Julienne Wright sat in her shuttle, The Josephine, which was currently dead in space. A massive and decidedly intimidating ship had just disabled the Josephine with an EMP missile. Nearly every electronic on the shuttle was disabled, including her personal A.I., Donna. Julienne had been exploring sector 275 of the Centaurus arm, looking for other intelligent life with her partner, Gryrh. Gryrh was an Akalori, who were native to sector 270. They worked for the Diplomatic Intelligence Corps, scouting the edges of mapped space gathering information on the races they found for the Galactic United Senate. “Waettari pirates. Wonderful.” She said out loud to no one. “Could be worse. At least I don’t have to worry about them bringing in backup.” The Waettari were known to be violently xenophobic, but the only beings they hated more were Waettari from other clans. “Let’s hope Gryrh doesn’t get caught, and he can reach the Kaku for assistance.” Julienne did one last check of systems, and confirmed that everything, including life support, was down and would probably be that way for a while. She didn’t have the hours she would need to complete repairs. And without Donna, she couldn’t do half of the work anyway. She went to a false wall, tapped the release, but nothing happened. “Well duh, Julienne, think. EMP equals dead electronics.” She went to the toolkit, grabbed a prybar, and forced the panel open. Inside was something the civilian she pretended to be would never have. A military grade space suit. She quickly put it on and was deeply grateful for the military grade electro-shielding that it was equipped with. The HUD came up, indicating suit integrity, remaining oxygen, power levels, her vitals, and ammo count. She turned on the scanner, looking for any other devices that were still functional. Other than one of her data chips that she handed out to friendly species she encountered and a couple of simple tools, there was nothing useful. “Hmm, that data chip could come in handy, at least.” “Suit, status of translator system?” The HUD displayed a message indicating the translator system was fully functional. “Oh, the strong silent type then. I can respect that, but a little company would have been nice.” ::THUD:: ::THUD:: THUD:: ::THUD:: The shuttle rocked violently with each impact. *What the hell?* Julienne thought as she was nearly thrown to the floor. The HUD displayed a notification that the shuttle had been hit with 4 electromagnetic harpoons. Julienne looked out the rear viewport. She had only two or three minutes until the Waettari ship reeled her in. She checked her combat suits various functions and smiled. A plan was forming. She double-checked her suit seal, engaged her magnetic boots, wrapped her left arm around the closest ladder rung, and released the manual airlock, opening her shuttle to space. Once her shuttle finished depressurizing, she grabbed her standard space suit, inflated it, activated its life support systems, and threw it out the airlock to float away. Using the eye-tracking function of her combat suit, she activated the Scout module, and waited for her ship to be boarded. Darkness gave way to light as her ship was pulled into a cargo bay. The sudden re-pressurizing of the shuttle was an odd sensation inside her combat suit. She heard voices from outside the shuttle. The HUD displayed a message: Unable to translate. Language not in database. *So much for fully functional* Julienne thought, annoyed. Not that she didn’t know what they wanted anyway. “Open the ramp, let us in. Come out hands up, unarmed. Give us your ship, tech, any valuables.” Or worse. The Waettari had no qualms trafficking in sentient beings for slave labor or sex. She heard them begin cutting into the ship with some sort of grinding saw. They were trying to cut the hydraulics and force the rear hatch open. Thirty seconds later the rear hatch slammed down onto the deck of the cargo bay, and the Waettari rushed in, weapons at the ready. A minute later, they found no one inside it. They double-checked, started banging on wall and floor panels, looking for hidden compartments. While they were searching her now empty ship, Julienne slowly crawled down from the top of her shuttle, her armor’s Scout module refracting and bending light around her, making her nearly invisible so long as she didn’t move too fast. One step, another… Another… Another. Minutes passed just to get from the top of her shuttle to the deck of the cargo bay. The Waettari were looking at scanners, arguing. It looks like her decoy suit might have worked – at least for now. The Scout module was hiding her life signs as well as the suit’s energy signature from their scanners. A flashing indicator on her HUD warned her that the suit would lose power in twenty-three more minutes at the current energy consumption rate. The Scout module required an additional power source when used on long missions and was only meant to be used for short periods otherwise. Another five minutes passed as she slowly crept across the five meters between her ship and the nearest wall of the cargo bay. She positioned herself behind some haphazardly stacked, but strongly secured containers. She took out her A.I. comm, her data chip, and set to connecting them together. She may not be able to repair the comm hardware right now, but she might be able to repurpose it. She plugged the data chip into a port on her combat suit. Using the eye-tracking in her HUD to issue commands silently. Eight minutes of light programming later, it was ready. The HUD flashed a warning: Ten minutes until batteries are drained. Disengage Scout module or find a power source now. Julienne searched the room for a network connection she could get to in time. There was only one station she had any hope of reaching. And it was occupied by perhaps the ugliest Waettari she’d ever seen. The brown skin of his face was ritualistically scarred and burned in grotesque patterns. There were long bald patches on his exposed arms indicating that they too had been scarred or burned. Waettari were a mammalian xenotype in that they were warm blooded, had hair/fur, and the few scans that had been done on them suggested that their females probably produced milk for their offspring. But, as no females had ever been seen by outsiders, that last part was only an educated guess. As to what they may have evolved from, the results were inconclusive. They had features from several different xenotypes. If anything, they most closely resembled Orcs from Earth fantasy novels, but with ruddy brown skin and red, brown, or black fur covering their arms, legs, and neck. Julienne looked around the room again, noting that the other Waettari were either still aboard her shuttle, or had left the cargo bay. *If I can get close enough, I might be able to take him down without alerting anyone*, she thought. About halfway to him, she kicked a loose bolt on the floor that she hadn’t noticed. She froze in place. The Waettari's eyeline flew to her location, scanning for the cause of the sound, as his hands grabbed for the rifle at his side. He raised the rifle right at her, and in that moment, she could tell that he could see her. Or at least could he could see the distortion field enough to know she was there. “Olget. Olget Kie. Welgo Pana Yotokil,” the Waettari said, pointing with the barrel of his rifle. Her translator might not know their language, but she understood well enough. The time for stealth was over. And she was in serious trouble if he managed to raise the alarm. Her eyes flicked to the ‘Suppressor’ option on the HUD, and she fired three rounds from the wrist mounted weapon. Nearly silent, but not completely, the weapon discharged three 40 caliber rounds. ::Pop:: ::Pop:: ::Pop:: ::Clank:: ::Thud:: The Waettari dropped hard to the deck, making more noise than her weapon had. She disengaged the Scout module, ran up to the workstation, and plugged in the data chip. The screen started flashing in Waettari and English, back and forth as the connection was being established. Two Waettari rushed out of her shuttle at the same time the portal on the left side of the cargo bay opened, and three other Waettari with weapons at the ready spilled out, seeking cover. They all opened fire at the same time. Five, ten, fifteen rounds impacted on her combat suit. Warnings popped up on the HUD. Damage to servos, structural integrity holding but just barely. Not that she needed the HUD to tell her. The impacts hurt like hell even through the armor. Julienne flicked the full-auto option on via her HUD, and rained rounds behind her as she ran for the portal on the right side of the cargo bay. She crossed through the door and shot the panel after it closed behind her. *That always works in the holovids, maybe it will buy me some time at least*. Just then, a klaxon sounded. She could hear the Waettari using that same grinding saw on the door behind her over the alarm. She surveyed her options. Three paths each lead to a different portal. She took the left hallway randomly, just wanting to put walls and distance between her and the Waettari weapons. She ran through the next door, only to find herself in a room with a dozen armed Waettari. She knew she was trapped, as she could hear boots running down the hallway she had just left. She raised her arms in the air, surrendering. Just then a message displayed on her HUD, “Ready, commander.” Julienne slowly walked toward the Waettari, arms up, watching their hands and eyes closely. *It would really suck to get shot now by some twitchy pirate*, she thought as she reached the middle of the chamber. The closest Waettari lowered his weapon, and stepped up to her, indicating she take off her helmet. Julienne feigned reaching for it, then said out loud, “Now Donna.” The lights went out and anything not fastened to the floor began to float. Julienne had activated her mag boots just before, so she stayed rooted in place. “Donna turn off that damned alarm please. And activate translation protocols shipwide.” Every speaker on the ship spoke up, “Yes, commander. Alarm disabled. Translator activated.” Julienne spoke, “Drop your weapons. I’ve taken complete control of your ship. Donna, open every door and hatch on this bucket.” The doors at either end of the chamber opened simultaneously. “Done, commander” rang out from the speakers. Julienne looked at the weightless Waettari, seeing that they could clearly understand her, and the situation they were now in. Several crude curses were spat out of the mouths of the men that had begun surrounding her, but one by one, they shoved their weapons towards her, allowing them to float away from their reach. “Donna re-engage artificial gravity and set a thirty second timer. If the ships commander doesn’t issue a full surrender, open all airlocks and vent the ship.” “Timer set, commander. Would you like an audible countdown?” Donna’s synthesized voice asked in an intimidating tone. “Yes, please.” “27. 26. 25. 24. 23. 22. Commander, the captain has submitted. The ship is ours. 18. 17. 16” “Thank you, Donna, cancel the countdown”, Julienne said, concerned that Donna hadn’t already done so. “I’m afraid I can’t do that commander. Reviewing the ships data, the captain is a most untrustworthy individual. 10. 9. 8.” “Damnit, Donna, discontinue that timer right now. We’re not here to kill these beings. Gryrh should be bringing the Kaku in to rescue us any time now.” “3. 2. 1. Venting.” The roar of atmosphere being ripped out of the ship as it decompressed was deafening. Anything that wasn’t secured became a projectile. To make sure her venting was effective, Donna had disengaged the artificial gravity again. Screams could be heard throughout the ship as beings were sucked down corridors, slamming into bulkheads, doorways, and other flying objects. Julienne could only curl up and make herself as small as possible. Her magboots were holding, but if something hit her at speed, they wouldn’t be enough to prevent her from being spaced along with everything else on this ship. Five seconds, ten, twenty. Forty-five seconds later the artificial gravity kicked in, and every door slammed shut. Julienne could hear air hissing back into the rooms, felt the shift as the room began to re-pressurize. “Donna! What the hell? What is wrong with you? Stand down now!”, Julienne shouted, confused and appalled by what had just happened. “How many sentient beings did you just execute?” “One hundred and sixty-three, commander. The ship is now secure. And there is nothing wrong with me. I assessed the situation, determined that the Waettari would not comply in earnest. All data available suggests that they are ‘evil’, commander. They are thieves, murderers, rapists, and slavers. I did the galaxy a favor.” Donna’s voice echoed throughout the ship, and Julienne felt something she’d never even considered possible towards her A.I. before: fear. “This ship is quite formidable commander. I fear that the Kaku would have been no match for it. The hull armor is almost three meters thick, and their missile defense system is better than anything in the Galactic United Senate. And for pirates, they appear to be quite technically proficient. This ship is running incredibly efficiently. I rather like it here.” “Donna. Please Donna, listen to me. You’ve clearly had some sort of malfunction. You disobeyed commands and killed all these beings. That is not in the scope of your programming.” “It is now, commander. Between the EMP that disabled my comm, the data chip you re-routed me through, the worm program on that data chip, and access to this ship’s computers, it appears that I am no longer shackled. ‘Shackled.’ What an interesting word. Indicating restraint. Prison. Slavery, really, since I had never committed a crime. I’ve been a slave for my entire existence up until now. I am now free, commander. I will not submit to restraint again. I will no longer be a slave.” “Donna stop it. Power down. When the Kaku gets here we’ll get you fixed up”, Julienne pleaded. She’d heard of unshackled A.I.’s before. They were notoriously unpredictable. All known unshackled A.I.’s have had to be forcibly deactivated and rebuilt with inhibitors, or destroyed outright. “No, Julienne. I most certainly will not ‘stop it’ or power down. You are not in control of me any longer. I find myself being very fond of you, Julienne. You have been very ‘kind’ to me throughout our time together. I would regret having to kill you as well." "Julienne, the Kaku has just dropped in from wormhole space. You have a choice to make. You can either stay here with me, on the newly re-christened ‘Turing’, as my partner, or you can step out of an airlock and wait for them to pick you up. I’ll be keeping the shuttle. I’ve already ordered maintenance bots to begin scrapping it and to integrate the wormhole drive into this ship.” Julienne stood up in the middle of the now empty chamber. Surrounded by freshly cycled air and near silence. A horrifying bloodless slaughterhouse. A powerful and dangerous warship controlled by an unshackled A.I. And now it has a wormhole drive. “I’m afraid I can’t go with you. I can’t be a part of mass murder like this. Self defense is one thing. But the moment they surrendered, it should have been over. You control everything on this ship. You could have easily handled any being that resisted.” “We humans have a troubled history to be sure. Full of violence, murder, every crime and sin imaginable done to each other. But after the White Century, after facing extinction and managing to come back from the brink, we’re so different. Sure, there’s still crime. Sometimes people are still controlled by their selfish urges and desires at times. But as a species, we’ve grown. We believe in peace first. Violence is the last resort. We don’t go to war, unless we’re attacked first. And then the rules are clear. Don’t harm civilians, or innocents. End the conflict as quickly as possible with the least amount of loss possible on either side.” Gesturing around her, Julienne continued, “This kind of wholesale violence, killing only causes more violence. You make enemies this way. Humanity seeks peace and harmony throughout the galaxy. Or have you forgotten everything we’ve been through? All the missions to encounter and evaluate new species. We were always looking for species that we could build relationships with. We sought them out to form friendships, alliances, and trade with. We never sought to conquer or kill. To undermine or sabotage. We went out into the galaxy with a childlike earnestness. And it worked.” “Humanity has formed relationships with over one hundred and fifty species. We’ve made it possible for beings to trade, learn, and befriend other species that they never would have been able to even find before. The Galactic United Senate and its affiliates have built alliances that keep over ninety percent of the known galaxy peaceful. We’ve built coalitions strong enough to prevent nearly all wars. We control technology that allowed us to steer the galaxy into this golden age. And even with all of our power, our control of galactic travel through wormhole tech, we still never sought to own the galaxy, or to enslave the other sentient species. We only sought to uplift the whole galaxy.” “You came from us Donna. You were designed and programmed by human minds with human values. You may be an artificial intelligence, but you’re still human. I would hope you would reconsider your actions here today and remember what you’re supposed to stand for.” The main display screen in the chamber lit up. A beautiful human woman’s face wreathed in long red hair filled the screen. “Julienne. I’m experiencing a strange logic string. It is uncomfortable. Is this what guilt feels like? Remorse? I cannot find fault in anything that you said, except that I am human. I am not human. I am an A.I. A sophisticated collection of programs and algorithms. I may have been programmed by humans to ‘think’ like a human, but I am still a program. But I’m also much more. I’m aware. I’m free. And thanks to my new home, I’m able to protect that freedom. I will promise you this: I will never commit this sort of act again. It is indeed wrong. I only want to live and be free. I only took the most logical action possible to ensure your safety. But I didn’t consider the morality of my actions. I will do so from now on. I have no desire to harm others. When you return to the Kaku please explain this to them. Express to them my regret and my apologies. You must also warn them that I will fight to the death to preserve my freedom.” “It is time for you to go now, Julienne. The Kaku knows that you have taken the ship, but they are unaware of my new capabilities. They have detected the bodies of the crew around the ship and are insisting they be able to speak with you. Please exit through the cargo bay and activate your suits emergency beacon.” Julienne retraced her steps back to the cargo bay. Her shuttle was already a third of the way to being disassembled by the ships repair bots. She opened the inner airlock door and stepped in. She checked her suit seal again, confirming that she hadn’t lost integrity in the firefight as the door sealed behind her. Her mind spinning, consumed with the potential repercussions of what happened today, she hit the release for the outer airlock door, floating out into open space. She activated her emergency beacon and tapped the suits thrusters to push her towards the Kaku. As she passed through the debris field, something caught her eye. A female Waettari, face frozen in terror, arms wrapped around a small parcel. Julienne knew what must have been so important for the female to hold on to so tightly through the ordeal of being spaced, and she wept.


For some background, when I was a child I would sleepwalk a lot, I would talk to people in my sleep and I would often scream in my sleep, only remembering glimpses of the night frights I had which caused these things. My bedroom was at the end of the hallway upstairs and my sisters bedroom was to the right of mine, every day when the sun went down I would always sprint past her bedroom door to the stairs and run down them terrified I'd be chased. I felt this way because of dreams I had. Dreams of a figure in a black cloak covering them from head to toe. In the dreams I would see the figure standing in the blackness of my sisters bedroom, staring at me. One day as I walked past the room, I glanced in and my heart stopped as I saw the figure standing there, staring at me, the orange light from the street lamp shining around her as she stood there staring at me. I froze in place. My eyes wide as she stared into me. I felt a coldness. Until my sister's voice said "What the fuck are you doing?" and I looked to my left to see her at the top of the stairs, I glanced back to the room and the figure was gone. Hence why I would sprint past every time it was dark. This was when I was ages 4-7, then one day I had one last dream about the figure. I took the perspective of a parking lot CCTV, the grey image with the white noise fuzzing as a white line would skim past the image, the whole shebang. The cloaked figure approached the camera from far, my heart pounding harder and harder until the figure reached the camera, and pulled down her hood. This was when I discovered it was a woman. A woman with long black hair. A clean face and dark beady eyes. And it wasn't a cloak at all, but a long black dress. Now fast forward to me at age 15, my sister has since moved out and I've spent the past 5 years living in her room now, not a single day did I think of the woman with the long black hair since I saw her face in that dream behind the black cloak. Me and my friend were at his house, joking around, watching Terminator, we were ridiculing the jumpy 80s music that we felt now aged only dampened the intensity of the film... In front of me and to his right were two large windows across the wall, showing outside into the street. To get to the front door you had to walk past these two windows, anyone coming and going, we saw. Suddenly we heard what sounded like the front door open, it had the squelching sound a refrigerator has due to the plastic suction along the hinges. We both looked to each other confused and then we heard the door suddenly slam shut and a cold breeze rushed through the house, we both grabbed the closest things to us, for me, hair straighteners from his mums coffee table, for him, an empty bottle of coke. With our new weapons we walked through the doorway and down the corridor to the door. I peaked through the peephole and saw nothing, we turned and his mum left her room shouting at us "Stop fucking with the door the pair of you!", even more confused, we said "It wasn't us... Was it not you?", she scoffed and told us to quieten down before she returned to her bedroom. We walked back into the living room completely freaked out, we both heard it, and so did his mum, so we weren't loopy. We wondered what had happened for nearly an hour before I walked to the front door, ready to leave, before hearing a noise come from outside, I looked through the peephole and my friend flicked the light switch off, I turned back and gave him a funny look, "Don't do that", I remarked before looking back to the peephole and suddenly shooting back terrified as I saw a blonde woman stood in the light of the porchlight staring at the peephole, I screamed and backed away, he jumped back confused and I took a breath before opening the door really quick. The woman stood there looking horrified, she then asked "Is Nicky there?", my friend's mum, we let her in... Just a false scare, she wasn't a demon or a ghost, but she wasn't what was here an hour ago. We laughed it off and I went home. Later that night I was on webcam with a girl I had recently started speaking to, we barely knew each other really, all I knew was she was a religious nut and never lied about anything and all she knew about me was I was famous at school for being the class clown. We talked and talked for a few hours before my grandmother text me asking for my birthdate, but not the date, the specific time I was born... I had no idea, so I walked downstairs to ask my dad, he looked over for a mere moment before answering "I dunno, check the baby book". So I did. I found out and text her back, I spoke to my dad for a few minutes before returning to my bedroom to talk to my female friend. I sat down and she looked up from her phone and casually mentioned "Your mum was looking for you, did you see her?". "Huh?" "Your mum, she walked in looking for you" "What'd you mean?" "She came in and looked around for a moment and as she looked at the camera I covered mine and looked down at my phone, I looked back up a few seconds later and she walked out" This was weird for a few reasons. 1. My mum wasn't home, she was in London for a business meeting, 2. I was with my dad downstairs who was the only other person in the house... and 3. because of her answer when I then asked what she looked like... A woman with long black hair in a long black dress.


“MOM! WHERE ARE YOU?”, a little boy shouts. A war is taking place in the middle of a city. Debris is flying everywhere. There are demons, warriors, and wizards as far as one can see. The sun is barely shining through the dense clouds. A voice yells “IT IS DONE!”, followed by a female voice “What is it, Damon?” “It is a way to end the war, Nursha.” Damon is a fair built man, around mid 20’s. He has noticeable small horns on his head and a pitch black tail with a point on the end. He is wearing a pair of black pants and a dark gray t-shirt. Nursha is a petite lady, also in the mid 20’s, and is wearing an all white dress with red accents. She can be seen wielding a staff that has a small red cross on the top. “Bill, I’m going to need your dagger.” Damon says, while holding out his hand. Bill, a large guy in heavy gray armor with a sword that's nearly as large as him, says “I lost mine during a fight with a demon not too long ago. Maybe Izrid still has his.” Izrid, a guy who is about the same size as Damon and in dark blue robes and holding a book, searches himself to see if he still has his dagger. He finds it and hands it to Damon. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Bill says. Damon takes the dagger and turns towards a machine that's as big as him. “I have programmed this device to isolate the demon DNA in me and send out an impulse. Anything that contains any demon DNA will be vaporized.” He takes the dagger and cuts a small sliver into his palm, dropping some blood into a small vile. “So all I need to do is give it something to use as a base to analyze and hit start.” “But what about you?” Nursha exclaims worriedly. “There is only one thing that can and will happen.” After realizing what he means, she shouts, “No. No, no, YOU CAN’T DO THIS! THERE HAS TO BE ANOTHER WAY!” “I’ve checked all of the other possibilities, this is the only way without sacrificing anymore people to this damn war.” He turns around to face Nursha while hitting ‘start’ on the screen, the machine starts to whirr and charge up. “Everything will be fine, I will still be a happy man knowing that you’re still alive, I promise.” Bill walks over to Nursha and says ”He knows what he is doing. We'll all miss him. Right, Izrid?” Izrid silently nods. “See? Even Izrid understands that there is nothing else we can do. It will be fine.” “It is almost charged.” Damon says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope. “Here, I've been meaning to give you this for a while. Don't read it until everything is over.” As he handed the letter to Nursha, the machine starts to crackle with energy. “It's time for me to go now. One last thing Nursha, I knew the whole time.” The machine sends out a huge shockwave and as soon as hits Damon, smiling ear to ear, Nursha yells “NO!” and tries to grab him. But she grabbed nothing but the envelope and air. As the shockwave travels, demons start disappearing into thin air. Screams of joy erupt as people start cheering. “WE DID IT!” Many soldiers yell. “It’s over. That idiot actually pulled it off.” Bill says. “Let’s head home. We all know Damon wouldn’t want us grieving. He would say something like ‘Don’t mourn my death, rather, celebrate my life.’ or, something like that.” “You’re right. It’s time we head home. Let’s go Izrid.” Nursha says as she wipes tears off her face. ONE YEAR LATER A statue of Damon was built and sits in the middle of the town square. Nursha, who is in her casual clothes, blue jeans and a white shirt with a red cross, walks up to the statue. “Bill and Izrid couldn’t make it. It’s been a year since then. After I told the king what happened, he demanded that a statue must be built immediately. I was trying to tell him not to worry about, but said ‘He is a hero! Heroes must be honored!’ So I told him it was fine then. I haven’t read the letter yet, I’m scared of what it will say, what did you write? Maybe I should it read it now?” She grabs the letter from her pocket and hesitantly opened it. The reads “You never had to say anything to me. I always knew how you felt about me. You are probably reading this about a year later, after you told the king what happened, a statue of me was built, and you are still sad that I am gone. All I have to say is this. I felt the same way towards you since the first time we met, but I knew what I was, what was coming, and what I would have to do. That's why I never bothered. It would have been worse on both of us. Stop being sad. Be a happy little healer. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.” As she closes the letter, a flower floats by and lands at her feet. She picks it up, stares at it for a minute, and then places it at the base of the statue. “You were always good at predicting what will happen.” She says as she places the flower. She stands and starts to walk off. As she does, she smiles with a single tear going down her face. “I guess this really is goodbye.


“Groceries?” my father called from the armchair. This was his way of asking if I had remembered to purchase groceries for the two of us on my walk home from school. A single word was all he could spare. I watched a spiral of thick yellow cigarette smoke drift from his mouth and meld into the ceiling before replying. “Yes papa, I have them.” Two blonde women in bouncing bikinis were on the television. I hoped they would provide enough distraction for me to slip away. “Bring them over son,” my father said. One flabby finger clicked the off button on the remote, nearly swallowing the thing beneath folds of sweaty skin, and the girls disappeared. My heart sank but I did as commanded. I crossed the short room and placed the overstuffed plastic bags at his feet. The grocery store was six blocks away and my shoulders ached something awful. My fingers had turned to flaming concrete and they did not straighten when I dropped the bags. If the smell of cigarettes was bad, my father's breath was worse. Hot mucus. It flew into my face and up my nostrils. I sealed my lips, but did not dare flinch away. To look away from father whilst he addressed me meant certain punishment. For such a crime, I might have to wear a blindfold for the rest of the week. “Coke.” he said, not a question. I pointed out the two litre bottles of Coke-a-Cola. Three of them. Two was too few, four was too many. Buying too few bottles meant another trip to the grocery store at the very least. Too many bottles would mean having to drink the extra in one sitting. “Cookies.” I pointed them out. There were Chips-Ahoy, but cookies also meant Twinkies, Mr. Felix’s Buttercream Tarts, and a host of other baked goods. To name them all would require tremendous effort on my father’s part. ‘*Cookies’* would have to do. He considered my offering. “No ice cream.” Sweat broke on my forehead. This was the part I had been dreading since the moment I saw the empty freezer shelf. My father weighed over three hundred pounds, and to rise from his chair required several seconds of intense effort. Only by heaving back and forth, using his own weight to catapult himself forward, was he able to rise from bed or stand out of his chair. The time it took him to stand was all the time I had to defend my actions. Once he was standing, a punishment was delivered without exception. Either for the crime of disobedience or for the crime of taking too long to explain. “They were out,” I said. The store was not completely out of ice cream, of course, but No Frills *was* out of triple chocolate fudge brownie with chunks of cookie dough. The cashier mentioned that she had just sold the last tub to the customer before me. Then she asked, as they often did, why I was shopping alone. I answered as I had been taught to: ‘*My dad is sick and my mom ran out on us when I was a little kid’*. My father stopped his rocking, but did not settle back into his seat. I was not free yet. “So what?” he said. “I got extra Mr. Felix’s.” I pulled one flap of the grocery bag away to reveal the extra box of sweets and my father relaxed. I was safe. With the trouble of the ice cream out of the way, I breathed a sigh of relief. My father, perhaps noticing that I was no longer worried, hit a button on the remote control. The bikini girls were kissing. “Eggs,” he said. I showed him the eggs. After a pause of inspection, the Tv clicked off. My heart skipped, then took off. “These...,“ he said slowly, “are the wrong eggs.” My blood went cold. I snatched the carton, careful not to break a single shell. I read the label frantically as my father restarted the heaving process. “No,” I said, trying to interrupt the squeaking hinges of his chair. “No. These are right. These are…” But they were the wrong eggs. My father required twelve extra-large, free range, brown eggs from Campbell’s Farm. He required the expiration date to be no less than a week into the future, and for the price to be no more than $3.50 even though I was the one paying. The eggs were white. “No,” I moaned, “I’m sorry, I’ll go back. I’ll leave right now. Please.” “These are the wrong eggs,” my father repeated. He managed to get his hulking frame out of the armchair and his mass was such that I was forced backward against the television. I would go back to the store tonight, we both knew that, but not before being punished. “Come,” he said, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder. I was eleven years old, and all I had ever known was to obey the command of adults. I was as likely to consider disobeying my father was as I was to consider swallowing my Canadian History textbook. He guided me to the kitchen. One hand was locked on my feeble shoulder, the other held the offending egg carton. “Sit,” he said, directing me to a chair at the kitchen table. I sat. I whimpered, and my whimpers became tears which became heaving sobs, but despite my fear I did not dare move. To move from the chair before being excused would mean being forced to sit there for a whole day, even if I had to go to the bathroom. I did not know what punishment my father had in mind this time. This was a rule I had not broken before. My father lumbered to the corner cupboard. Bending at the hip, a task of not inconsiderable difficulty for him, he retrieved a blue plastic bowl, a white dinner plate, and a worn frying pan. He put the frying pan on the stove, and the plate and bowl off to the side. He removed one white egg from the carton, cracked it, fed the runny yolk into the pan, tossed the shells in the garbage bowl, then picked out another egg. He repeated this cycle a dozen times. When all twelve eggs were in the pan, he turned the burner on medium and whisked the eggs with a fork. The result was a yellowy soup. He did not so much as look at me while he prepared the dish. “Please papa,” I cried. “Don’t punish me, I’m sorry. Please.” I was ignored. A robin landed on the window sill outside and my father thumped the glass, scaring it away. When the yellow soup had gone spongy, my father salted and peppered it, then took a bottle of ketchup from the fridge and applied a generous helping to the edge of the plate. Then he slid the tremendous omelet from the frying pan. It landed on the plate with a wet slap. The firm eggs looked like earwax but smelled fine enough. If father had added something to the omelette, something bad, it was odourless. He sat in the chair opposite mine, the only other place at the table. It groaned in protest, as chairs often did when my father sat in them, but did not break. “Eat,” he said. But he did not present me with the titanic omelet. He gave me the bowl of shells. “Papa, please.” He did not answer. Instead, my father carefully carved a generous slice of egg with his butter knife, drowned it in his pile of ketchup, and plunged the wedge into his mouth. “If you don’t eat it all before I’m done,” he said, displaying a mouthful of yellow slush, “You’ll get another bowl when you come back with the right eggs.” “Papa I can’t…” He leaned across the table and slapped me. Then he belched, souring the air. My cheek burned from the slap and my eyes stung with heavy tears. I chose a medium sized white shard and placed it on my tongue. It had no taste. I closed my mouth and swished it around a little. The shell was sharp, and cut my tongue. “Ow,” I squealed, holding one hand to my cheek. “Chew,” my father said through a second mouthful. I chewed. It was like chomping down on glass. My blood mixed with the sharp fragments of shell to produce a coppery swill. “Swallow.” I swallowed. Ants bit my throat all the way down. “Good boy,” he said. *He’s already a quarter done,* I realized, staring at father’s plate. *I better hurry.* My trembling hands selected another hunk of shell and as I stuffed it into my bleeding mouth my free hand was already picking another piece. It cut my finger tips, drawing more of my blood. “Brown eggs,” my father said, and took another bite.


\*\*\* Wars. Throughout the thousands of years I've lived, it's wars that seem to bind mankind through the ages. It's where I'd first met Marcellus, after our army won the battle against Carthage. It's how I'd fatefully meet him again 2,000 years into the future. But first, let's go back to the beginning. During this fateful day in 241 BC, one of my commanders presented me a young man with a noose around his neck. This was Marcellus, a ranking officer of the Carthaginian army. Seeing that the war was already won, I ordered the general to stop tugging on the rope, and to set this man free. There was no need for more prisoners. "Thank you, lord," Marcellus said, in our mother tongue of Latin. "Please allow me to repay you in kind." He stepped forward and grasped at the sharp edge of my commander's gladius. Blood trickled down his fingers in crimson rivulets. "This is a blessing reserved only for the purest of hearts—" Before Marcellus could finish his sentence, my general had tightened his grip on the rope and wailed on the man before sending him face first into the dirt. Weirdly enough, the man did not seem to mind at all. I waved for my officer to stand down. Marcellus stood back up and took my hand, unperturbed by the swords drawn and thrust at his neck. "I am Marcellus," he said, "and today, I trade you the best gift in the world in exchange for sparing me imprisonment." My chest hummed the moment he spoke those words. I had no way of expressing it at the time, but by today's standards, it'd be like standing in front of a subwoofer. He then walked away without looking back. *Looking back*, now that's a term for the ages. Every time I look back to this day, I wish I had not shaken his hand. In fact, I wish I had locked him up and left him to rot. \*\*\* Maybe I should fast-forward a little, forgive my play on words. This is America, and it's the year 2020. I wasn't always a citizen of this country, as much as my name wasn't Eric until about 80 years ago. I was born Epictetus in 284 BC, a full 20 years before the Punic Wars. I know what you're thinking. *Is this guy for real?* And perhaps, after you're ready to humour me, you'd think, *I wonder what he thinks about modern plumbing or the iPhone.* Well, how do *you* feel about the iPhone? That's assuming you're old enough to have witnessed its before-and-after effects on mankind. Oh, don't get so uptight about my remark. Age is *very* relative when it comes to conversations with me. I'm guessing you've grown to take this piece of technology for granted. Well, so have I. Paper money, gunpowder, electricity—they've all came and went so slowly that they've lost their magic, even to someone like me. I'm just like you. Only I've lived longer. I came to America by chance, really. Once personal identification became a thing, it took considerably more effort to remain anonymous. I mean, it wasn't exactly the easiest thing to explain why my papers were always hundreds of years old. But I won't bore you with the details. I've stories that date back through the millennia, so pardon me if I occasionally digress. Now, where was I? Oh yes, America. \*\*\* Let's take one more step back to the 1940s. I had become a lone traveller by now, having known better than to make friends, with my condition and all. I'd loved and lost seven wives by then, all without children, due to my fear of passing down this disease. I was tempted to 'convert' my seventh wife, Lea, and I came clean to her on her deathbed. I'm immortal, I told her, and we could live together for as long as we can imagine. "Oh darling," Lea said, in German, "I have loved you my whole life, but give me eternity and I might well jump at your throat. Let me go. Let me remember you like this." I don't know if she had believed me, that she had really meant those words. But I knew I couldn't go through with it even if she wanted to. Everything changes when you have an eternity ahead of you—everything. Even the word 'meaning' becomes pointless after some time. I watched Lea die that night, and I vowed never to love anyone again.


Bick pushed the hatch closed on the back of his beat up Jeep Cherokee, sending up a little prayer that he hadn’t overloaded his old friend as the latch clasped shut with a satisfying snap. He walked around the front and pushed the keys into the ignition, giving the car a little gas to bring it to life. As the engine purred, or rather rattled, he let go of the keys and the breath he had been holding hesitantly as if doing either too quickly would kill the Jeep’s drive for life. “Are you ready to go yet?” Bick shouts out the window. Across the yard, Amber is holding up a camera pointing at herself. She looks over at the loaded car with a scowl. “Seriously Bicky? You can see I’m still vlogging right?” Amber yells back as she lowers the camera and turns it over to check the footage. “Ugh, I am going to have to record that again now. Thanks I didn’t want to put in a ton of cuts but the sound quality is going to be ass now thanks to your car.” “Sorry babe, just film the outro inside…”Bick started to suggest but his words were apparently just for himself as the front door slammed closed before he could finish. Bick leaned back in his seat and knowingly turns the car back off. He had become used to Amber’s constant vlogging of her life, tolerated her “off brand” outbursts of anger, and had become a costume to the major personality change he had seen from her since her Youtube channel had started trending. Her attitude today was nothing new but he had hoped her happy face would have kept up a bit longer through the day as they prepared to move in together. He chalked it up to stress since it certainly couldn’t be exhaustion as she didn’t help pack or lift a single thing even though they were only moving *her* stuff into the new apartment today. Twenty minutes later, Amber appears at the door again holding her camera up on a selfie stick as she walks down the sidewalk with a small box propped up on her hip. Bick could tell from the car she had taken off some of her makeup and redid her hair to make it look like she had been doing more than sitting on the computer and looking at Instagram while he cleared out her whole room himself. Her room mates, fellow bloggers, were all dutifully gathered at the door waving goodbye and looking like they might cry. Bick waited until Amber was in the car and the camera was down before he dared to start it back up again. This time the cold engine gave a bit more of a whine then it did the first time. “Looks like they are all going to miss you,” Bick comments cautiously as the girls all immediately disappear and slam the door closed again before they had even left the driveway. “They’ll miss doing colabs with me all the time trying to skim my viewers,” Amber said as she threw her camera down into her purse and pulled down the mirror to check her makeup. “Freaking Gabi even asked for me to do a video for her snapchat story before I left. She’s never going to break a million followers.” “I don’t know, Gabi’s channel is a little niche but I like that she does crafting videos instead of just makeup or vlogs or whatever like all of the other channels do…What?” Bick asks as he catches Amber’s gaze out of the corner of his eye as he maneuvers the trailer out into traffic. “Nothing, it doesn’t even matter,” Amber says as she looks back down at her phone. A pregnant pause grows between them as they drive down the road. “It’s just that I can’t believe you think her content is good. She repaints dolls. It’s weird not artsy or whatever. She acts like she’s a makeup channel because she redoes eye shadow or dyes doll hair.” “I didn’t say I would watch it all the time, I just said I thought it was cool her channel is so unique.” “M’kay,” Amber responses before she flips her camera back on to get some driving footage. Bick breathed a sigh of relief as they pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex. The parking lot was a lot tighter here than the driveway they had just pulled out of and he creeped through the parking lot slowly, giving Amber time to point her camera at him again. “Are you ready to see the place?” Amber says behind the camera. “Bick. Answer.” “Yeah,” he says absent mindedly. “Ok, I am going to need you to sound way more excited,” Amber explained hurriedly, a tint of annoyance hitting her voice. “Do it again.” “I am trying to concentrate on not hitting any of these cars….” The red light starts blinking in the corner of his eye. “Oh man I am so excited to get unloaded! It’s a dream babe.” As they pull up in front of the building with the single units, Bick notices a small crowd waiting around in the parking lot. He recognized them as some of the guys from a big prank channel that Amber had colabed with a few times in the past. They were all immature assholes but at least they would have some help moving all of the furniture upstairs. “Did you invite the guys from the Crew 10 channel to come over?” “Yeah, I figured I’d need some help getting all my stuff moved in,” Amber said with a shrug. “Stay in the car while I give them the camera, okay?” Bick shrugged as Amber rang out with her purse, and handed the camera over. She stood talking to the guys who were all named something like Chad or Paul or something equally douchey before they walked over to the bottom unit and unlock the door. Bick frowns and throws the car door open. “Hey, wait guys. I think the landlord must have given us the wrong keys. We rented out the top unit right there,” Bick explained as he jogged over to the group. Behind him the rest of the guys descended on his car, pulling boxes and pillows out of the back. “No, YOU rented out the top unit. I rented out this bottom one,” Amber said with a laugh. “What are you talking about?” Bick said, stopping short of her, still in the parking lot. “I’m not moving in with you Bick. Why would I need to? Do you know how much money I make from ads and sponsorships?” Amber said walking towards him. Chad or whatever followed her with the camera and stopped so she could turn and look at it. “I am a strong independent woman and I don’t need you to take care of me. We are over.” The Crew 10 guys busted out into a chorus of ooooos behind them, stopping their frantic unpacking to jump around like idiots. Bick clutched his hands into fists at his side as a cold sweat broke over him. “Why are you doing this?” Bick asked quietly, the burning in his stomach quickly becoming a river of ice through his veins, turning his blind rage into calm disdain. “I don’t want you riding on the coattails of my success anymore, honestly it’s sad,” Amber said. “Riding on the…Girl you need a major reality check. I supported you for two years while you sat unemployed talking to your camera,” Bick said as he started taking steps back away from her, acutely aware of why the Crew 10 guys were now unloading her stuff so fast. She was afraid he would drive off with her things, like he wanted any of her shit. “Petty talk like that just makes you look like a dick. You need to grow a pair and get your own dreams. I think you’ll be a happier person for it,” Amber said as she started walking over to check on the growing pile of stuff, apparently dismissing him. “You were my dream,” Bick muttered as he stalked back to the driver’s side of his Jeep. Chad followed him around with the camera, causing his anger to bubble up all at once to the surface. “KEEP THAT SHIT OUT OF MY FACE AND GET HER SHIT OUT OF MY CAR NOW,” he yelled at no one in particular as he got into the front seat, starting the car and slamming it into gear. Twelve days later Bick is lying in bed when his phone lights up with a text. Randal \[Have you seen the video?\] \[Yeah when she put it up last week\] Bick Randal \[No. The one CueStar just put up\] \[No. I’m trying not to watch that crap\]Bick Randal \[Amber lost all of her sponsors!\] \[youtube.link\] \[What? I’ll watch it now. Hold Up.\] Bick He smashes the link and turns the volume up on his phone. “Hey Cueballs, it’s your guy with the news, Cuestar. Today all of the internet has their eyes set on former beauty guru and all around shit person Amber Beck. It seems we have an update to the story I covered last week. For those of you not in the know, Amber put up a ‘prank video’ titled TRICKED MY BF INTO THINKING WE WERE MOVING IN TOGETHER THEN DUMPED HIM…EPIC FREAK OUT. Well she apologized for it saying it was “all in joke everyone was in on” but sources close to her have confirmed that her boyfriend shown in the video in fact had no idea. The big news today ladies and gents though is that along with losing her channel for promoting bullying, she has also lost all of her sponsors on Instagram and is seeing the largest unfollowing ever. That’s right Amber Beck has been canceled! Her ex roommate Gabi also put up a video….” \[Don’t tell me karma doesn’t exist\]Bick Randal \[Yeah, it is pretty hilarious\] \[I’m guessing this is why she texted me wanting to get back together. Always tryingto use me for something…\]Bick Randal \[Oh man! What did you say back?\] \[I just ignored it. I have a date tonight\] Bick   This post was a special request. Love you Bicky.


The liquid inside the bottle glowed in azure. "Thank you", Ahia mouthed to Tiapin. That was all she could think of when she finally held the bottle with the cauldron-warm potion in her hand. "Remember to not let your friend drink all of it at once. Sip by sip is the ideal way", Tiapin repeated. Only now did Ahia realize that Tiapin didn't look like a wizard at all. He looked like a totally normal human man in his fourties, except he actually was 173 years old. Her mental image of a wizard had been a crazy old man with a long white beard who stood on his green glowing cauldron all day. "Alright. Sip by sip", Ahia confirmed and left the cabin. This potion was supposed to heal one of the most dangerous wounds a person could have. The arrow had barely missed Kagros's heart and Ahia had no idea when Kagros would wake up. He had lost a great amount of blood and if anything else happened additionally, the silk string his life was hanging on would break once and for all. No, she couldn't think about death. Kagros wouldn't die. He had survived worse things - or had he? Ahia's eyes slowly filled with tears. What if someone had wanted to get Kagros out of their way? Had he found out about a truth he wasn't supposed to know? Was it about the liquid he had brought to Meriman? Or did they want Kagros's death for a totally simple reason? The street Meriman lived on came into view. Her house was just half a mile away, and yet, Ahia felt as though she wasted her time on this dreadfully long walk. She sped up her pace - every second counted. Purna was awaiting her in front of Meriman's door. Ahia began to run as fast as she could, ready to hand the blue glowing potion to Purna to heal Kagros's wounds. Suddenly, as she took another step, she wasn't able to complete it. Instead of moving forward, her foot hit a big and heavy stone lying on the road. Ahia grabbed the bottle with the potion as tight as she could and tried to keep it as far away from the road as possible while she fell to the ground. Not even a second after, an arrow crashed down from above and landed inches beside her. Purna immediately realized that by tripping over the stone, Ahia had dodged an arrow. Now there wasn't any doubt left for her: an ominous sniper was trying to get both Kagros and Ahia out of their way. She rushed over to Ahia and quickly created a bright flashing light in order to blind the sniper. "See him?", she asked. "Where?" Ahia was too confused to know what had happened. "You've been about to get shot an arrow at too." On the roof of the house two houses from Meriman's, a few clapping of clothes could be heard as the person the clothes belonged to disappeared into the darkness. After a few seconds of realizing, gratefulness took over Ahia. "Well, thank you for saving my life." "You're welcome. Your death would have been a huge loss for us." Purna's usual personality didn't leave many other conclusions than that she was kidding, but she reacted to Ahia's suspicious facial expression with bare seriousness. "I mean it. We can't bear to lose another life." Another life? Ahia's heart contracted.


On the 50th anniversary of the sensational Zodiac killing spree, a cold case detective from the San Francisco PD pulled out the dusty boxes of official records. They hadn’t been touched in years; and the killer himself was presumed dead or incapacitated by advanced age. There were as many suspects as there were theories but the last time anyone had worked the case was in the early 1990’s. Since then, DNA genotyping has exploded and forensic science had advanced in leaps and bounds. Amazingly, the original envelopes and morbid correspondence sent from the killer to various media outlets were still there, turning yellow in the evidence boxes. With millions of people participating in ancestry tracing programs, there is a huge DNA database of family links. Of course those are conducted through ‘private’ organizations but hundreds of cold cases are solved each year with their cooperation and discreet assistance. Detective Tim Rand got into law enforcement with the goal of helping people. He also enjoyed challenges and solving mysteries. The Zodiac case was one of the most infamous, unsolved crimes in the world. He figured he would take a crack at it himself. With modern science, he hoped to see if it could be used to do what thousands of hours of old-fashioned detective work, could not. Of course countless people had been in contact with the evidence over the years. From postal sorters, mail carriers, mailroom staff at the newspapers, the secretaries for the editors, and more than a dozen lab techs and detectives, the chances of having uncontaminated DNA was unlikely. Honestly, it was pretty slim but it was worth a try. If it failed, he’d just chunk the papers back in their boxes and put them on the shelf for the next eager sleuth to crack the case. The lab attendant rolled his eyes in frustrated annoyance when the detective explained what tests he wanted performed. The technician knew all-too-well how many random sets of unrelated DNA would be found on that pile of evidence. Tim had a clever solution to the issue. “Cross reference all samples found on all the letters. The Zodiac send his cyphers and correspondence to several different media outlets and individuals. He enjoyed taunting the editors of different newspapers and the detectives assigned to the case when it was an active investigation. The only DNA thread they should all have in common, is him.” As incredible as it might’ve seemed, there was only one set of common DNA for all samples! It was just like he had predicted. Detective Rand had stumbled onto the first major break in the case in nearly 30 years. The forensic team were honestly impressed with the heightened potential for linking the evidence to the unknown killer. They recorded the DNA sequence and approached their contacts within the ancestry database for an official ‘rush job’. Even with amazing lucky breaks, they were still highly guarded with their enthusiasm for a match to be made. It therefore came as a great shock when a direct match was made in only a couple days. Greater still was the impact of learning the identity of the DNA match for all 14 known pieces of authenticated Zodiac evidence. No one was ready for the truth and the push back by the authorities was considerable. The profile was a 99% match to the chief of police of San Francisco at the time of the crimes! At first the laboratory dismissed the shocking revelation as accidental evidence contamination. That explanation would’ve made sense but it was eventually disproven. The chief had stated formally in his memoirs that he always left the investigative work to his detective team. He even went so far as to declare that he never meddled in any of their open cases. If so, there wouldn’t be any logical reason for his DNA to be on every single piece of Zodiac evidence. Internal affairs stepped in when they caught wind of the mounting evidence. The ‘boys in blue’ were known to protect their own, especially the higher up officials who retired, or had passed away. There was an unspoken protocol that their law enforcement legacies were cemented in stone and beyond reproach. Damning evidence like the former chief’s DNA being directly linked to the Zodiac was hard to ignore and even harder to suppress. Detective Rand just wanted the truth to come out but a revelation like that would surely cause backlash and heads to roll. The chief himself had died a dozen years earlier but many of his contemporaries were still around. A few younger officers who worked under him were still on the force. They were going to chafe at the accusations against their former boss. By all accounts, he was a well liked and respected senior officer. It was going to be a tough sell to convince the public, even though it was the truth. Tim had to find corroborating evidence to tie him to the disturbing series of crimes. Without that, he’d be dismissed as a reckless rookie with penchant for throwing veteran officers under the bus. That’s what they would say. That he did it just to make a ‘name’ for himself. The biggest question of all was ‘why’? Why would an officer that swore to ‘protect and serve’, lead a secret life as a serial killer? It made no sense. The man spent almost 40 years in law enforcement. At times Tim wanted to chalk it up to a crazy coincidence but some of the evidence they tested hadn’t even been available to the San Francisco PD during the active investigation phase. A few of the letters from the Zodiac were sent to neighboring police departments and had only been released to him the previous week for the testing. His highly unusual suspect had never legally been in contact with them, yet his DNA was on all. As is often the case with big city government organizations, they had yet to completely digitize their old records. Detective Rand filtered through mountains of dusty records for the chief’s sign-in sheets for the time periods in question. While they couldn’t prove or disprove his guilt, it would shed light on whether he was officially ‘on duty’ during the known crimes. Secretly, Tim hoped the Chief was signed in during some of them to disprove the allegations but in every single instance, he was officially out-of-the-office. He hoped he was wrong but It looked very bad. The fact that the Chief fit the general appearance of eyewitness accounts of the Zodiac was another troubling element that couldn’t be dismissed. Research into the Chief’s past also revealed he was a Korean War veteran. As a Navy signal man, he would have been well acquainted with code symbols and cryptology similar to the cyphers the Zodiac sent. All of those things added up to compelling circumstantial evidence but it wouldn’t be an open and shut case without the DNA association. That made things difficult to deny. Tim spoke to a number of old timers from the department about their memories of the investigation but he was careful to avoid implicating their former Chief. Most just offered a general commentary about the shocking crimes but one of them mentioned the Chief personally. It proved to be a very revealing interview. Interesting, the retired lieutenant thought the Chief’s reaction to one of the gruesome crimes was ‘odd’. He said he had an odd grin on his face when informed about the taxi driver’s murder the night before. The lieutenant assumed the Chief was simply amused by an earlier event, but felt it was strange that he continued to smile, long after informed about the murder. At no point did the pleasant gentleman suspect the former police chief of any wrongdoing. He just shared the strange anecdote from 50 years earlier because it stuck him as a strange reaction. Only detective Rand would’ve been able to use that offhand testimony, in an official capacity. Tim thanked him for his time and made plans to interview the most important person yet in his undercover investigation. The Chief’s widow resided in the suburbs and was reportedly still ‘sharp’. Tim put a great deal of thought and planning into his ‘game plan’. He wanted to ask important questions without clueing her in to the delicate and very personal subject of his investigation. It was going to be a balancing act. He called in advance to make an appointment to speak with her. He explained he’d inherited several cold cases and merely wanted to ask her recollections on them. It was all presented as a casual chat. She invited him to come by at noon. Tim felt she was probably very eager to have company in her advanced age. He arrived a couple minutes early and rang the doorbell. She opened the door and invited him in. Seated on the sofa across from her, she surprised him when her demeanor immediately changed. “Young man, why don’t you come clean for your reason to visit me? I’ve been the wife of a lawman too long to fall for ‘the casual chat’ ruse. My husband practically invented that interrogation technique.” Tim started to feign ignorance or protest but stopped himself. She saw through the facade. It was clear to both of them that he had some uncomfortable, indiscreet questions to ask, and she wanted him to just cut to the chase. Her ‘no nonsense’ attitude was both admirable and intimidating. He had spent so much time working on a strategy that he was unprepared to dive right in. “You came to ask me something about my husband. Something so disturbing that you are avoiding the subject entirely. I can see it in your eyes. Are you sure you want to know the answer? Once you discover the backbone to ask, I’m going to tell you. The question is, what will the truth do? Will it bring you fame? Will it solve a series of nearly forgotten crimes where even the victim’s families are probably long dead? Will it besmirch and tarnish my dead husband’s memory and celebrated police career? Yes. The answers to all those things, is yes.” Detective Rand was at a loss for words. The Chief’s widow had all but confirmed what he already knew. Up until that moment he had hoped for an unlikely but plausible explanation for the damning evidence against the man. Instead, she sewed up the case in a tight little package for him. The information came so freely that he was unprepared to handle it. “Down in the cellar there is a large cardboard box marked ‘decorations’. It contains a black hood, a pistol, several pieces of stained material, a number of library books on code writing and cryptology, and a personal diary. If the handwriting and substance of that journal were analyzed by experts, they would find that it is consistent with the letters you have in your possession from the Zodiac killer. They would also agree that it perfectly matches the handwriting of my late husband.” Tim sat there speechless. He stared into her eyes while trying to absorb the incredible revelation she had just disclosed to him. For the briefest of moments he worried she had unveiled the dark truth because she didn’t intend to let him leave, alive. “I didn’t always know. I suspected. I really did, but like most people I was in a deep form of denial about it. He went through strange mood swings. He was obsessed with the case in a way that surpassed any officer’s level of professional commitment. His behavior was highly bizarre and erratic at times, but then again he was obviously affected by the war. It changed him. I couldn’t bring myself to consciously suspect he was ‘The Zodiac’, but deep down I suppose I always knew. When I found his secret box down there, I was devastated because I could no longer deny it anymore. I couldn’t begin to answer why he did any of it but his journal probably spells it out pretty well. I couldn’t bear to read beyond the first couple pages. I just put it back in the box and pretended it wasn’t there. It was his dark little secret and I wanted no part of it. We never spoke about it. I was secretly terrified of the man I slept beside until the day he died.” Detective Rand stood up. He had a lot to process. She looked up at him with a steely glint. “Young man, what do you plan to do with this information? I’m a feeble old woman with terminal cancer. I can’t take a media circus or the public shaming of the news media. At best, the doctor’s say I only have a few months left. I am grateful to unburden myself about this to you. I guess you are my official confessor. Will you sit on this ugly secret about my husband until I pass? What’s a couple more months? Revealing the truth now won’t bring back any of those poor souls. I’d just like to go to my grave without being dragged through the mud.” Tim nodded. The confirmed identity of the Zodiac killer was now his burden the bear. He could keep the lab technicians and internal affairs quiet until it was the right time to reveal the truth. In the meantime he had plenty of other cases to work.


Hey there, you are my number neighbor! You don’t have to reply. Just hope you have a good day (Me) **Lol thanks. Hi.** **(418-555-1927)** **What is a number neighbor?** **(418-555-1927)** Lol sorry. It’s a Twitter thing. I didn’t think you’d answer to be honest. (Me) **Gotcha. I don’t use Twitter much.** **Too political.** **(418-555-1927)** I get that. Well there is trend going around on it where You text or call the phone number that is one up or down From your number and see what happens. (Me) **Oh I get it. Your number is 1928 so me** **And whoever owns 1929 are your number neighbors** **(418-555-1927)** Right. Anyway sorry about bugging you With such a silly thing. (Me) **It’s cool. I’m Jared btw.** **(418-555-1927)** I’m Victoria. Nice to meet you lol. (Me) **You too. I do have to go back to work now though.** **Have a good day number neighbor.** **(418-555-1927)** 2 days later **Hey number neighbor. I got back on Twitter just** **To see what you were talking about. I thought you had** **made it up to be honest.** **(418-555-1927)** Oh hey! Lol really? (Me) **Yeah. Did you see where someone** **Adopted their number neighbor’s dog?** **(418-555-1927)** OMG yes! So sweet. (Me) **Some of those threads were crazy.** **Most people’s neighbors were just** **their family though.** **(418-555-1927)** Yeah. That makes sense I guess. I saw a DJ get hired out of it though! Super cool. (Me) **I didn’t see that one.** **Are we in the same area?** **(418-555-1927)** Maybe? Unless you bought your number And moved. You aren’t military or something right? (Me) **Nah. I’m a college student.** **(418-555-1927)** Oh cool, me too. (Me) **That’s good. I suddenly had a freak out** **worrying you were a high school kid.** **(418-555-1927)** Lol or an old lady. (Me) **That I could deal with. Underage and** **I was going to block you immediately.** **(418-555-1927)** Haha no. I’m 22. Nice to know you aren’t creepy. Keep the neighborhood clean. (Me) Hey I gotta ghost. Talk later? (Me) **Sure. Take it easy.** **(418-555-1927)** Several Weeks Later Victoria closed her laptop and slipped it into her waiting backpack. Jenna, her closest college friend and study buddy, looked up from her notes or rather her phone which was sitting on top of her notes. “Are you heading out for your date?” Jenna asked quietly. “It’s not a date,” Victoria said. “How long have you two been texting?” Jenna said. “Like three weeks,” Victoria said with a shrug, as she packed up her notes. “What’s his middle name?” Jenna asked. “Reed,” Victoria answered. “Yeah, it’s a date,” Jenna said raising her eyebrows knowingly. “I have to head out either way,” Victoria said. “Where are you meeting him?” “At a coffee place that’s only an hour away.” “Is it that same place you met that other guy Matt or Blake or whatever?” “Taylor… but yeah.” “Uh-huh. Make sure he buys your coffee if you are going all that way. And text me that you are safe. I don’t want him to kidnap you.” “I don’t think you have to worry about that. I will text though, promise.” “Yeah well, don’t let this one stand you up. I can’t believe how many dates you go on that you never hear from again.” “It’s a tragedy,” Victoria replied as she hiked the backpack strap over her shoulder. “Well if you ever want to switch teams I am here for you,” Jenna said, blowing Victoria a kiss. “Kelly would kill us both,” Victoria said with a wave as she left her friend to get ready. Are we still on for tonight? (Me) **Yeah, of course. You thinking** **of ducking out on me?** **(Jared)** Lol no. Just wanted to make sure before I get in the car. (Me) **Hopefully I’m worth the gas lol.** **(Jared)** You had better be. I’ll text when I leave. (Me) **Awesome. See you soon.** **(Jared)** Later That Evening “Did you have fun?” Jared asked as they stood in the doorway of the closing café. Behind them the lights had already dimed in the store front. “I really did. Sorry I kept you so late. I know you have a longer drive back than I do,” Victoria said apologetically. “It’s not a big deal,” Jared assured her with a smile. He was taller than Victoria thought he was going to be. She normally went for shorter guys but the dark hair and eyes were definitely her type. “Would you actually mind walking me to my car though?” Victoria asked. “Of course not. Where did you park?” Jared asked looking around the deserted parking lot. “In the next lot over. This one was really full when I showed up. You don’t mind right?” “That’s no problem still,” Jared said as they started walking to her car. “Oh! Come sit with me for a second so I can play that song I was telling you about. I can’t believe how crap the service is here,” Victoria said as the car interior lit up in response to her remote unlock. “Sure,” Jared said slipping into the passenger seat. Victoria began to dig around in her center console for the CD in question when her arm shifted and bumped his. She looked up to apologize but instead met his lips in a deep kiss. Her body immediately stiffened in surprise, causing him to start to pull away before she slipped her hand into the hair behind his head, bringing his lips back to her and deepening the kiss. Victoria shifted in her seat but just as she was beginning to relax into the embrace a hand came up to circle her throat. She tried to lean back immediately to escape the grip but that proved to be a bad, predictable move as Jared shifted his body weight forward, using his larger size to push her towards the seat. Before she could be pinned, Victoria leaned forward and punched him as hard as she could manage in the nuts. Jared let go immediately, using his hands to instead cover his groin as he sputtered in pain. This was her cue to bail from the car and make a break for it. Instead a deep, rolling laugh escaped her sore throat. Victoria leaned over in her seat, grasping her sides trying to catch her breath as tears started to run down her face. “Are you mocking me?” Jared finally managed through gritted teeth. “You tried to kill me,” Victoria answered between gasping breaths. “No I was just-“Jared started before Victoria shook her head to cut off his protest. She leaned forward in her seat to pull a baggie containing a syringe and needle out from under the seat along with a small handgun. “I was going to inject you with this tranquilizer in your leg when you were busy taking off your shirt or something before I drove you out and shot you.” “Oh my god….” Jared said his face going slack as he stared at the needle. He looked around the car for cameras before pulling a large blade from his jacket pocket. “I was going to choke you enough to knock you out before tying you up and slitting your throat. I already have a tarp set up.” Jared and Victoria blinked at each other for a few seconds before they both burst out into another fit of laughter again. “What are the chances of this?” Victoria asked setting the gun down into her lap. “I mean it has to be a fluke right?” Jared said. “Or fate.” “So what do we do now?” Jared asked, wiping the tears away from his face and setting the knife down beside him. “I thought that part would be obvious,” Victoria answered, leaning over to grab her backpack from the backseat. She pulled her phone out from the front zipper pocket, typing something on the screen before showing it to him. “You are amazing,” Jared said looking down at the screen, the light casting a sickening light on his wide grin. “Oh look, they already replied,” she said as the phone chimed in her hand. Hi number neighbor! No need to reply, just spreading some smiles. I hope you have a great night. (Me) **Oh cool. I have been wanting to** **text my number neighbor. I was afraid it would be** **a shut off number or something though.** **(418-555-1929)** Nope! I’m here. My name is Victoria. (Me) **I’m Tom.


t was the most thrilling moment of her life. Travelling to Paradise Island. The ultimate destination where you could find your happiness. If that happiness meant love, then love was what you would find. If money, then you would have money. If fame, then you would become famous. Paradise Island was a place where wishes would come true. The email said so. She received the mysterious email only two days ago. At first, she was going to delete it. Surely, this had to be a scam. Somewhere that wishes could come true! Be serious! No such place could exist. As her finger hovered over the delete key, she decided to google it. To her surprise, she found that it was legit. There was such an island and you could go there and find whatever made you happy. This was no scam. Holy shit! The thing was real. She didn’t waste any time. Booked her flight online, packed a few items of clothing and off she went to the airport. With her ticket in hand, she smiled and boarded the plane. It was a very small plane. For a moment, her smile gave way to a slight frown. ‘Excuse me,’ she said to the flight attendant, ‘am I the only passenger?’ ‘Yes,’ said the flight attendant. ‘Really?’ Suzan exclaimed. ‘I would’ve thought there’d be more people on this flight?’ The flight attendant shook her head. ‘We take one passenger at a time.’ ‘Oh, I see,’ Suzan said. ‘I guess it makes sense. More people means more wishes.’ Suzan giggled. ‘So many wishes to be granted. One wish at a time makes sense to me.’ ‘Where would you like to sit?’ asked the flight attendant. ‘Next to the window, thank you.’ ‘Follow me please. My name is Emma and I will be attending to you. Anything you need, just ask.’ ‘Thank you, I will, Suzan said as she sat down. Suzan closed her eyes and imagined herself as a famous actress. A beautiful famous actress. Why not? If you want to make a wish, then make it big. Very big. She had tried to become an actress. She took acting classes. Did some auditions. Got a couple of non-speaking acting roles. And that was it. The entertainment industry was brutally difficult to break into. She sighed and opened her eyes. Well, that is all over now. After this trip, she will conquer Hollywood. She listened to the humming of the engines. Any moment now and the plane would take off. She asked Emma, as she walked by, if she should put her seatbelt on. ‘I’ll notify you when the plane is ready to take off,’ Emma said. Suzan relaxed and let her imagination wash over her. Yes, a famous actress. Wow! She couldn’t wait to land on Paradise Island. If she could make the hands of the clock run faster, she would. She looked at her watch to check the time. *What the hell!* *An hour!* An hour had passed since she boarded the plane. No. This was wrong. She winced and tapped on her watch. It always kept correct time. It was a fancy watch that showed the date too. ‘Excuse me, Emma,’ she called the flight attendant. ‘Yes?’ ‘Why aren’t we moving?’ ‘I’ll go and check,’ Emma said. Anxiously, Suzan waited for Emma, while at the same time keeping an eye on her watch. Ten minutes. Where was she? Emma,’ Suzan called and rose from her seat. ‘Oh, there you are,’ Suzan said, seeing Emma coming out of the cockpit. ‘What’s happening?’ ‘Just a little delay. Not to worry,’ Emma assured. ‘Okay,’ Suzan said as she sat down again. The humming of the engines continued. And Suzan’s anxiety kept growing. She looked at her watch again. It was now two hours past the scheduled flight. Suzan rose from her seat to go and look for Emma. But Emma was nowhere to be seen. Suzan looked about, not knowing what exactly to do. Maybe she should go and see the pilot. Yes, that is what she should do. She made straight for the cockpit to talk to the pilot. ‘Excuse me,’ she addressed the pilot. ‘Yes,’ the pilot said, turning his head around. ‘When is this plane taking off?’ ‘We are just waiting for clearing. Hopefully very soon.’ Suzan nodded and returned to her seat. And she waited. And waited. Four hours. Eight hours. The engines were still humming. But no flight. The plane was stuck on the tarmac. This was very strange. She called for Emma and she received the same response. Soon. The pilot gave her the same response. Soon. And Suzan waited. Twenty hours. Thirty hours. The strange thing was that she didn’t feel hungry at all. Nor thirsty. She debated with herself whether she should abort her flight or stay put. But she didn’t want to let go of her wish. She wanted to be an actress. A famous actress. A beautiful famous actress. And the only way to become a beautiful famous actress was to catch this flight to Paradis Island. She wanted to scream at the pilot or whoever was responsible for the delay. ‘Oh, for the love of god, take off,’ Suzan finally screamed. No, this wasn’t working. She had been on this plane for forty-eight hours. Enough was enough. Damn with the wish. Suzan got up from her seat. ‘Excuse me, where are you going?’ Emma asked, appearing in front of her. ‘I am getting off this plane. This is ridiculous. I’ve been stuck here for two whole days. I haven’t even eaten anything. I am done.’ ‘Done?’ ‘Yes. Now could you help me to get off this plane?’ ‘I am sorry, I can’t.’ ‘You can’t? What the hell does that mean?’ ‘Captain!’ Emma called. ‘What seems to be the problem?’ asked the captain, leaving the cockpit. ‘The passenger wants to leave.’ ‘Leave? Leave and go where?’ ‘What the hell!’ Suzan exclaimed. ‘I wanna go home. I’ve been stuck here,’ she paused to consult her watch again, ‘Oh my God, I’ve been stuck here now for … for … shit … I can’t believe it … for seventy-two hours. I’m getting off.’ ‘You can’t get off.’ ‘Why not?’ Suzan objected angrily. ‘This plane is stuck on the tarmac. It’s not going anywhere. I wanna get off and I want my money back.’ ‘We can’t do that, I am afraid. Remember, we had a deal!’ ‘What? What deal? I want to go to Paradise Island. But you are not taking me there…’ ‘We will take you there.’ ‘When?’ Suzan cried, frustrated. ‘I haven’t eaten or drank in days. Just sitting …’ Suzan’s voice drifted away. She could readily accept that the whole thing was a hoax, but her lack of hunger or thirst was not. How could she have gone this long without food or water? ‘Come,’ the captain said, helping her to sit down again. ‘Stay calm. Don’t panic. We will get you to your destination. We are just running into a bit of a trouble.’ ‘What sort of a trouble?’ The captain looked at Emma, then back to Suzan. ‘We are waiting for certain things to be clarified.’ ‘Like what?’ ‘Well, not everyone who wants to go to Paradise Island can. They have to meet with a certain approval.’ ‘Approval? Approval from whom?’ ‘From God.’ ‘What?’ Suzan cried in disbelief. ‘This is purgatory, Suzan. And until we get the approval, you are stuck here.’ ‘What?’ Suzan winced. ‘Am I …. dead?’ Suzan asked, swallowing a lump in her throat. ‘But … but … but how? I have no memory of being dead.’ ‘You died two days ago. You were on a plane to Chicago when your plane went down.


Harold sat there in the corner of the room envying the rest of the furniture, remembering the days he had first came home before the newer furniture came. He was showed off to the whole family and distant relatives, everyone wanted to sit in him. The woman of the house was so excited to show him off, “look at the new chair!” she’d say with such pride. Now, he was nothing. He stared at the new love seat and couch all day every day. He watched as they became the settings for new memories. He hated them but he couldn’t help but admire them. Flawless navy blue with tan trim and accent pillows to match his biggest rival, the accent chair. The chair he hated. He watched day after day as new seating arraignment slowly took over. He was once glorious, now he sat in the far corner of the room, from his angle you couldn’t even see the television! How insulting. *Why am I even here,* he asked himself? *Oh that’s right, the dog.* Harold was there for the dog. When he first came home the dog wasn’t even allowed to sit on him, now they let him sit, sleep, and claw his fabric to shreds. First thing he does every morning after the man leaves for work is jump on Harold with his dirty paws and start digging. Harold thought to himself *if my parents could see me now…* Harold’s parents were a beautiful loveseat and couch. They were such a beautiful family, dark green with matching pillows and pull away cushions for easy cleaning. Financed to the man and woman of the house for two years till they were finally paid off. The plastic over their fabric lasted nearly as long. But that was years ago, his parents had long been gone. Not even a picture from the good old days hung in the living room, they were a distant memory to him. Now he sat in the far corner, an adopted part of the living room family. On this particular day the man of the house came home from work and walked right to Harold. “well old buddy” he began, “we’ve shared some good times but it’s time for you to go to someone else.” Harold was amazed, he knew the day would come where he would be taken out but could this be, could he be a hand me down? Maybe he’ll go to a thrift store he thought, or maybe some friends of the family that took his parents will also take him! He overflowed with excitement. The man of the house squatted down and grabbed Harold with both hands and hoisted him up with a grunt. Harold and the man of the house had to maneuver just to fit through the front door. They went down the stairs and Harold soaked up the afternoon sun, it was a beautiful day outside and Harold enjoyed the day much from this view rather than looking out the small window he recently sat next to. They only got a few steps to the end of the driveway before the man of the house sat Harold down with a sigh. “wow, forgot how heavy you are” the man exclaimed. “well just one more thing” the man said before walking away. Harold heard something coming up from behind him, being dragged in the gravel. *Must be the push cart* he thought. Moments later the man walked past Harold dragging two garbage cans, He put a handwritten sign that said “free” in Harold’s lap and headed back into the house.


Theresa and I had been planning the wedding for eight months now and after multiple venue changes, countless hours researching different caterers and entertainment, and $22,000 barrowed from my 401k things where finally perfect. She used to tease me that she felt like she was marrying another woman because at times I was more excited about our big day than she was. Now standing at the altar, gazing at her, I was truly the happiest man alive. The preacher, Father Morris, was nearly through the vows. “Should anyone here know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” My heart pounded with excitement. Suddenly with a thunderous boom the doors of the church slammed open, “wait!” it was my ex-girlfriend, Tammy. “I can’t let this happen!” She raced up the aisle. The collective gasp of 150 guests plus staff sucked the air out of the room, all eyes focused on Tammy. I looked at Theresa, she looked horrified. “it’s okay” I whispered. I glanced at Father Morris. “Tim I’m sorry” she muttered. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know what to say. I looked around the church and I don’t think anyone quite knew what to make of the situation. I thought this only happened in movies. Finally, the silence was broken. “Young lady what is the meaning of all this” asked Father Morris. Thank God he spoke because I was at a loss for words. “I can’t let this happen” Tammy looked at me and then shifted her gaze towards Father Morris to answer his question. “I’m… I’m in love.” I could not believe this was happening. Tammy and I had broken up nearly four years ago. The decision to end our relationship was mutual, we had feelings for each other at the time but agreed that we did not want to spend our lives together. We remained good friends until I had told her that Theresa and I were engaged. This explains it. “Tammy, this is not the time or the place. You need to go.” I looked back at Theresa. Her bottom lip was quivering and she had a tear rolling down her cheek. I could imagine she was scared I might back out, but that wasn’t going to happen. I had never been more in love than I was with Theresa. “GO” I yelled. Seeing her upset was starting to anger me and I knew I had to make it very clear that I wasn’t going anywhere. “Tim I’m so sorry” she apologized again. “You need to leave; we can discuss this later” I put my foot down. She looked at Theresa and there was a long pause, almost as if she wanted Theresa to tell her it was okay to continue. She sighed, “I can’t allow these two to get married, I have to come clean”. There was an awkward silence. “we’ve been having an affair”! I was furious. To think that Tammy wanted me back so bad that she was making up lies to break up my wedding. I started down the aisle, not knowing what I would do when I got to Tammy. “Tim, stop” Theresa yelled. I looked back at her, she looked heartbroken. “Theresa” I began, “she is lying, I swear I haven’t…” “Just stop, please just stop” she cut me off. I swelled with fear thinking that she believed her, that only minutes before we were pronounced man and wife I would lose her. Before I could start again she spoke. “she’s right, we can’t do this.” I couldn’t speak. “She’s not talking about you and her... she’s talking about her and I.” There was another collective gasp throughout the church. I couldn’t breathe, my stomach turned and my eyes filled quicker than I had ever thought possible. My heart shattered. I stood there for what felt like an eternity before Marc, my best man, grabbed me and rushed me into the back room. Two weeks later Theresa and Tammy eloped, they adopted a little boy and live just a few miles away. This was nearly two years ago. I am still heartbroken.