hair is in a messy top knot and she is dressed in a baggy sweater and yoga pants. Definitely not my style.

“Are you Maude Collins?” The woman asks.

“Yes, I am. How may I be of service to you?” I ask.

“Wow, you really are old fashioned.” She murmurs.

I roll my eyes slightly.

“Anyways, my name is Ashley.” She says extending her hand to me.

I take it and wait for her to continue.

“I um, heard you make historical dresses and stuff, and I really need a pride and prejudice dress.” She says finally.

“You mean a regency era dress?” I ask.

“Yeah, I guess... could I buy one from you?”

“Come in,” I say, this seems like it will take a while and it’s freezing outside. I bring her to my living room and invite her to sit down.

“What do you need this dress for?” I ask.

“A historical ball.” She says.

“You just called it a “pride and prejudice dress” and you expect me to believe you are going to a ball.” I say sceptically.

Her lips purse and her eyes dart away from me.

“What do you actually need it for?” “I work for the T.T.A.” She admits “I have a mission.”

The time travellers association! My head starts spinning with possibilities but I try to stay calm. I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to remake the past but it’s never quite the same.

“Don’t you have someone to make clothes for you?” I ask.

“Yes, but she was kidnapped and I’m being sent to find her.” Ashley says quickly, “Can you help me or not?” “Yes, I think I can. But first I need more information.” The next hour is a bit of a whirlwind as Ashley tells me her story. She knows the names of the whole royal court and pretty much every piece of etiquette but she doesn’t know the first thing about the fashion. This is also her first assignment and I can tell she’s nervous.

She needs at least two dresses, she doesn’t know how long she’ll be gone, and she needs to leave today.

When she finishes I’ve already made up my mind to help her. I try to appear reluctant but I’m having a hard time containing my excitement.

“Come to my sewing room,” I say “I think I might have something that will fit you.” She is about my height but thinner than me and I will need to make some adjustments. I dig up a light pink evening gown and a dark green day dress out of the chest in the corner.

First I hand her a shift, a light corset with almost no boning, and a petticoat. I can’t size anything on her until I see how the undergarments fit.

“Put these on and then I’ll see what I can do.” I say.

She stares at the things in confusion and almost horror.

“What?”

“I don’t know how to put any of that on.” She admits.

“I’ll help.” I smile.

I send her into the bathroom to put on the shift and then help her lace the corset.

“Oh, this is actually comfortable.” Ashley says.

I laugh “They generally are, they don’t cut you in half like in movies.”

I quickly explain to her how she can put it on herself, I’m guessing she won’t have a personal maid.

“It is a little harder without help but I think you’ll manage.” I say.

She puts on the petticoat and then I size the two dresses for her. I pull out a needle and cut a length of thread to take in the waist a little.

“Wait, you don’t use a sewing machine?” Ashley asks.

“If the sewing machine wasn’t invented in the era of the dress I’m making I don’t use it.” I say.

“That’s interesting.” She sounds impressed.

When I’ve finished up the dress I give her a pair of stockings and shoes.

“You can wear tights if they’re more comfortable, they’re not accurate but I don’t think anyone will notice.” I say.

“Thank you so much, I’ll bring everything back if I can.” She says.

“Do you have someone to do your hair?” I ask.

“Yeah, only the seamstress was kidnapped.” She smirks.

I give her three pairs of gloves and a spare bonnet before she leaves.

“I’ll e-transfer you money.” She says as she steps out the door.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t using those right now anyways. But if you happen to find a pair of gloves or a bonnet that you could bring me that would be amazing.” I say.

She drives away as my husband pulls in the driveway.

“Who was that?” He asks giving me a kiss.

“A girl who needed a dress.” I say.

“Hmm, I guess your hobby is paying off.” “Well not quite paying, but it’s helping someone.” For a a while everything is back to normal, I work and play and wonder.

Then a week later Ashley comes back. I open the door to find her standing on the steps, looking around nervously. She’s wearing jean overalls this time, hair in a high ponytail.

She has a bag with her and gives it to me.

“They got a little ripped, but I got what you wanted. Do you mind if I come in?” She asks with another glance over her shoulder.

I bring her back to my sewing room and take the things out of the bag. A gorgeous bonnet and a shawl are with the things that were already mine.

“These are amazing.” I whisper.

I can feel my face glowing.

“Good,” Ashley says biting her lip,     “because I need your help again.” “Did you not get your seamstress back?” I ask.

“We did. But she’s in a coma and the person they hired as her replacement is awful.” She sounds a little whiny.

“Where are you going this time?” I ask.

“America. 1770s.” She says.

“The revolution.”

“Yep.”

“This one will take a little more time.” I say.

“That’s fine. I leave the day after tomorrow.” She says with a relieved smile.

“Mind if I ask what your mission is this time?” I ask.

“Well, it’s pretty much just reconnaissance  for now.” She says.

“Okay. Let’s see if I have something that fits you. I have a 1750s dress that I can adjust.”

She leaves after I’ve given her everything she’ll need.

“I’ll be back in two weeks.” She says with a wave.

I close the door behind her and take the dresses I lent her out of the bag. The evening gown has a cut down the front and multiple tears in the skirt. I feel angry tears well up in my eyes. But then I see the bonnet and shawl again. I can make a new dress but I’ll never be able to replace those.

Still, I wonder what happened to damage it so badly.


This is an excerpt from my new novel that will be coming out soon The Long Walk Home: EMP I lit my solar lamp and was just about to check the stove. “What the hell is that?” Jeb said, pointing at the lamp. “It’s a solar lamp.” “Why is it working?” “Because it’s solar?” I said. “But the EMP fried all that stuff. Why does yours work?” “I don’t know. I didn’t even think about that before. I checked it when I took it out of my trunk at work that day and it was working.” “So being in your trunk must have protected it in some way. Then maybe some of the stuff sitting out there in the trucks might still work too.” “I have a bunch of stuff in that shipping container outside. All my camping gear is in there and so is the solar system I bought for this house.” “If that still works, it will be a game-changer for all of us,” he said, grabbing me and swinging me around.

“I have two-way radios out there too,” I said. “We could talk to your mama and daddy from here if they still work.” “Well, Hope, let’s go find the radios,” I said. I found the key to the shed and opened the door. Finding the tub with the radios fairly easily. Rick and I had a huge fight because I thoughtlessly packed them up when we could have used them during the moving process. I had come down here and gotten them, but he refused to use them so I had put them back.

“Wow, Hope. I really was blind about him,” I said, trying to shrug off the memory and the emotions that had come with it.

I pulled out one of the radios, said a prayer, and turned it on. It worked. Tears streamed down my face. “Thank you, God. Thank you that Rick had that fit and I put them back.” I found the charger and Rick’s solar charger. I hooked it up and set it in the sun and it worked too.

I grabbed the other radio and checked on the chicks. Twelve still. Lucy seemed to be okay with them. “Hey Hope, let’s take this radio and charger over to John and Cindy’s,” I said, patting her head. “We will have to be quick though, it will be dark soon.” I put everything in a backpack and we took off towards Cindy’s house. It was a beautiful day and other than the mud it was a pleasant walk. Hope, of course, had to splash through every mud puddle she saw and shake the extra off on me.

I didn’t think about how I looked when Cindy came to the door. “Oh my God, what happened to you? How badly are you hurt?” I looked down at myself in confusion. “Oh, the mud, Hope shook that on me,” I said, laughing. “You scared me so badly,” she said. “I couldn’t bear anyone else getting hurt right now.” Then tears started pouring down her face.

“Cindy, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry. I found our radios and they still work and I was just so excited to bring one over,” I was hugging her, patting her back, and starting to cry myself.

When she had composed herself, she said, “Don’t be sorry. I haven’t allowed myself to cry since this whole thing started. I was overdue. Sorry, you had to be the one to deal with it.” “Nothing to be sorry about, “ I said. “Now what did you say about a radio?” “Things that were in my trunk were still working. I don’t know why I didn’t connect the dots before but I went out to the shipping container I have for storage and found these radios and they still work too. I brought you a solar charger. Now we can communicate I hope. They have a pretty good range, when I get home I’ll call you and we can test it out.” “Sophie, this will change everything. Have you tried the emergency channel yet?” “No,” I said. “I wanted to be around other people when I did.” “I understand that,” she said. “John’s getting better already, by the way. Meg marked his leg where the stripe was and it was gone back a quarter of an inch already.” “More good news!” “Try the emergency channel,” Cindy said.

I turned the radio on and changed it to the weather band. Static. “I shouldn’t be disappointed, but I am,” she said. “I’m kind of relieved that there is nothing in a way. I miss some things about life before, but not that many really.” “The only thing I miss right now is emergency rooms and pharmacies.” “Yeah, I know,” I said, hugging her. “I have a solar system in the shipping container that was supposed to be for my house. If it still works, I want you and John to have it. I think it will do the most good here for all of us.” “Sophie, we couldn’t take that. It’s too much.” “Just think for a minute, if we can get your freezer working again what would that mean for all of us? Your house is the heart of this community and you should have it.” “We will discuss it as a group, but I would hate to take something so precious.” “Honestly Cindy, I don’t want it. I enjoy the peace and quiet.” “We’ll talk about. Now I hate to rush you, but it will be dark soon and I can’t wait to see if the radios will work between the two houses. So git,” she said, laughing. “I’m gone,” I said. “Let’s go, Hope.”

I was completely covered in mud by the time we got back and I didn’t have any water in the camp shower warming. “Cold shower it is. Thanks a lot, Hope.” She didn’t seem at all sorry. I pulled out the radio and turned it on. “Cindy, I’m home. Can you hear me?” I let go of the talk button and held my breath.

“Yes, yes, I hear you, Sophie!”

“Is Jeb back yet?” I asked, looking at the quickly setting sun. “No, don’t worry though. Jeb and Sam can take care of each other and Meg was with them so they won’t do anything foolish.” “I know,” I said. “I’ll have him call you when he gets back. It’s so nice to be able to say that,” she said. “It’s nice to hear too.”

I quickly changed and washed the mud off. Lucy was now the proud mama to twelve chicks. There was still one egg left. Then I went inside to wait. I made coffee and fixed myself something to eat. After I cleaned up from my meal, I went outside to check the chickens in the coop.

It had been full dark for nearly an hour when I finally heard his voice on the radio. “Sophie, are you there?” “Yes, I’m here. Are you okay?” “We are all fine. We hit the motherload at the drugstore, then went to another town nearby and did very well there too. I’ll be there as soon as I help unload everything.” “See you then,” I said. I put the coffee on to reheat and waited. Hope jumped up and ran to the door and so did I. “Sorry that took so long, but we found some good stuff that will save lives. Meg was literally jumping up and down,” he said, as he picked me up and swung me around.

“How is your dad?” I asked when I caught my breath.

“He is doing much better. The red streak is almost gone. Is there coffee?” “Of course there is, do you want anything in it?” “No, just coffee tonight.” I poured two cups and handed him one. “I’m supposed to let Mama know I got here. Where’s the radio?”

“This is so nice,” I said, handing it to him. “Hey Mama, I’m at Sophie’s,” he said. “Thanks for letting us know. I can go to bed now. See you later,” she said. “Good night, Mama,” he said. “I guess we can go to bed now too.” “But I’m not tired,” I said. “Good, cause neither am I,” he said with a wicked grin. I woke up the next morning to the sound of a very busy hammer. I got up and dressed quickly and went outside. The outhouse was really spectacular. It was an A-frame with shingles. It looked like a mini Swiss chalet. The vents at the top were covered in a lacy trim.

“Is that what I think it is?” I asked. “Yes, it is your new and much-improved outhouse,” he said, bowing. “It has a proper door and hinges. How will I ever adjust to such new-fangled implements?”

“You are such a smart ass. But that’s one of my favorite things about you,” he said, hugging me.

“I can’t believe I slept through you doing all of this.” “Most of it was already built, I just had Max deliver it this morning,” he said. “And I did wear you out last night.” “Yes, sir, you did,” I said, blushing.

“And I intend to do it again tonight,” he said, kissing me. “Now go make breakfast while I finish up here.” “Yes, sir,” I said, saluting.

“Get out of here you smart ass!” he said, laughing. “Did Max take the chicks this morning?” I asked. “Yeah, he told me to tell you that the last egg had hatched. He took Lucy too. Mama wanted her to help keep them warm.” “That’s fine. I feel much better about your mama having them. I don’t know anything about keeping baby chicks alive without power.”

“How many were there?” “Thirteen,” I said. “Mama will be jumping up and down. She says we need one hundred more chickens. She had just had hers butchered for the winter when this happened. Most of it went bad because we couldn’t eat them all fast enough.” “Well, I’ll go make breakfast now,” I said, kissing him. “I’ll be in a few minutes,” he said. We had settled in to eat breakfast and I asked, “Have you ever been married?” “No, I came close once, but she didn’t want to live out here and I sure as hell didn’t want to move to Birmingham. So we called it off. I have had a few girlfriends since then, but no one special, until now.” “I never dated very much. Rick’s family hated Tammy and basically told him they would disown him if he married her. He broke up with her and we started dating. I think he picked me because our parents hate each other. Maybe he thought they would reconsider Tammy. They gave us a house even though we eloped and screwed everyone out of their party. After a year of doing all the social stuff we were obligated to do in our small town, we bought this land and moved, pissed everyone off. Being rebels was all we had in common though, I see that now. We had talked about kids in the future, so when I realized I was pregnant I couldn’t wait to tell him. He tried to be excited, I thought he was just in shock and would come around. When I lost the baby, he couldn’t hide that he was happy and relieved. It was never the same after that,” I said, wiping the tears off my cheeks. “A few weeks later I answered the phone and a nurse asked to let him know that he missed his follow-up appointment for his vasectomy. I never told him I knew.” I looked up at Jeb and he had tears in his eyes too. “I’m sorry, I’ve never told anyone that before. I didn’t mean to be a downer.” “Don’t apologize. I want to know everything about you and I’m glad you told me that. I would be over the moon if we were to have a baby someday.” I smiled at him and he kissed me.

“What about your parents? Would you like to go check on them?” “They died last year during the pandemic,” I said. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” “I have a brother, he is a lot older than me and we were never close. I can’t see him as the type to survive what happened. My dad used to take me camping, but my brother never wanted to go. I don’t think he knows the first thing about survival.” “Well, I’m very glad that you found your way here. You’re not alone anymore.” “Me too. Now let’s go see what goodies are in my shipping container to make our lives a little better.” There were eight solar security lights, a dozen solar lanterns, several strings of solar party lights, a solar generator kit for camping, and the system that I had purchased for the house.

“The outhouse for sure gets one of these security lights,” I said. Jeb laughed. “Sam is an electrician, so he can install the solar system for the house.” “About that, I think that should go to your parents’ house. We can use the camping system here.” “Why?” “They have more room and if we can find a freezer that works think about how much that would mean to everyone. We have to think of ourselves as a community now and use our resources in a way to best help everyone.” “You’re right. I may know where there is a freezer in a shipping container.” “That system would have run everything here. Sam will know how much it can handle, but we may be able to have more than one freezer and a refrigerator.” “Well, let’s keep two security lights and two of the lanterns and take the rest to Mama’s. I’ll call Mama right now and call a family dinner so we can discuss all this.” “I’m going to set up the camping system and see if it charges and works.” That night after dinner, Jeb laid out all the supplies we had found in my shipping container.

“Looks like Christmas came early,” Cindy said. “Well, it’s much more than just this stuff. This means that things we find in trucks out on the highway will work, maybe too. This means we could possibly restore some of the comforts that we have lost. Sophie has a solar system that was supposed to be installed on her house and she would like us to install it here, for all of us to use. Sam will have to look at it and see what is possible, but we could have at least one freezer, a refrigerator, and maybe some other things too,” Jeb said. “We couldn’t take that from you, Sophie,” John said. “I have another system that I used for camping. I will keep that one. But we need to put our resources where they will do the most good and help the most people right now. Having that system here will do the most good for all of us,” I answered.

“All that is contingent on us finding appliances that are in trucks, correct?” Meg asked. “I think I know where we can get some. The furniture store in Fayette had inventory stored in shipping containers behind the store. I don’t think finding new appliances will be an issue and I think we can do it relatively safely,” Jeb answered. “Sam, do you think that you could use what Sophie has as a guide and make more of these systems?” Cindy asked. “That’s possible if we can find the components. The parts shouldn’t be too hard to find and my boss kept all his inventory in shipping containers. He might even have a solar system or two in there. I’ll be over in the morning to get Sophie’s and get started trying to make it work if that’s okay?” “I was hoping you would say that,” I said. We walked home in the dark, aided by Hope and a solar lantern. “You seem sad, Soph,” Jeb said. “I’m… I don’t know how to explain it. I have been so happy since the EMP. That sounds awful, I know. So many people died and that is horrifying. But I don’t miss TV or phones or traffic. I love the peace and quiet that we have and the life that we are building. Part of me wishes we hadn’t gotten all that stuff out of storage. I know that sounds crazy.” “It doesn’t sound crazy. I feel that way too. But having the security of a freezer will be awesome.” “I know. I just don’t want to end up right back where we were.” “That’s why it was so easy for you to give it away,” he said. “Yeah, but I still meant what I said about the greater good and all that.” “I know you do. Now let’s go in and see if your camping system is charged.” “It’s at about thirty percent, which isn’t bad for being almost dead,” I said. “Want some coffee?” “Sure, I’ll start a pot,” he said. “Nope, I have a coffee maker from my camping gear,” I said. I plugged the coffee maker into the inverter. Filled it with water and added the coffee grounds, then flipped the switch and waited. “Oh my God, I haven’t heard that sound in months,” Jeb said, once the air was filled with the gurgle of the coffee maker. “I suddenly feel like Pandora opening her box,” I said. Hope walked over and laid her head on my lap, sensing my mood. “You didn’t open that box, it was opened a very long time ago. I hope that we will use this gift to make our lives better,” he said, handing me a cup of coffee.

The coffee tasted bitter to me, but I didn’t say anything.


Stuck in the Middle with You Thunder rumbled among the dark clouds that made the daytime sky look like night, and then a streak of lightning tore through the clouds splitting them apart, jagged, like the shell of a cracked egg. The light it produced was blinding, and I couldn't help but turn my head away and blink several times to regain my sight from the momentary blindness that it caused me. I knew better than to look, but like a moth to a flame, I did anyway.

I knew what followed next. The weather man had been predicting it for a day or two now, and by the way the sky looked, it seemed, for a change, he may be spot on; a torrential rain; baseball size hail; conditions right for a tornado. Hopefully, the latter two would be wrong. Visions of my car being beaten to a pulp by hail would send my bank account into a tailspin, and thoughts of my 15th floor apartment being whisked away to Oz by a tornado wasn't appealing to me either. However, the weather was perfect for my mood--I was storming internally. A few moments later, I heard a voice shout after me.

"Tabby, please, wait up!" shouted my no good, egg sucking dog of a cheating boyfriend.

"Why should I, Chase?" I shouted back and picked up my pace from a fast, angry walk to a run in order to catch the walk signal and cross the busy street before Chase caught up to me. Fortunately, I caught it just in time, leaving a rush of cars between me and Chase. I didn't want to talk to him.

Earlier, my flight had been grounded for weather reasons, so the flight attendants, which was my profession, had been sent home for the day. After changing out of my uniform, I decided to walk to Chase's apartment, since it was only two blocks away, to surprise him. I had visions of the two of us snuggling up together by a warm fire while we waited out the storm. A month earlier, as a sign of his commitment to me, he had given me a key to his apartment. I'd never used it--until today. I wish I hadn't. I knew he'd be home, since he worked a night shift at the fire department, so I quietly slipped my key into the lock, turned it and opened the door. The smile on my face immediately drooped, and my brow instinctively scrunched up like a prune. I couldn't believe my eyes. Chase was in a passionate embrace with a hot-looking brunette who was wearing a short red skirt and a halter top to match. Her bare stomach was pressed against his. I stormed out. For now, I was too angry to cry, and I suppose I would flood my apartment with tears once I got there. A few moments later, Chase was in pursuit.

I had hoped I would have made it home before the downpour, but no such luck. It didn't start as a sprinkle of rain, but the swollen clouds burst and let loose a blinding rain instantly. Two minutes later, I opened the door to my apartment building, went to the elevator and pressed the call button several times hoping it would get here before Chase did. The lights in the foyer flickered, and I know I should have taken the stairs, but I didn't relish the thought of walking up fifteen stories in my angry, hurt and half-drowned condition.

Finally, the elevator door opened and I stepped in. I saw Chase enter the building a moment later, so I frantically hit the close button for the elevator door. He had slipped his hand between the doors just before they closed.

"Please, Tabby, we need to talk. What you saw wasn't what it looked like."

I folded my arms and glared at him. "Seriously! Well, to me, it looked like a full-blown lip lock with your arms wrapped around her pressing her to your body. If I hadn't surprised you, the two of you would probably have been stripped naked on the floor."

Chase was about to respond, when suddenly, the elevator jerked to a halt between the seventh and eighth floor. I had been watching the floor panel box, wishing the elevator would go faster, just before the lights went out. I was stuck in a 7 x 6 box with someone I didn't want to be with. However, I consider myself fortunate that it was pitch black and I couldn't see him. "Just lovely!" I exclaimed. "I should have taken the stairs."

"Don't your elevators have emergency lights?" Chase asked.

"Of course, they do. But somethings in this building aren't reliable--just like a certain, now, ex-boyfriend! Do me a favor; just don't talk so I can pretend you're not here." I felt my way to a corner and sat on the floor to wait for the elevator to restart.

"On the contrary, a stranded elevator gives us a perfect chance to talk. I need you to hear me out," he said. "So, you may as well have a seat."

"I already have, and what do you mean, here you out. What's to explain? You were kissing another woman, Chase. Pure and simple. You can't deny it."

"No, I can't. I was kissing a beautiful woman. I have every right to kiss her because she's my wife and I'm not...."

"Wife!" I interrupted. "You're married to boot! If I could see you, I'd smack the shit out of you!"

"Well, it's unfortunate that you can't see me, because as I was about to say, before you interrupted me, I'm not Chase."

I couldn't help but laugh at his idiotic declaration. "What do you mean, you're not Chase? Just like the old saying, if it looks like a duck and sounds like a duck, it's probably a duck."

"But some ducks look alike," he replied. "I'm Jason. Chase's twin brother. You saw me kissing my wife Mandy. We were visiting with Chase and spent the night."

Now I wish I could see his face to fathom the outrageous story. "Funny, if, as you say, your Chase's twin brother, how come he's never mentioned you? I've also met your sister and parents. They said nothing about you either."

"Because they couldn't. I've been living off the grid for years under a witness protection program. Now that the person I was testifying against was found guilty, put in prison and then subsequently murdered while there, my wife and I are finally able to come out of the closet, so to speak."

I laughed. "And you expect me to believe that! That sounds like something from a movie."

"Some movies are based on facts."

Suddenly, we felt the elevator shake and rattle. "Oh, shit! What now!" I exclaimed.

"Earthquake?!" Chase or perhaps Jason, exclaimed.

"Or tornado!" I added. "That's all we need!"

The elevator lurched again and it felt like it dropped an inch or two.

"We've got to get out of here," my companion said. "By chance, you wouldn't have a lighter or cellphone on you?"

"If I did, I'd have it out by now. My phone is on charge in my apartment. You're not afraid of the dark, are you?" I chided.

"No, silly. I want to see if there's a trap door so we can get out," he replied.

"And then what?" I replied. "Climb into a dark shaft in a shaking building! Are you crazy?"

"No, I'm being logical. If the elevator cable snaps, we could plummet to our deaths," he replied. "So, do you know if there is a panel in the ceiling where, at least, I can get out?"

I thought about his suggestion for a moment. Though most of us don't show it, flight attendants always have that slight twinge of fear in the back of our minds about crashing during a turbulent flight. I couldn't help but chuckle a bit.

"I don't find our situation funny. Why are you laughing?"

"Irony," I replied. "I can see the headlines. Flight attendant, Tabitha Jacobson, dies in an elevator crash."

"Hmm," I heard him say.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm surprised you're not climbing the walls in this situation. My wife, Mandy, would be petrified. She hates storms and is probably sequestered in the bathtub covered by blankets and pillows about now. It bothers me that I'm not there with her."

"Well, Jason, if that's who you are, Chase should be there to keep her company."

"Afraid not," he replied. "He called earlier. He's had to pull a double shift at the fire department due to the weather. So, back to the subject, is there an access panel in the ceiling?"

"Yes, it's in the middle of the ceiling. But how do you propose to reach it, if you could even see it?"

"Easily," he replied. "I'd pick you up on my shoulders, you could feel around till you found the panel and then push it open."

I thought about it for a moment, and then with the next shake of the elevator, I decided to cooperate. "Okay, I'm game."

"Great! Now inch your way over to me. I'm in a squatting position so you can climb onto my shoulders."

I did as he suggested, felt my way to him until I felt his back and then his neck. I stood and took a step forward to "mount up" as it were, and then I heard, "Ouch!"

"What!" I exclaimed.

"You stepped on my hand! Be care not to kick me in the head when get on my shoulders."

"Sorry," I replied. "But in the back of my mind, I really wasn't.

When I was situated on his shoulders, he wrapped his arms around my legs and stood as I walked my hands up the back wall until I felt the ceiling. "Walk to the middle," I said. As he did, I felt for the panel and a moment later, I announced, "Found it."

"Can you push it open?"

"We'll see." I gave the panel a push, but it didn't budge. "It's stuck. Hang on tight, I'm going to give it a harder shove."

"Go for it!" he said.

When I did, the panel gave way, but so did my mount. He tumbled backward, but luckily our fall was prevented by the wall of the elevator. The good thing in this effort, we now had some light. Apparently, there were emergency lights in the elevator shaft--go figure.

I dismounted and gave my companion a good, hard look. The man looked exactly like Chase; same build, eye color and even hair style. "And you say you're not Chase?"

"I can prove it, now that we have light."

"Okay, prove it. Let me see your driver's license."

"Well, that's back at Chase's apartment. But I can still prove it."

"How?"

"I assume you are familiar with Chase's body?"

"You would assume correctly."

"Does he have any tattoos?"

"No."

"Well, I do!"

He then started to unbuckle his belt. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Showing you my tat."

He then turned his back and exposed his butt cheek. There was a large, fancy, red heart with the words, Jason and Mandy Forever written within it in gold lettering. "That was my valentine's present to my wife. She has a matching one on her butt cheek as well."

I turned my back and hid a smile. "You could have had that done yesterday as far as I know."

"Geez, Tabby, what will it take to convince you?" he exclaimed, as he pulled his pants back up.

I then laughed with relief, turned and gave him a smile. "Just kidding. I believe you. Chase is petrified of needles. He'd pass out at the sight of one."

"That's the truth. He can run into a burning building with no fear, but when it comes to the needle, he's pretty much a wimp."

Once again, the elevator shook. "What do you say we get out of this box before it falls?" Jason asked.

"Agreed!"

I climbed onto Jason's shoulders once more, grabbed the edge of the opening and pulled myself up. It was a good thing that I worked out regularly and my arms were strong enough to pull me up. A moment later, I was on top of the elevator. I may have been able to pull my weight up, but if I'd tried to pull Jason up, I would have been back in the elevator. Jason handed me his belt, and I attached it to a pipe near the opening so he would have something to grasp and pulled himself up as well.

I'd seen movies before with adventures climbing elevator shafts. Never in a million years would I think I'd be doing that very thing. But our climb would be fairly easy. There was a built-in ladder in the shaft which we grabbed on to. In examining the elevator cables, they looked okay from this vantage point, but we didn't know what it looked like higher up, so we ventured on the ladder to the next floor where we found an emergency release handle to open the door. We stepped out onto an empty hall way and made our way to the stairway. It was lined with tenants, which was a logical place to hold up during the storm.

Jason and I weaved our way among the tenets and headed up to my apartment. He wanted to use my phone to call and check on Mandy. When we reached my floor and opened the stairway door, we were met by Chase and Mandy.

"Tabby!" Chase exclaimed, as he wrapped me in his arms. "I was worried to death about you. The building next door got touched by a tornado and part of it collapsed against this one."

"I'm fine, Chase," I replied. "Jason and I got stuck in the elevator."

Mandy then approached me. "I'm sorry you saw what you saw. I wish you'd stuck around for us to explain."

"It was a shock, I admit, but upon closer examination of Jason"--I then cleared my throat-- "He proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn't Chase."

Mandy then folded her arms and looked at Jason from the corner of her eye. "And how did you do that, since your wallet is at Chase's?"

Jason grinned, put his arms around her and said, "I just proved to her that you were my heart and soul." He then kissed her.

Suddenly, the lights came back on. We went to my apartment and looked out the window to see a bright, sunshiny sky. Jason and I sat down with Chase and Mandy and told them of our adventures in the elevator and had somewhat of a good laugh about the situation. However, I think, for a while, anyway, I'll be taking the stairs.


Grace By Cynthia Brennan            Grace walked in her garden for what was likely the last time. Sunflowers dipped and reached toward her for one final embrace. Hydrangeas in shades of pale blue and pink huddled close to comfort each other at the loss of their dear friend and caretaker. Bright red roses clung to their trestles for support. The usually happy-looking yellow and white daffodils drooped their heads in sadness. Grace was leaving her home of fifty five years today and moving into a retirement home. It was breaking her heart to leave her petaled companions whom she had nurtured and loved over so many springs and summers. She sat down on the bench that her late husband Warren had made for her a few years before he died. It was worn and faded and warped in spots, just like her. They used to sit together in the early mornings, sipping coffee and reading the paper while inhaling the intoxicating aroma of the many blooms opening to greet them. Her rational mind understood that the impending change of residence was necessary, but her emotions wanted nothing to do with common sense. This had been where she and Warren had raised their three children. Their son Robert was now an airline pilot and lived in Chicago with his family. Sabrina, the oldest girl worked as a chef in an upscale restaurant in Boston and had not met the right man to settle down with just yet. Charlie (short for Charlene) lived close by, but didn’t have the free time needed to devote to keeping her mother safe and secure if she continued living on her own. She was a nurse at the local hospital and often worked long hours, even double shifts, leaving her very little in the way of flexibility with her schedule. Grace was becoming less stable on her feet and had fallen more than a few times. There had been some near misses with minor head injuries and she had fractured a hip twice. They had tried having caretakers move in with her, but she didn’t like having someone hovering over her and taking away her privacy. When she began forgetting to eat, or take her medication, Charlie decided it was time to look into other options. One evening when she was working in the emergency department, a woman she remembered from her childhood came in with a fever and chills. The name on her chart said Rose Stevens and her address was listed as that of the retirement community a few miles away. Rose had been one of the family’s neighbors when the children were young. She and Grace had been close friends for many years. While Charlie examined her, she asked if she remembered her mother. “Of course, I do!” the elderly woman said with a wide smile. “How is she?” “Well, she’s starting to have some challenges. I noticed your address says that you’re living at the retirement development over on Lincoln Avenue. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but do you like it there?” “I don’t mind at all, dear. I love it there. There are so many people to socialize with. The staff is so nice and attentive, and they keep us busy with lots of activities. Oh, and the food is wonderful!” Charlie placed the blood pressure cuff on her tiny arm and began to pump it. “Is your mother thinking of coming to live there?” “Well, I think we need to consider that, yes. She doesn’t want to leave her home, obviously. But it’s starting to become too dangerous for her to be on her own.” “I felt the same way, of course. But after my husband died, I just couldn’t live alone. My eyesight became so bad I couldn’t drive anymore and was struggling to cook and take care of the house. My daughter did all the legwork and got me a spot over there. Just like you’re doing for your mother. We’re both lucky to have such good daughters looking out for us.” Charlie took a blue and white hospital gown out of cabinet and handed it to Rose. “Well thank you, but I’m not sure my mother would agree with you. We’ll see what happens I guess. Can you please put this on? The doctor will be in shortly. I hope you’re feeling better soon Mrs. Stevens. It was nice to see you.” “Thank you dear. It was lovely to see you, too. Tell your mother I said hello.” “I will.” She started to open the door. “Mrs. Stevens, would you mind if I told her where you live? Maybe it would make her more agreeable to considering it for herself.” “Oh no, you go right ahead. Tell her I’d love to have her join us. We’d have such nice times together again, just like the old days.” “Thank you very much. I’ll discuss it with her. Take care, Mrs. Stevens.” “Rose, please.” She said from under her shirt as she began pulling it over her head. “Rose.” Charlie repeated and left the room. After a few weeks of wrangling back and forth, Grace finally relented and agreed to the move. Luckily, there was a spot open and things moved quickly. Quicker than she would have liked, truthfully. The house was put up for sale, and within three weeks it was sold. Grace adjusted to her new life reasonably well. It certainly helped to find her old friend among her new community. She did all she could to make Grace feel comfortable and safe. One sunny afternoon some of the ladies were enjoying lunch outside when a young woman approached the table carrying two large bouquets of flowers. She leaned over and kissed a woman sitting across from Grace on the cheek. “Hi Gran, how are you doing today?” “Oh, Erin. So nice to see you! Ladies, this is my granddaughter Erin. Isn’t she beautiful?” The girl blushed and said hello to everyone. “Of course, I used to look just like that when I was her age. Except I didn’t color my hair blonde like this one.” She winked at her lovingly. “Erin, I don’t think you’ve met Grace. She’s new here.” “Nice to meet you Grace.” She handed one of the bouquets of flowers to her grandmother and then quickly turned back around. “Wait. Grace, did you live on Elmhurst Drive?” “Yes, I did.” She replied, a little sadly. “Well, then these are for you.” She handed Grace the other bunch of flowers. “I don’t understand.” said Grace. “My husband and I bought your house. These are from your garden.” Grace regarded the future corpses of the flowers for which she had so lovingly and painstakingly worked to ensure their long-term survival in their cozy little beds in the back yard. She began to cry. Erin looked at her horrified that she had caused such a reaction. That had surely not been her intention. Grace got up from the table and walked as quickly as her swollen arthritic knees would take her. “Oh gosh, I feel terrible. I certainly didn’t mean to upset her.” Erin said, still holding the bouquet. “Oh my dear, you didn’t do anything wrong. Grace was just so attached to her home, and especially her garden. I’m sure it was just a sad reminder of what she had to give up when she moved here. She’ll be fine, don’t worry.” One of the other ladies volunteered to take the unwanted flowers off her hands. Over the next few months, Erin visited her grandmother a couple times a week. While she was there, she made it a point to say hello to Grace. After their rocky introduction, Grace warmed up to the girl with ease. After all, it was a sweet gesture. How could she have known it would cause any pain? As the two women grew closer, Erin wanted to do something to give Grace back a bit of what she had lost. She hatched an idea that she thought would bring some comfort to her new friend. One day, at the beginning of the following spring, she asked if Grace would like to take a walk outside with her. She brought two coffees and two donuts to sweeten the offer. Since it was a warm day and Grace was tired of being cooped up inside, she agreed. “So Grace, I wanted to run something by you.” Erin began. “Ok, shoot.” “Since spring is here it’s time to tend to those wonderful gardens at the house.” “Yes….” Grace took a sip of her coffee, waiting to be assaulted once again by an inconsiderate remark. The girl was sweet, but so many of them were not all that self-aware.

“Well, I’m not really very good at gardening. In fact, I’m rather clueless.” Here it comes , Grace thought. “Uh-huh.” “And I was wondering if maybe you’d like to come over sometime and help me?” The words hung in the air for a few moments while Grace tried to work out whether she was offended or flattered. Erin continued, desperate to fill the silence. “No pressure, of course. If that’s not something you’d want to do, I understand. It would just be such a shame not to see them return to their usual glory.” Grace thought it over. Would she be able to “visit” her own home and not feel sad? Would it just be a reminder of everything that she had lost? She imagined herself working in the soil, coaxing new life from it, but not being able to look out the kitchen window each morning and gauging the progress. The new owners would have that pleasure, not her. She wasn’t sure she would be able to take that. “I was thinking maybe this Sunday, if you’re up for it.” She waited, hopefully. Finally, Grace decided that her boredom and desire to be outside making things grow overrode her reservations. She agreed to try it and see how she felt. They made a plan for Erin to pick her up the following weekend. It only took a few minutes for Grace to realize that this was a gift that she had been given. She walked around inspecting the condition of all the plants that had been slumbering and were now waking up. She patiently showed Erin what to do to get things started for the season. After a couple of hours, she grew tired and ready to go home. Erin parked the car and walked her to her room. Grace thanked her and told her she’d see her soon. The same thing happened the following week, and the one after that. After a while, Erin would pretend she had something pressing to do in the house and leave Grace to spend time alone in the place she loved. Grace knew the truth, but never said so. She just made the decision to be grateful, and savored every moment spent with the blooms that had been her constant companions for over half of her life. That spring the blossoms were brighter and larger than they had ever been. It seemed they were as glad to see her as she was to see them.


Feeling the air in the shadow of that mango tree brought me back to my early days. The perfume of the fruits began in December. So Christmas had this particular fragrance in the house. It was an American colonial-style house, like the one in Gone with the Win, in a small size. My mother had seen a picture in a magazine and told my father she wanted something like that. She was not an architect but she made not only the design of the facade lest the plan inside, with a dining room on one side, a living room on the other, and a hall in black and white marble. The stairs made a square spiral and we loved to slide by the handrail, yet nothing compared with climbing the mango tree. We were three children, me, my cousin Marine and my cousin Alfonse. We used to climb the tree starting in the big branches that were very inviting, as they were low. We reached them easily at six, seven, and eight years old. Of course, my mother watched us but compared to the current children, we were much freer. I remember one day when Marine touched something like little stains, and Alphonse cried out "Watch out! This is a snake egg!" Of course, it was not, but Marine jumped from where she was, some five meters high. She fell on a wooden bench and she did not cry because she was ashamed of crying. Ir must have been a horrible pain. Fortunately, she broke nothing. And she was thin as a toothpick. We all came down, but she did not shed a tear. Life went on, each of us in their path, we got married, had children, grandchildren, the house had been sold but the mango tree is still there. There are no more mangos now, not even year in and year out, as it used to be, and there is a big building in the place of the house. Yet, whenever I come near that tree, everything comes back as in a dream. I remember all the laughter, all the bruises, the fear to go on the taller branches, as they might break, the effort to seem courageous in front of the cousins, that kept saying, "You are a little princess, an only child, you have been spoiled!" And I replied, "Not in the least! My mother is severe with me not making me a silly girl!" Nevertheless, I was a bit silly as a teenager. I remember enjoying the company of my first boyfriend sitting on the same wooden bench by the mango tree, hand in hand. When he asked for a kiss, I denied it because I did not know how to act in such situations. As we laughed a lot, me, him, my friend Claire and her boyfriend, Mark, my father appeared in his bedroom window and said we were making too much noise. This remonstrance made me feel bad. Why so much freedom in childhood and so much restrain in adolescence? This little romance lasted a few months. We were too young and too silly. Other friends of mine were not so naive at that same epoch. They were wise enough to appreciate a good boyfriend that later became their husbands. I know quite a few in this case. Well, the other day I passed by this tree and saw an old man under its shadow. This footage took place several times. I wondered who he was and was a little afraid to ask him. Yet, one afternoon walking my dog, I decided to go near and ask him. When I approached the man, I recognized him. It was Paul, my first boyfriend. I was so astonished that I almost fell when my dog pulled the lead. I cried, "Paul! It's you?" "Yes, Mary! It's me. I thought you would never come near. I was afraid that you would not recognize me after all these years!" "Jee, Paul! Of course, I would! How come you are in the neighborhood?" "Well, I lived in lots of places, but now, once retired, I decided to live where I have been happiest, here, on the street where you lived!" "It sounds like My Fair Lady, remember, the film with Audrey Hepburn that we saw at a cinema holding hands?" "Sure I remember Mary! We liked her very much, didn't we?" "Yes, we did. And we were so happy together!" "Yes, we were. We loved each other. And I heard you are divorced. Is it true?" "It is. And you?" " I am also divorced." There was a thick silence. We did not know what to do. I finally asked him why he came to the shadow of that tree every day and sat at that bench. He told me this shadow belonged to him. It was part of his life forever. It was like in the known Chinese tale that a man buys the shadow of a tree and is his owner. There was no need of buying this shadow. It belonged to him because it was part of his history. I had never thought so but I agreed with him entirely. Yes, the shadow of this tree belonged to us. This time, as he approached me, I did not back off. I stood still and when he kissed me, I kissed him back. This has been a kiss of love. We were so happy! We were teenagers again. Eye in the eye, hand in hand, we stood there for a long time, as tears came by. Even the dog kept quiet, not pulling the lead. He sat on his paws and looked at us peacefully. We were reunited at last. This has been the best surprise of my life. I thanked this magnificent mango tree for its long and fruitful life in all possible senses. The next thing to do was to introduce each other to our families and hope they will like us. My family would certainly approve of him, a lovely man, good father, and excellent grandfather. The day I was to meet his daughter, I was so nervous that my hair went crazy, not to be fixed in my ordinary hairstyle. I had to make a bun and finally got it straight. She was a bit shy at first but then she gave me a warm hug and we became friends instantly. Our grandchildren met sometime after that and we all went to see the famous mango tree that united our families.


The third time my boyfriend dumped me his parting blow was, "I'm sorry, babe, you're just... boring." "Boring how?" I asked him. "Like, in terms of compatibility or how interesting I am." He titled his head to one side, fingers on his chin like he was in deep thought. My ego wilted in preparation for his answer, like an ant cowering in the presence of an overhead foot. "Both," he said because crushing my ego was easy as pie for him. "It's both." "How?" I challenged him. "I'm an interesting person. I do things. I like art. I…" He gave me a pitying smile like he couldn't believe he'd stooped so low. "Suzie, pretending to like art isn't the same and let's be honest. All you do is... wear pyjamas and watch television." I opened his mouth to deny it and then I stopped. The truth was, he was right. I did wear pyjamas and watch television. A lot . And he was one of those guys who was always on the move, always jumping into one thing after the next. It was exhausting and I was glad he was dumping me. Maybe now I'd be able to relax a little. "Thank you," I told him. "Guess I'll see you never?" He shot up when I stood and left the coffee shop, following me at lightning speed. "Wait. We can still be friends, Suze?" I pressed the button at the pedestrian crossing and looked at him over my shoulder. "Now that would be boring." + It hit me when I was in my orange, velvety pyjamas and on my fifth episode of Friends that actually, I was bored out of my mind. Maybe it was time to get a hobby. After a quick Google search for 'easy hobbies to learn' I settled on...practising yoga. I wasn't the most athletic girl but I was no slouch either. How hard could it be? + Yoga was a disaster and I gave up on it after I limped into work one day and had to endure a round of whistles and being asked about the mystery man revving my engines. One quick to HR later, I was scouring the internet for another thing to do that would instantly up my interesting quota. Something that wouldn't leave me injured or harassed by the class clown. Write a poem. ... well, I could barely come up with a birthday greeting for my friends and family so that was out of the question. Watercolour painting. Everything I'd ever drawn or painted in life looked like various hues of vomit. Hard pass. Knitting or crochet. This one I embraced wholeheartedly. I spent three hours ordering supplies, watching countless tutorials and cleared out an entire Saturday to make myself a scarf. The sound of the needles clacking together made me feel accomplished and I grinned to myself. ... and then my phone buzzed and I spent the rest of the evening arguing about the motivations of fictional characters. By the time I threw my phone away in disgust, the yarn and needles had slipped to the floor. They stayed there for a while. + Determined and downtrodden, I persisted and scoured the web again . Take an online course . Too much work. Plus I'd already enrolled in seven courses none of which I'd paid attention to for more than a week. Web design . It was only my bank balance that stopped me from launching my laptop across the room after too many hours spent begging the free software to work by itself. Learn an instrument The guitar I bought might not have amounted to anything, but it did up my cool cred on Instagram. I added this one to my plus column because my social media status was intrinsically tied to my interesting level. Still, it wasn't enough. The next time I went on a date, I wanted to be able to list all of the things I did. Not laugh and twirl my hair and hope the guy breezed past my non-answer. Scrapbooking. I thought about this one long and hard. Enough to know that I didn't have the patience for it. Singing. My neighbours kindly told me to shut the fudge nuts up. + Eventually, I settled on a cooking class. They always seemed fun and quaint on television. Everyone banded together to create perfectly presented meals and laughed, the perfect way everyone did on television. Bright eyes, wide smiles and happy hearts. Unfortunately, television and real life? They were not the same. There was no quippy instructor who made everyone smile with joy. Instead, we had to deal with Roy, who looked like he'd rather drive over his own foot than teach us mere mortals how to make chicken parmesan. He raced through the instructions quickly and spent most of the session on his phone and nipping outside for cigarette breaks. The people around me seemed to get on with it, but I was not like them. Stoves and ovens were my Kryptonite. They did not like me. I did not like them. The fear was mutual. And unfortunately, after forty-five minutes, the black smoke billowing out of the oven next to me was a welcome sight. This was my element. Wondering if my eyebrows would survive, dumping hot pans in the sink and pretending I was in a sauna when the cold water splashed down and the steam rose up. Unfortunately, Roy didn't take it too well. + I was banned from the cooking class shortly after I tossed out the charred chicken and I made my way to the parking lot. Footsteps came after me and I turned to see an unfamiliar man. He was nice looking, I suppose, but at this point, I was mad at myself. Was there anything I was good at? "Hey, Suzie is it?" "Who wants to know?" I said, channelling my best made-for-TV mobster voice. The guy laughed and said, "The guy in charge of the cooking program you were thrown out of. I teach the advanced class, while Roy does the beginner's class." "Oh." I poked some gravel on the floor, not wanting to see the amusement in his eyes. "Do you need my credit card information for the damage?" "No. I'd like for you to come back." I snapped my head up, eyes wide because what? He wanted me to come back? Did he not realise I was one sausage roll away from burning the entire place down? "I don't think that's a good idea." "C'mon. I'll keep a close eye on you, the way Roy was supposed to." "Listen…" I trailed off and waited for him to offer his name, a little something I'd picked up at work. The best way to let someone down was to give it a personal touch. "Derek," he offered. "My name is Derek." "Well, Derek, the truth is that I only did this because my boyfriend - ex-boyfriend now actually - told me I was boring." "...he seems like such a catch." "He wasn't that bad," I said automatically, although I didn't know what was so good about him either. "He was right. I am a boring person. And I've failed at every single thing I've done to make myself interesting." "You know, if you want to better yourself, you should do it because you want to, and not because some guy put you down." "I have been!" I insisted. Derek raised an eyebrow, and I contemplated his words briefly. Fine. Maybe I hadn't . The way I'd given up easily, jumping from task to task because I didn't pick them up right away. My goal had been to change something about myself so I could brag about it on Facebook and passive-aggressively tag my ex-boyfriend. To prove him wrong when in reality, I didn't owe him anyway. "I take it the penny has dropped." "Kinda," I replied. "I guess I can give cooking a try again. It would be nice to eat something other than ramen." With that said, Derek walked me back into the centre and I managed to make it through the rest of the class unscathed. ….well, I ended up with a jug of cheese sauce all over my cashmere sweater, but hey - baby steps. Fin.


She knew it was a mistake.

She watched as the detective chewed the end cap of his pen, brow furrowed in concentration at the file on the table.

The detective lifted his piercing eyes towards hers for just a moment; her breath caught in her throat. A small sound escaped much like an inflated balloon when you pinch off the end. She fiddled with her locket. She shifted her focus towards the outside world. A distraction. She thought about her beautiful, talented, poised Stacy. She was an incredible performer. She could almost hear Stacy’s playing, could see her sitting at the baby grand in the sitting room, windows open so the entire neighborhood could listen. She closed her eyes to absorb it. The last time she saw Stacy was when she was getting into the car with Evelyn to head to her next piano lesson. She was really going to miss her.

She couldn’t read what his look meant. Maybe he was trying to figure out how a middle-aged, middle-class, white, yoga-loving, American archetype would be sitting across from him accompanied with a folder that told the sadistic story of how she murdered those random people.

Or maybe he was impressed.

It was a mistake.

Detective Caulder leaned back in his chair--the buttons on his suit dangerously close to popping. Caulder sighed for what felt like hours, then finally, he spoke for the first time since she had walked into the room.

“This doesn’t add up.” This is not what she had been expecting. “I---I’m sorry?” Caulder glowered. “I’m not a man that likes to repeat myself. Especially when I know you heard me.” She stared unblinking.

Another mistake. She finally broke the silence. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” She shifted nervously in her seat. The detective noticed and smirked.

“What I don’t understand,” continued Caulder, “is the motive. How does someone snap like without any feasible connection between them, nor a connection to you? Explain that, and I’ll put this to rest right now.” She knew this was a mistake.

“Look, detective. Why do I have to answer these questions? It’s not like I’m trying to hide the fact that I did it. I did the crimes. All of them.” She seemed certain; she seemed sure of herself. She spun the ring on her finger. She smiled.

“I’m not buying it.” The detective’s blunt words shattered her confidence like glass. “You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me, with total honesty, everything I need to know..”

She stammered, “Wh---why?!” “Exactly” the detective stood up and leaned over the table. “Why?” Officer Samantha Montgomery paced back and forth in front of the glass. She had watched the entire exchange between her and Detective Caulder.

Easy, Caulder , she thought to herself as he continued to berate this fragile woman.

Samantha stared at her empty notepad. She had nothing left. Another fucking dead end. She slumped into the chair.

At that exact moment, Caulder rose from his chair to hiss his acidic breath into the poor woman’s face. Jesus, Caulder.

She knew Caulder would want to talk to her, to hear the latest updates, but she had nothing for him. To avoid all of it if only for a little while, Samantha hastened quickly out of the room, out of the side door, and deep into the alley. There, she lit a cigarette and tried not to think at all.

But what is she hiding? Who is she protecting?

Samantha just couldn’t find the trail. None of it was adding up. Even Dickenson was scratching his head, and he had the most solves (including cold cases) for the entire precinct.

Samantha lit another cigarette.

At some point, something would change. Someone forgot something somewhere--a small, inconsequential step--and we’ll catch it.

But until then, Samantha enjoyed the last drags before the inevitable shit storm hit.

This was a mistake.

She was left alone in the room. Her mind felt blank. Her body, numb. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the moment this would all be over.

But it’s definitely a mistake.

She wondered about her troubled boy, Evan. His grades were pretty low in Chemistry and Calculus. He needed to attend tutoring or he’d have to take summer school or even repeat the classes next year. Another worry was soccer. It was his passion--his obsession. But with his failing grades, he was benched. Watching him at the last game was heartbreaking. He just sat there. She lamented that she wouldn’t be able to make it better for him. Not now.

She shifted in her seat at the thought, bent down and pulled her loose sock back up her leg. This is a mistake.

Andrew met Samantha on her way back inside. “Caulder wants to see us.” Samantha rolled her eyes. Sam knocked on Caulder’s door. “Come in,” was the gruff reply. Andrew grabbed a peppermint from the bowl that was probably older than he was, but he hadn’t eaten in well over 24-hours and needed something. Samantha’s eyes followed his hand from the bowl to his mouth. Her expression conveyed nothing.

“She didn’t do this; that much is obvious. What isn’t obvious,” Caulder continued, “is what in the hell she is covering up. Tell me you got something.” Silence.

Andrew coughed, “Well, sir, to be quite frank…” Andrew glanced at his partner to help him out. She stared at her hands. “Nothing, sir. We’ve got nothing. Everything is clear. The house, the car, the office, her tox screen, even her character witnesses...Not a speck out of place.” Caulder was silent for a couple of seconds. It was deafening. “Well, no shit you found nothing on her, ” Caulder boomed. “She’s not the one that did it. Do I have to do your job for you? Look for connections between the victims. Even the simplest of commonalities could have a connection here. This is basic-level detective work. She’s hiding something for someone. I want to know who that someone is and why. Got it?” Samantha nodded. Andrew nodded.

“Dismissed.” Samantha and Andrew both left in a hurry. This was going to be a really long night.

“Let me talk to her again. I think I can get through to her.” Samantha’s knuckles turned white as her grip tightened on the back of the chair. “Why? Because it’s a ‘woman-thing’?” Caulder scoffed. “Enlighten me, what exactly are you expecting to do in order to get an answer?”

Samantha’s grip relaxed. “Sir, with all due respect. I think we’re making a lot of assumptions about this case that we shouldn’t be.” She knew she was taking a risk.

Caulder’s eyes bore into hers. She couldn’t back down now. “Young lady, I’ve been on this force for thirty nine years. You’ve been here a minute. She doesn’t fit the profile. The evidence doesn’t add up. Are you honestly going to stand there and say that I’m the one who’s wrong here?” Samantha went on without pause, “Yes.” Caulder didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe. Just waited for her to continue. “Not all cases fit the profile. I think we may be wrong here to completely dismiss this woman’s involvement with these murders. She’s too clean. Sometimes, that screams ‘guilty’ louder than the man in the corner holding the gun.” Caulder chewed the inside of his lip. “You have five minutes with her to get her to talk and to change my mind. Clear?” Samantha gave one curt nod, and B-lined through the door.

She watched as the new officer came in. She remembered her before. She was too angry; too sharp. She wouldn’t be able to stick to the plan. She shifted in her seat and began playing spinning her ring.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. You may remember me, Samantha.If you work with me and talk to me, I can help you. If you don’t…” She left that idea hanging for effect.

She stared at Samantha. Where would she even begin?

A minute and a half passed incomplete silence. She thought of MaryJo and her carefree, always optimistic attitude. Yoga every Monday without fail. Always the liveliest and sprightliest dancer. She lived for the follow up dinners at Taco Town with half-priced Margarita Monday specials. MaryJo really knew how to bring the party wherever she went. God, she would miss Mondays with her.

Finally, Samantha spoke. “ I’m trying to figure you out. Do you even want to be helped?” Samantha looked at her as if she was trying to look at a painting from a different angle. “The way I figure it, you either are being blackmailed to keep your mouth shut for what you witnessed or conspired with, or,” Samantha smirked, “you have something to gain from taking the blame for the murders. Am I getting warm here?” Don’t react. Just don’t react. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.

“I’m going to assume your silence as an affirmation. Just for argument’s sake, of course,” Samantha crossed her legs, leaned back, and open the file. “So for me, this doesn’t really seem like you are covering for someone else. There’s not a pattern to the murders. There’s not even a connection. So how would you even become involved? There are just too many gaps.” Samantha turned a page. Licked her lips. “But, given the way you live your life, your character witnesses...it all seems so bland, typical, comfortable, normal. Too normal? My real rub with this whole situation is the murders themselves. The victims. No connections to each other that we can find, no connection to you that we can find...so why then do you waltz in and confess to all five of these seemingly unrelated murders that didn’t happen in the same town, at same time, in the same way, or even on the same date?” Samantha blows air through her lips. “This leaves me with the only possible conclusion that you have something to gain by suddenly being labeled a ‘murderer’” Samantha’s exaggerated the air quotes on the last word and lingered her fingers there a few seconds longer before slowly bringing her arms to rest calmly on the table before her. “Do you want to die?” She studied her intently. “Why are you wanting to go down for five--FIVE--murders? TELL ME!” Samantha slammed her hand on the table. The file went flying.

She flinched, and with it, her steely resolve cracked. She felt herself crumbling. She knew she was going to start talking.

Just a few more minutes and she’ll leave.

Her mind shifted to Mark. Wonderful, hard-working Mark. Such a great man. At least once a month, she’d see him walking up the driveway with a dozen roses. Pink--her favorite. With a smile on his face, he set the dinner table every night. He’d spend time with the kids. He’d clean up the house, do the laundry. The sex was frequent, and it was passionate. That, she remembered , was the true definition of love-making. She really couldn’t imagine not seeing him everyday. “Listen, whatever your reasons,” sighed Samantha in a resigned tone, “if you don’t start talking, you’re going to be let go.” Her eyes widened as the weight of Samantha’s words resonated.

Mistake.

Two hours later, Samantha, Andrew, and Caulder watched dejectedly as she collected her belongings and exited the precinct.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Samantha’s voice was a whisper. “She needs help. I can only imagine what she’s going to do to herself or what someone might do to her.”

“Keep your radios on. There’s a chance we get another call tonight,” Caulder lamented. Samantha had never seem him show this much emotion before. Was it sympathy? Was it compassion? It confused her more than his usual stolid exterior. Caulder walked towards his office.

Samantha let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She turned to Andrew. Andrew’s brow was furrowed deeply. He hadn’t said a word ever since they left Caulder’s office.

“What?” Samantha asked trying to see what he was looking at.

“I can’t help feeling that we’re missing something,” Andrew’s voice was thin. He was deep in thought.

“What else can we do? She gave us nothing.” Samantha didn’t have the patience to placate Andrew’s “winning streak” ego right now. She turned to start heading back towards the lounge.

“But did you hear what she said under her breath as we were walking her out?” Samantha spun around with a curious look on her face. “She said,” Andrew paused. “She said ‘it’s a mistake’.” It’s a mistake. All a giant mistake.

I stuck to the plan, they didn’t follow what they were supposed to do. But of course, who could ever rely on law enforcement to do their actual fucking job.

They made a mistake.

Too bad they won’t live to regret it.

I don’t know that any of this would have played out this way had it not been for witnesses. They really piled up one after another. When that last one got away...I knew I had to do something.

I didn’t really think that they’d believe me. Nor did I want them to. They made so many mistakes.

I really loved watching Stacy. She was so elegant and beautiful. She lost herself in the music. When she became enraptured in her songs, I became even more enraptured in her. But when she shunned me when I tried to compliment her--when she brushed me off like I was three week old milk--that was unforgivable. It would’ve just been Stacy, had not Evelyn, the uber driver, gotten out of her car.

Witness number one.

Then when I was ditching the car, I picked up Evelyn’s ping for an uber request. Evan needed a ride home from soccer. Evan was very quick to tell me all about his life. But he was bratty. Dismissive. When I showed up at his house two weeks later offering to tutor him, he had the nerve to try to call the police. Didn’t he see that I just wanted to help? This, too would’ve been a one-off had it not been for the busybody MaryJo walking neighborhoods trying to shove “Jesus Loves You” pamphlets down everybody’s throats. She noticed the door cracked and tried to peek inside. She saw Evan’s body, came inside and called 911. I hid in the dumbwaiter. Pretty sure she saw me through the window. She didn’t say so to the police on the phone that she saw anyone, but I felt her tension. She knew she wasn’t alone.

For two months I followed her. Lived her life. Decided that I might actually be better off befriending her. She had wide social circles. She seemed to have it all. She really screwed herself when she had the audacity to laugh when I fell over during yoga. Not even a “just laughing with you” sort of sympathy giggle. Full on merriment for my embarrassment.

Bitch had to go.

As I was tossing her bloodied yoga mat into the dumpster the next day a few towns over, Mark happened to be dumping his trash away, too. He saw the mat. He briefly made eye contact with me. Definitely a hesitant, observant fellow. I tittered and batted my eyelashes and told him it was paint, not blood! A can fell off a shelf in the garage.

But I knew he didn’t buy it.

For weeks I watched Mark. He had such a good life, a good family. I truly thought about sparing him. Maybe I could have him. Maybe the bloody yoga mat would be a funny story we’d recall when we were in our 80s--”remember when I thought you were a murderer?”

But the next time Mark went to take his trash out, I met him out there (with normal trash this time) and tried to turn on the charm. He looked at me like he looked at his garbage---something terrible to be rid of as soon as possible.

That took care of that.

But someone saw me. In his driveway. Struggling to shut the trunk of his car. With his body inside. It was too dark to see who they were, and they took off in a hurry.

They knew. I couldn’t abandon the car and chase after them, not when his wife and kids would be home any minute. I had to handle this situation presently.

That’s when I decided to turn myself in.

Lay on the charm. Show them my non-threatening, nervous house-wife qualities. They’d be too absorbed in the stereotypical profile to notice my flaws. They’d be blinded by their own, self-made prejudices and biases.

You can’t even see what I’m capable of even when I’m right in front of you literally telling you the truth.

I made it so easy.

I was wearing Stacy’s music note locket with a picture of her parents on the inside.

I had Evelyn’s phone in my purse, which sat underneath me the entire time. They didn’t even search it.

I was wearing Evan’s soccer socks that still had his blood on them. They are white. The quarter-sized spot of blood is visible at the ankle which I crossed just so they could see it.

I was wearing MaryJo’s signature yoga top that she wore at least three times a month with an embroidered MJ on the front. And finally, I was wearing Mark’s wedding ring engraved with his and his wife’s anniversary and initials.

Seriously?

It was all right there. It was screaming in their face. The truth they didn’t want to see--didn’t want to believe because it would shatter the ideas they had built up about what certain people who check certain boxes will do.

As I wait in shadows of the house of Samantha Montgomery, I see her car turn into the driveway. As she closes her car door, I quickly approach from behind. She sees me. Recognition sets in. She could run.

But that would be a mistake.


There should be a drinking game where every time your horrible blind date says something terrible, you take a drink. This was the drinking game that Sofia was playing tonight at the popular nightclub, Silverium . “You’re not as fat as I thought you would be,” he said. Drink! “No offense, you’re just not as pretty as my last girlfriend. But hey, gotta start again somewhere for a rebound, imma right?” Drink! “You brought protection, right? Because I tried to buy some beforehand, but my card declined at the CVS.” Drink! At this point, the club’s bartender just handed the poor girl a bottle of tequila and said ‘good luck’. Ha, Sofia thought to herself, I don’t need ‘good luck’. I need good liquor . She paused. And a good alibi for why my brother’s dead body mysteriously shows up in the river the day after he sets me up on this terrible date. In fact, it was because of her stupid brother that she couldn’t leave. Sofia hasn’t been on a date in months so her brother did the ‘heroic’ thing—as her family puts it—and set her up with one of his work buddies. Because let’s just ignore the fact that Sofia was trying to focus on her career instead of getting someone in the sack. She crushed her plastic cup in her hand. And now, if she leaves early or calls it off, no matter what the guy was like or what she tells her family, they’ll ridicule her for not dating someone. Because hey, that’s family—judgey to no end.

As the night wore on, Sofia’s BAC kept going up and up until it crashed through the roof. “I need to go to the bathroom,” she slurred as she stumbled across the crowded dance floor. Barely making it past the too-complicated pull out door handle, Sofia staggered across the bathroom and sat down beside the handicap stall—bottle still in hand. She took a swing from it. Lovingly, Sofia looked at the bottle. “At least I have you.” She hugged the bottle. “Having a rough night?” Sofia glanced up at a slanted girl with a face full of smeared make-up.

“Yup,” Sofia admitted. The smeared make-up girl took a seat next to her. “Me too.” Sofia banded her to the bottle. “Thanks.” She took a long chug before starting. “I got drunk, then was about to text my ex—“ “DON’T TEXT YOUR EX!” All the other drunk girls in the bathroom cried in perfect unison. Smear make-up girl waved her hands in the air in the calm down motion. “I didn’t. I was about to when I saw him in the club with another girl. She left to go to the bathroom. He saw me. Started hitting on me—and even touched my butt!—so I escaped into the crowd.” “Damn.” Sofia glanced around the bathroom. “Who was the girl? We gotta tell her her date was cheatin’.” She took another swig. “Actually, she’s you.” Sofia hiccuped, then said. “Oh. Oh damnnnn . Pass me the bottle back.” She did. After taking another drink, Sofia slurred, “ Figures . Dude’s a creep.” “Yup, that’s why I dumped him.” “Nice.” Sofia held out her hand. “I’m Sofia.” “Stacy.” Squinted at her, Sofia slurred, “Wait a minutttee, you are preeettier than meeee.” She flopped onto the dirty floor of a club’s bathroom. Her shoulder landed on a soft pile of white powder. It might have been coke. “Nooooo!!” Stacy flopped onto the dirty floor next to her despite not knowing when the last it was washed was. She touched Sofia’s face gently, then smooshed it. “But you’re so purdy .” “No, you’re pretty.” “ You’re pretty!” “My pretty what?” They both laughed at their nonsense then sat back up. “We need to teach that bastard a lesson. Do you know why?” “Because we’re both pretty~!” “Yay~” “I gotta idea. You gotta photoshop?” Stacy slurred. *** Leaning on each other, Stacy and Sofia stumbled out of the girls’ bathroom and back into the loud club. In their minds, their goal was to reach the DJ’s table and get him to display an embarrassing photoshopped picture of Sofia’s terrible date. And this plan almost immediately fell through. One guy grabbed Stacy’s arm and pulled her into dance with a goofy grin on his face. As his hand slid down her body, she slapped him hard with her phone, cracking the screen. She called out for Sofia, but couldn’t see her. Meanwhile, across the dance floor, a dazed Sofia found herself at the bar again. “Gimme ah… ahhhh…”

“I think you’d had too much,” the bartender said while cleaning a glass. He slid a glass of water towards her. “So did you get rid of your terrible da— oh and here he is.” The bartender walked over to another customer at the bar and pretended to look busy as Derek sat beside her. “There you are, Sofia,” he said, giving her an awkward hug as she tried to pull away. As her brain fogged up with alcohol, she slurred, “Donnn’t touch meee.” “Huh?” Sofia grabbed the water glass and chucked it at Derek. “You’re so creepy! Stacy! Stacy!” She shrieked. “Get to the DJ!” Stacy’s head popped up over the crowd as she saw Sofia hop off a bar stool and run—or tried to run—towards the DJ’s stand. So, she ditched the dude and raced over to her as fast as her high heels and intoxicity would let her.

“Mr. DJ,” Sofia said, “we have a request.” “What song?” He asked. Stacy slapped her phone on the table. “Not a song, a picture.” “You can’t listen to a picture…” “Actually, you can,” Stacy said, “you just need the right amount of acid.” “We need to put this picture…” Sofia said as Stacy tried to unlock her cracked phone. “What’s wrong with the phone?” “I smashed it on a guy that touched my butt.” “Twice in the same night?” Sofia glanced down. “You do have a great butt, though.” Stacy did a squat. “Thanks, I’ve been working on it. But for me, ya know?” “Tots. You are just so amazing.” “No, you’re so amazing!” “No you’re—“ “Ah, ladies?” The DJ asked. “Does this conversation have a point?” “Well, we were going to get revenge on this awful guy, Derek, with a funny photoshopped photo of him, but it was on her phone and now her phone don’t work,” Sofia drunkenly explained. “You were?” Both of the girls turned around to see a soaking wet Derek behind him. He glared at them. “Whatever! You bitches were never that hot anyway. I’m a nice guy, I can find something way better than either of you.” Sofia took out her phone and snapped an unflattering photo of Derek in his soaked outfit. The cheap purple shirt dyes were already starting to color his skin. And it looked like his skinny jeans were shrinking. Not to mention his man bun was totally ruined. “Actually, this could work.” She turned back around to the DJ. “Can you upload this photo on the screen behind you? Please? ” “Sure, no problem.” He snapped the connecting cord into the phone the exact moment Derek screamed wait! Now, a water-logged looking Derek was displayed all over the club. People snickered under their breaths. A couple of high potheads laughed hysterically. Sofia and Stacy high-fived as Derek stomped off, flushed red. “I’ll never forget this night!” Stacy cried. But then she did, because they were way too drunk. However, their updated Snapchat stories and new contact in each other’s phones were more than enough to keep the story going—and the friendship alive and well.