Jake had been deputy sheriff for about three weeks when the stranger drove into town. At first, he was puzzled: he’d thought he’d met everyone in this God-forsaken place – hell, he saw most of ‘em in the saloon every night – but this man was unknown to him. And then, as the horse slowed to a halt and long, lean limbs unfolded themselves from the driver’s seat, he realised his mistake. Years of hardship had etched lines on the woman’s face, but he thought she would be beautiful if she ever smiled.            “Who’s that?” he asked Hal Murdoch. A sour expression crossed the saloon keeper’s face. “That’s Annie.” Not someone’s wife; not someone’s sister. Just Annie. Jake waited for an explanation that didn’t arrive, then watched as Annie strode into Sam’s mercantile, her long hair snaking down her back in a copper-coloured plait. Her steps were swift and businesslike – as if she didn’t want to waste precious time here. Intrigued by the air of mystery she exuded, he followed her in and pretended to examine the small, neat pistol out on display. “Usual order, Annie?” he heard Sam ask. The woman shrugged her response, her eyes restlessly roving the store as if she were a caged animal. From the corner of his eye, Jake watched Sam weigh out a sack of sugar and another of flour, then nod towards a barrel of beans. Without saying a word, the woman tipped the barrel onto its side and began rolling it out of the building towards her waiting wagon. He stepped after her, intending to help her heave the heavy weight into the vehicle, but she hefted it easily without a sign of exertion. Feeling useless, he grabbed one of the smaller sacks and hurried it out to her. She took it without a word of thanks. “I’m Jake, the new deputy,” he said. She merely nodded, avoiding eye contact, and turned on her heel to re-enter the store. It was only as Sam was adding up her purchases that the woman spoke. “I’ll take a packet of needles too, and some thread.” The husky tone of her voice was strangely alluring. After she’d gone, he wandered back into the mercantile. “What’s her story?” he asked. “How come I ain’t seen her before?” Sam scowled. “Nothin’ to tell. She lives on a homestead a good 8 miles or more from here – her and her kids.” There was a deliberate pause. “Folks say she killed her husband.” That night, his mind kept returning to her as he lay on his narrow cot, unable to sleep. He saw the long copper plait and imagined how she would look if her hair were loose and tumbling about her face. He remembered the leanness of her body – so different to the fleshy curves of the whores in the cathouse – and wondered how it would feel if her limbs were wrapped around his. When morning came, he was still thinking of her: she was an itch that couldn’t be satisfied. Days bled into one another as winter set in. The air was crisper, colder, and daylight disappeared well before its appointed time of departure. Jake kept watch for Annie, but she didn’t reappear. After a few weeks of waiting, he resolved to lay his obsession to rest. * He was unprepared for the flurry of activity that greeted him on All Hallows Eve. Waking to the sound of hammering, he peered out of his doorway, bleary-eyed, to see what all the fuss was about. Heavy planks were being nailed across doors; the saloon and Sam’s mercantile were definitely closed for business.            “What’s all the commotion?” he asked Henry Martin, the town doctor.            “Jes’ a few precautions.” The older man’s gaze did not meet his own.  “It happens every year. People have been known to… disappear.”            “Disappear?”            Henry’s expression was invisible beneath his big, black, bushy beard. “This used to be a place of nigh on five hundred people,” he said eventually. “These days, we’re lucky if can count more’n a hundred.” “What happened to them?” He was deputy sheriff; why had no one mentioned this to him before? Henry shrugged. “You’d best lock your door tonight – or better still, get out of town. Come tomorrow, there’ll be a pile more empty buildings.” Throughout the rest of the day, Jake watched as the population dwindled. Those who did not climb into carts and drive away simply retreated into the buildings that lined the town’s single street, and he now heard the sound of people hammering their doors shut from the inside to ward off the impending disaster.            It was only as dusk began to stretch out tentative fingers that he thought of Annie. Was her homestead far enough away to keep her safe from whatever was coming? He knew she had two children – a girl and a boy – and that she lived due north on an isolated farm with no neighbours. An idea came into his mind. He saw himself arriving at her door, offering protection. She might be sufficiently grateful to smile at him – maybe even take him into her bed. He thought once more of her long limbs and her long hair, and his longing threatened to overwhelm him. Grabbing the pistol he’d bought a few weeks earlier from Sam, he tucked it inside his coat pocket and went off to find a horse. He should have remembered how quickly night fell in winter. Darkness enveloped him as he trotted along, leaving the town behind him and heading in what he hoped was the right direction. A faint sound on the breeze sent a chill down his spine. It sounded like screaming. He thought of Henry’s words and shuddered. He’d been going for perhaps twenty minutes when he caught sight of the dim outline of a building ahead of him. At the same time, he became aware of some sort of disturbance behind him. Something prompted him to turn his head, and what he saw almost made him fall off his horse in fright. A mass of creatures was moving in his direction. What they were, he wasn’t sure; but they looked terrifying. He calculated their distance. If he didn’t urge his horse to a gallop, they could be on him in the next ten minutes.            Never a confident rider, he tried to sound braver than he felt. He’d heard horses could sense fear. “C’mon, git!” he urged, kicking the animal’s sides with his feet in an attempt to make it move faster.            The sudden spurt of speed startled him. He hung on grimly, willing himself not to fall off, and then an overhanging branch took him by surprise as it whacked into his shoulder. He felt an agonising jolt of pain as the joint dislocated, then his left arm was dangling uselessly, leaving him only one hand to cling onto the reins.            Somehow, he managed to reach the homestead, but the creatures were now only five minutes away. He slid off the horse before he could fall off, the pain in his shoulder threatening to make him black out, and hammered on the door with his one good hand.            The door opened a crack and Annie’s suspicious face peered out. “What do you want?” Her tone sounded ungracious.            “Came to protect you.” He realised as he said it how ridiculous his words sounded accompanied by his useless arm.

           He was expecting her to invite him in, but she remained on the other side of the door, eying him through the tiny gap as if he were a potential danger. “Did you get bit?” she asked at last. Noting his incomprehension, she added more urgently, “Did one o’ them critters bite your arm?”            “It was a tree branch,” he said, feeling foolish. “Ran into it afore I knew it was there.”            She nodded at this. “Best come in, then,” she said, opening the door a little wider. He slipped inside and she slammed it shut. “You’ve got one arm that still works, ain’t you?” she said. “Hold this piece of wood for me while I nail us in.”                    She was as business-like now as she had been at the mercantile. He held the wood as steady as he could while she barricaded the door. Whatever was out there would have a job forcing its way in past that.            “What are they?” he asked when she was finally finished. “Dead people,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “They come back every year, always on All Hallows Eve.” “What do they want.” “People they can turn.” Her eyes were hard. “That’s why I asked if you’d been bit. If you’d said yes, I would have put a bullet in you – it’s kinder that way.” Kinder? “That’s what happened to Jed – my husband.” The words were matter of fact but her face was bleak as she remembered. “After he got bit, I put a bullet in his brain.” “You killed your own husband?” “I did what I had to do to protect myself and my babies,” she said fiercely. There was a pause. “And I’ve been dead inside ever since.” For a while, there was silence – the only sounds the soughing of the wind outside and the strange animal moaning of the things that were approaching the farmhouse. Now that the rush of adrenaline had left him, he found his mind returning to the pain in his shoulder, and he struggled not to let it show on his face. “You want me to look at that arm of yours?” When he nodded his assent, she told him to take his shirt off. “It ain’t the best light for doctorin’,” she muttered, “but it’ll have to do.” She had to help him pull the shirt over his head. When her fingers touched his skin, they were rough and calloused. She was a working woman, not a fancy lady with time to sit around rubbing grease into her skin. He tried not to wince when she prodded his shoulder. “Reckon I could pop that back in for you,” she said casually. “You’ll be more help tonight with two working arms.” The firelight cast shadows on her face as she said it, and he was half-afraid and half in love at the same time. “What are your children’s names?” he asked, trying to take his mind off the fiery pain in his shoulder. “John – he’s ten. And Mary – she’s going on twelve. They’re in the storm cellar right now – I reckoned it ‘ud keep ‘em safe.” An agonising flame shot through him as she attempted to realign the dislocated joint. “You were a fool to ride over here,” she said abruptly. “You should have stayed in town – or got yourself clean away.” “I was thinking of your safety,” he protested. “Yours and the kids’.” “What do you want from me, lawman?” She sounded weary. “You’re not much older than they are – and that’s too young to be settin’ your cap at someone like me.” “I’m twenty-three,” he said defensively. “And I’m thirty-four.” He gazed at the taut, muscled body, lean beneath her man’s clothing, and thought once more of what it would be like to feel her moving beneath him. “Don’t you ever feel lonely, Annie?” It was the first time he’d used her name. “Some nights,” she said honestly, “but then I tell myself I don’t deserve to take another husband after killing the first one. I haven’t had a man since Jed died.” “You deserve to be happy,” he said softly. She laughed bitterly. “I don’t think I know what happiness is anymore,” she said. The noises outside were getting louder. Annie looked him squarely in the eye. “I could lie with you tonight,” she said, slowly and deliberately, “but it wouldn’t be loving – it would be need.” He wanted her to need him, but instead, she picked up her rifle. “Keep watch at the window at the back,” she said. “It’s time I blew me some brains outta them critters.” The next few hours passed in a blur. Shoot. Reload. Shoot. Reload. Sometimes, the creatures got as far as the door and he realised why Annie had reinforced it when he heard their claws scratching at the wood.            “Have you got a gun of your own?” she gasped the first time she had to reload.            By way of answer, he withdrew the pistol from his coat pocket.            “Take over,” she ordered. “I just need you to hold them back while I top her up.”            She was already fumbling for her powder horn. Jake took her spot by the front window and peeped through the shutters. The creatures did not seem decimated: if anything, there were more now than there had been when he arrived.            “Duck!” Annie yelled suddenly. He heeded her warning just in time to see brains splatter the wall in front of him. “Darned varmints,” she muttered, scrambling over him to take back her perch. He watched the back of her, noting how she gave the task her full attention. She was world-weary; but somehow, when she was shooting those things, she became alive once more. Killing them gave her life a purpose.            And he knew then that she would never look at him in such an animated way. All night long they kept the creatures at bay. Annie did not tire - even when they began swarming over the outside of the house. Some time before dawn, it was finally over and a pile of corpses littered the ground outside.            “You’ll be safe now,” Jake said, almost as if he had been the one protecting her. Her reply chilled him to the bone. “For a time – maybe days; maybe months; maybe even years. But they’ll be back. And one of these days, we won’t be so lucky. One of these days, John or Mary will have to take my gun and shoot me in the head, just like I did their pa.” “Then come with me,” he argued. “You’ll be safer in the town.” She shook her head slowly as if marvelling at his stupidity. “Take a good look at the critters we killed,” she said, dragging him outside. She swung her lantern over the dead bodies and the lamplight picked out clothing, features he recognised. Doc Martin’s black, bushy beard. Sam’s plaid shirt and faded leather breeches. They were his townspeople, every one of them. “Why do you think we live out here on our own?” she said as his face blanched. “It’s because that town’s cursed. Jed had to shoot his own family – mine too. We moved out here, away from the town, so we’d be safe.” “I can take you and your kids somewhere else – somewhere safer,” he began, but she shook her head. “It’s what we know,” she said. “Then let me stay here and protect you,” he said next. “With a busted shoulder?” “My shoulder will heal. But you won’t if you stay here alone.” She gave him an almost maternal look. “You’re young,” she said. “You don’t want someone old and world-weary like me.” She began dousing the corpses with kerosene. “You have to burn ‘em,” she said, “otherwise they just get up again the next day.” Her eyes were hard. “That’s how Jed got bit. We didn’t know then – thought a bullet in the brain was enough to keep ‘em dead.” She put the flame to the bodies. “Sometimes there’s no hope for the future. Sometimes all you can do is burn the past.” The two of them stood in silence, watching the flames against the night sky, and his hope burned to ashes too.


“Are you coming tonight?” Ranger raised his eyebrows with the question. We were saying goodbye after raking my leaves all morning. I contemplated the invitation for a moment. It was Friday, a good day to change habits, right? Why not. “Yeah.” I nodded my confirmation and he grinned, wide and goofy. “Alright, see you later!” Ranger waved, jogging to his red pickup. The rest of my afternoon passed quickly and quietly. I milled about my apartment doing odd chores and activities. Before leaving the house, I debated which shirt to wear for twenty minutes, it was the green striped tee or the blue plaid button-up. In the end I decided on the green striped tee because I channeled my inner Ranger and hoped that’s what he would have done.

Ranger was my best friend since grade school, when an outgoing adventurous guy like him decided to adopt a quiet introverted guy like me. I mean, Ranger is talk of the party, no doubt about it. You heard about that guy that wrestled that pig on a dare? Ranger. You heard a big thunderous laugh in the kitchen at a party where a confident guy you’d never seen before had just walked in? Ranger. You wonder what type of person organizes all the get-togethers and holidays? Ranger. But then there was me. The quiet kid who liked to listen and follow the adventure more than participate? Me. The guy who loved to be invited and feel included, just so he could say no and stay home with a quiet movie? Me. The person who followed the rules and any predictable schedule one hundred percent of the time? Me. That’s why Ranger liked me so much, he loved to challenge my comfort zone and try to push the edges. Oftentimes, I’d tell him no, but he was never discouraged. Each week he’d try again, for the same result. But not tonight. Tonight was different. So, I laced up my high-tops and hit the road in my Toyota Corolla, obeying all traffic laws and stopping outside Ranger’s house. On the docket was pizza, Poker, and the newest car movie. I took a deep breath for confidence and strode up to the front door. I raised my fist to knock but Ranger opened the door before I had a chance. “Tim! You made it!” Behind him I saw Drake and Devon, the tiger twins, exchange some cash. No doubt betting on my attendance tonight. As I walked in, I saw the rest of the gang: Evan, resident jock, Finnigan, resident nerd, Brendon and Vance, best friends since kindergarten, Leonard, the dumb but nice guy, and Caruso, the coolest dude in town. It was a full house for sure. My stomach rumbled and I remembered the plan, holding it tight helped me stay grounded. “So, uh, who ordered the pizza?” I asked tentatively. “Pizza?” Evan spat. “Gross.” “You don’t want pizza, bro?” Ranger asked, pouring me some ice water. “No.” Evan shook his head. “Honestly, me either.” Caruso agreed. “We had pizza yesterday, so.” Drake said and the twins shrugged. “Then, pray tell, do you boys want for dinner?” Ranger asked handing me the cup. I started gulping it down, I didn’t like where this was headed. “Tacobell?” Leonard suggested. Evan clapped him on the back. “That’s using your head, let’s go!” He thundered out the door, leaving it open. Brendon and Vance were hot on his heels and the rest of them started to follow. Ranger grabbed his keys off a hook on the wall. “But what about pizza?” I peeped. “Next time bud, okay? C’mon this’ll be fun you’ll see.” He waved me on, and I set down my cup following him to the truck. The guys were rocking it back and forth, it was a wonder they didn’t pop his tires. Ranger climbed in the front to drive, and Caruso immediately claimed shotgun. I was too shy, and the twins pushed their way into the cab. That left me with Evan, Leonard, Finnigan, Brendon and Vance. “Does anyone want to ride with me?” I offered stepping toward my car. “Uhnt uh. You’re coming with us.” Evan grabbed my shirt collar as the rest of the guys hopped into the flat bed. “C’mon.” Leonard reached down and hoisted me up, the smallest guy here I’m sure he didn’t have any difficulty. “But, no seatbelts?” “Seatbelt Smeatbelt.” Vance waved his hand. “Live a little.” Brendon grinned. I was scared the cops were gonna pull us over the second we hit the road, but the drive to Tacobell was smooth and easy. In the drive-thru Ranger ordered at least half the menu, but by the time we reached the window it was ready. Hooting and hollering our victory, the food was passed out. Someone handed me a chalupa and I gently took it and started eating. It was quiet for a moment, food in our mouths, but someone in the cab took that as an opportunity to blare the music, country specifically. Soon all the guys joined the radio screaming the lyrics, it was the most noise I’d heard in months. Besides their abrasive personalities and rough methods of inclusivity, the gang didn’t seem so bad. So I started to sing too, adding my voice to the cacophony that was echoing through the hills as we drove. It was fun. I was having fun. We continued on for about an hour or so before Ranger pulled over. Everyone immediately jumped out, Finnigan lagging behind to make sure I actually got out of the truck. We were at the wharf. I could smell the salty sea air with its sticky humidity and fishy tint. A few gulls cried overheard but other than the lapping waves, it was quiet. There was a dock that lead out about a hundred yards, so of course the twins raced each other down it. “Don’t just stand there.” Caruso criticized, particularly looking at me. The gang took off after the other two and Ranger nudged my shoulder. I grinned and joined the chase. It was invigorating to pound down the dock, each board sounded that hollow thump with every footstep. I laughed a hearty laugh, throwing it to the wind. Suddenly the boards disappeared, we had reached the end. I skidded to a stop. “Woah.” I breathed. “Woah is right.” Ranger nodded. The water underneath was roiling, foamy and aggressive. The bit that sprayed up with a wave was freezing. “Jump.” Evan demanded. I swiveled my head so fast I almost broke my neck. “What.” “I dare you to jump.” “Me?” “Anyone, but yes, you.” “Five bucks?” Ranger asked. “Ranger, no that water’s gonna give you hypother—” “Deal.” Evan agreed and Ranger took off jumping into the water. “C’mon in Tim, water’s fine!” He called to me. I heard that little voice in my head, the introverted armadillo that wants to curl up and hide. I was nervous. The water was cold. It was dark too, what if the current was strong or even worse, a shark came up and—shut up. I just needed to jump, after all, rebellion is good for character growth. I sucked in as much air as I dared, closed my eyes, and leapt. The water enveloped me, soaking my clothes. They weighed me down, heavy, even my high tops tried to sink me. But I kicked, good and hard, fighting my way to the surface. I broke through, splashing droplets everywhere, and the air was a thousand times colder than the water. “Ra-Ranger, Ranger.” I sputtered. My chest was tight, I could barely fill my lungs, struggling to stay afloat. “Timoth-fricken-tee! Welcome to the Cool Kids Club.” Ranger splashed me and I coughed. “I’m proud of you man.” This was a huge jump for me, and more than literally. I mean c’mon, it was late at night and we were swimming in icy cold water at a place I was sure contained a “no swimming” sign, immediately after eating no less. This was progress. I laughed and paddled around, gaining my confidence. Ranger followed me and we dunked and splashed for a few more minutes before eventually locating the ladder and climbing back on the dock. I was having fun. Wringing my shirt out I saw Caruso pull what looked like a can out of his pocket. He shook it up and popped the top. It was a spray paint can. “Wait, you’re not gonna vandalize that that are you?” I asked, stunned. “It’s called tagging kid, and someone’s got to do it. Might as well be me.” He started to streak the bright orange paint on the wooden boards. “That’s bad.” I frowned, all the excitement of our “forbidden” swim wearing off. “Who’s gonna stop us, huh?” Vance clapped me on the shoulder. “C’mon let’s go.” Brendon lead us back to the truck. Ranger and I were both refused entrance to the cab due to our wet state, Caruso offered to drive, and Ranger allowed him. As we rode in the back, arms and legs spilling out over the edge, Ranger and my clothes began to dry in the wind. It was chilly for sure, but I knew we had to pay the consequences of our choices. We’d been driving for most of the night, so I wasn’t surprised when we stopped for gas. Caruso stepped out and started pumping the fuel. Ranger hopped over the edge of the truck and pulled me by the arm with him. “We’re going inside.” “Why?” I just wanted to curl up in the corner and hide, my inner armadillo was exhausted. I’d had enough of this gang for today, the whole month or year, maybe even. “Cause you’ve probably never actually been inside and it’s important to widen your horizons.” A few more of the guys started following. “Have so.” “Prove it.” The door made the little ding-dong noise signaling our presence. I took in the average gas station, nothing special. I sighed. “This,” I waved my arms dramatically, “is a gas station. People come here to stop on their long journeys to see family in far away places, during their long truck haul or to buy a bag of chips when they have the munchies. The food options span from chips and cheese curls to candy bars and gum, oftentimes there are ample choices of beef jerky and energy drinks. Soda, waters, lemonades, teas, and even slushies can be found along the back wall. Sometimes there are made to order sandwiches and burgers, always there are TastyCakes and donut options. But, the piece to resistance, is the local lottery.” I finished with a flourish. Drake and Devon were so impressed they actually applauded and Finnigan chuckled his approval. “All those years of listening, not talking, really sharped that eye huh?” Finnigan asked and I shrugged. I was gonna come up with something to say, but Drake jumped in. “Yo, steal that candy bar.” He pointed and then looked expectantly toward me. These guys and their impulsiveness. “Nah, I’m okay.” I tried to decline without seeming like a wuss. Drake jabbed Devon’s arm. “Do it.” “Fine, if he’s too pansy then I will.” Devon swiftly pocketed the chocolate bar and walked out through the door. Ranger was nowhere to be found, browsing the gum selection behind us. I just sighed, I didn’t like where this evening was headed. We left and the gas tank was full. Since we had dried on the way over, Caruso tagged out with Ranger and finally joined us in the back. “So how was the store?’ He asked as we drove away from the artificial light of the gas station. “Dope, Devon stole a candy bar cause Tim was too chicken to do it.” Finnigan answered and I crossed my arms. “Nice, petty theft.” Caruso nodded. “Be even cooler if it was something bigger.” Vance mused. “Bro, that car!” Brendon stood up and pointed at some beat up Volkswagen Beetle from the early 1960’s. “You can’t do that.” I protested. “Can’t or won’t?” Caruso looked me dead in the eye and slapped the side of the truck twice. “Turn around!” He shouted and Ranger did as he was told. It was some old post office or whatever, federal property, great. Caruso jumped out of the flatbed and started working with a screwdriver one of the guys had produced on the window. After a minute or so he had the car unlocked, then he climbed in and started on the wires. I felt the nerves in my stomach growing. The butterflies multiplied every second we sat here. The other guys were cheering him on, encouraging you can do it’s and almost there’s floated around. Caruso was about halfway there when a cop drove by. The gang grew quiet, and I prayed so hard he hadn’t seen us. With the stakes heightened Caruso was urged on by only one word: hurry. Everyone said it and many more than once. I saw a spark, then a set of headlights in the distance. Please don’t be a cop, please don’t be the cop. A hum of an engine, Caruso had gotten her started. He pulled the door shut and I felt Ranger put the truck in gear. The car drove by. I let out my breath— Whooop whoooop. Oh no. Ranger pulled out so fast, I had a white-knuckle grip on the edge. Caruso followed in the crappy bug. I couldn’t believe it. We had actually just stolen a car, and now we were running from the police. As the chase ensued our speed only increased. We went faster and faster. Ranger led us to the highway, suddenly there were other cars on the road. We weaved in and out of traffic, us in the back spilling over the edges. I was so scared one of us was going to fall out. But the other guys were loving it. Everyone was alive but me. This night started fun, but it was going downhill so fast, almost as fast as we were flying down the highway. I don’t know how we hadn’t been caught yet, but suddenly the cop started to multiply. Now there were two cars, then four. Soon we hit ten. Ten policemen hot on our tail. The guys were hooting and hollering again, with each additional car they got louder, and I got more scared. We were going so fast, so fast it didn’t feel real. The sound of the sirens was deafening, I thought maybe I heard a chopper join the fray. I didn’t want to go to jail, the lights red and blue were flashing, the cops were getting closer and closer and closer and— “Tim. . . ?” Ranger’s voice brought me back to the present. I snapped outta it and shook my head, trying to clear the daydream. “Oh, sorry, what?” “Coming? Tonight?” He reiterated, knowing full well if he asked me to come over to hang out with the guys for a night, I’d say no. If he asked me to jump off a dock, I’d say no. If he asked me to ride in the tailgate of his truck, I’d say no. If he asked me to steal a car or even a candy bar, I’d say no. Ranger knew me better than anybody and he definitely knew my answer. But he was always polite, always asked. “Oh, haha, no.” I chuckled. “I just went in my head, and boy did that escalate quickly. So that was good enough. Thanks, though!” I closed the door, retiring to the safety of my quiet boring apartment.


Dustin was staring at the toy in his hand for long. For the last time, he flicked the switch on the toy’s chest and it went “To infinity and beyond”. He chuckled pushing his head back and let out a huge shaky breath before getting up from his chair and walking into the living room with slow steps. As he entered the room, three little feet rushed themselves towards him. Jane, Macy and Ron charged at their grandfather. He smiled and fondled their hair. His grandchildren were around seven years old and he adored them with all his heart. Even though he doted on every one of them, his favourite was Macy. With all her little antics she had her grandfather going all gaga over her. When Jane and Ron left, Macy plopped herself on her grandfather's bed. As her eyes wandered across the pale walls of the room, she found a toy lying on his armchair. Her curiosity piqued and she ran towards the chair. She loved action figures. She had a greater collection of Star Wars action figures and Darth Vadar was her favourite. But she did not know about this character. Dustin entered the room and found little Macy examining the toy. “What are you doing Macy?” he asked Macy turned around and smiled. “Grandpa, what toy is this,” she asked, her Bambi eyes shining with curiosity. Dustin cooed “This, my dear Macy, is my favourite toy.” She gasped at the revelation. Smiling hugely she asked, “GRANDPA YOU LOVED TOYS TOO?” Dustin faked a gasp. “I love toys still, Macy.” Macy let out a giggle and said “Grandpa you’re the best. That’s why you’re my favourite.” He picked up the little girl and sat her on his lap while he got comfortable on the armchair. He peeped into Macy's lap and saw her fiddling with the toy, moving its limbs. He felt nostalgic. He remembers when he was six years old and his dad brought him the Buzz lightyear figure. He was practically spoilt from his childhood because he was their only child. But once he had Buzz, he forgot all his other toys. He just played with him. He can’t help but be reminded of all the times he spent in his room with Buzz. He would spend hours with Buzz, going on space adventures, skating across the asteroid belt and killing octopus-headed aliens which wanted to destroy Earth. He did not like going out much so it was just Buzz and him. Buzz had this confident eyes and a funny smile on his lips that it seemed to him as though he could understand every word. Buzz was Dustin’s motivation, his inspiration and his safe space. He still is. He used to take him out with him and both of them would sit by the river and watch the sunset. Once while returning, some trouble kids from Dustin’s school stopped him on his way back home. They would always bother him in school and mess with his notes. Dustin hated them. It is all a bitter distant memory now, but it’s well etched in his mind. He remembers how hard he punched them in the face and kicked their shins when they tried to mess with his Buzz Lightyear toy. For the first time he stood up against them and he felt happy. He felt strong and happy because he did something for Buzz. He did not know when he got this attached to Buzz but it didn’t take Buzz to be more than just a toy for Dustin. It was his companion and his home to confide in. Buzz was his only companion but with age, he forgot about him. The more he got burdened with responsibilities and family, the more he forgot about the plastic toy stacked at the topmost shelf in his room. Now that Dustin sits on his armchair reminiscing about his good old memories, he can’t help but feel low. As much as he tried to hold it in, the pain came out like an uproar from his throat in the form of a silent scream. Tears started welling up in his eyes. Macy looked up from his lap, “Grandpa?” Dustin rapidly blinked his eyes and composed himself, before swooping down and planting a kiss on Macy’s forehead. Macy giggled on Dustin’s lap. “Sweetheart, let’s get you to bed” He picked up a yawning Macy and slowly laid her on the bed. It didn’t take long for her eyes to drift close. Tucking her in, he sauntered back to his chair. His head is filled with memories of his childhood- memories of him and Buzz. His head lolls and the muscles of his face relax, releasing the tension of his day. His eyes are almost closed and from his chest come the first guttural snore.  His dreams took him back to his room when he was 6 years old. It was the day of school right after he had fought with those trouble kids. He sees a fragile raven hair boy labelled as queer by his classmates. But he had an eternal smile etched on his lips and a companion on his hand as he discreetly tucked him inside his bag, and this time, nobody came to trouble him. The next morning wasn’t grey but by soothing lavender and brilliant amber. The colours merged into neon pink and peach. Macy was getting ready to leave. Her vacations were about to end and she herself had grimly decided that she should get back home and finish the rest of her holiday homework before the school restarts. “Sweetheart, would you come here for a second?” Dustin queried. Macy turned to him and rushed with him in his room, her pigtails bouncing in the air all the time. “This is for you” He said, bending low and handing her the Buzz Lightyear toy. Her Bambi's eyes grew wider. “B-But, grandpa isn’t it yours?” Dustin let out a small sigh. “It was. It is. But now he will be yours too.” Macy took the toy from him and tucked it in his backpack. “Take care of him, sweetheart, and you’ll find him to be your best companion like he was for me.” She nodded. “Now off you go” he patted her on her small back. She smiled at her grandpa. “I’ll take good care of your friend and in no time you’ll see that we’ll turn to be best friends. It was time. The time he knew would come sooner or later but dreaded. He had to say goodbye to the only person that he felt cared, to the only person that he felt happy with. Buzz was there for him in his fifty-six years of living. How was he supposed to just do it without feeling like he’s lost a part of himself? He watched as Macy bid him peeping from the car, the toy in her hand. He saw his face for the last time- the same confident face with a lopsided smile. His own face morphs into a smile and his eyes lighten up. He bids her back and the car drives out of their house. He watched as his old friend left with his granddaughter, away from him, ready to start his new life. Tears had started to well in his eyes and for the last time, he voiced, “To infinity and beyond…still.”


Lucas groaned, rolling over under his massive pile of blankets to muffle his sister’s loud voice. After a few moments of silence, a loud stomping could be heard approaching his room. Then, his door swung open. “Lucas get up! She’s going to be here in 5 minutes, and I don’t want her to think my brother’s a slob,” urged Ariel.

“But I am,” he yawned. She shot him an exasperated glare. “Fine,” Lucas sighed as he reluctantly rolled out of bed.

Why did he have to make a good impression on Ariel’s girlfriend? Her relationships never lasted very long anyway. The ringing of the doorbell sent Ariel sprinting downstairs excitedly as Lucas haphazardly threw on a t-shirt and sweats. He shuffled down the stairs, introducing himself along the way. “Hey Taylor, I’m Lucas, Ariel’s brother. She’s told me almost nothing about you. It’s nice to meet-” his eyes widened in recognition when he looked up. “Oh.” As they locked eyes, Taylor’s expression shifted from confusion to dread.

Ariel turned around quizzically, “Do you guys know each other?” “No we haven’t met,” Taylor sent Lucas a desperate look. “Are you sure?” “Yeah she just kind of looks like this girl in my class, but I haven’t met her before,” Lucas stiffly scratched his head. How was he supposed to tell his sister that this was the girl he hit with his moped a week ago?

Meanwhile, Taylor’s mind was racing. She had thought she could vent about her worries and complaints about Ariel to a stranger, but with her luck it turned out to be Ariel’s brother. Ariel's eyes flicked back and forth between Lucas and Taylor suspiciously, but then she just shrugged it off and left to take out the lunch she’d prepared. In her absence, Lucas and Taylor awkwardly acknowledged each other.

“You’re moped guy right?” “Yeah…” Lucas raised his eyebrows, amused. “And that girl you were complaining about was Ariel?” Taylor ran her hands through her hair, “Please don’t tell her about that.” Lucas laughed, “I mean you were pretty accurate, and she probably should know about that stuff.” “If you tell her what I said, I’ll tell her you ran me over with your moped,” she threatened. Lucas’ brow furrowed, “You wouldn’t.” She grinned, “You don’t know me.” “Why are you guys just standing there?” Lucas and Taylor flinched as Ariel popped out from the doorway to the kitchen. “Hurry up, I’m hungry.” They followed her to the kitchen, stealing threatening glances at each other. Awkwardness permeated through the air as the three of them ate their food in silence. “So, how did the two of you meet?” Ariel beamed, “I saw her around at the cafe I go to all the time, and I thought she was cute so I asked her out. Turns out she felt the same way, and here we are now!” “Yeah, I thought she was pretty cute, but I also thought she was taken. Otherwise, I would’ve been the one asking her out,” Taylor chuckled. “She’s pretty good at sending out mixed signals isn’t she?” Lucas snickered as Taylor glared at him. “No, I don’t really think so,” Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Although I was a bit confused at her relationship status in the beginning.” “I’m surprised you even found her cute, with how much she talks. Doesn’t it get kind of annoying sometimes?”

“Lucas!” Ariel slapped his shoulder. “Stop being a jerk.” She turned to Taylor, “Do I talk too much?” “Yes, but I enjoy it because I’m not much of a talker myself,” reassured Taylor. “It’s a good thing.” Lucas snorted.

Ariel shot him a skeptical look, “Are you sure you’ve never met her before?” “Nope,” he shook his head. “Never seen her before in my life… Until now, that is.” She rolled her eyes, “Lucas you’re a terrible liar.” He gasped in mock offense, “I’m not lying!” “You totally are,” She turned to Taylor. “Do you guys know each other?” Taylor shook her head in denial. “Enough about us,” said Taylor. “What are your opinions on traffic safety?” Lucas coughed, choking on his gyoza. “What about traffic safety?” “Well, I saw the moped out in the front. Those are hard to control aren’t they?” “Yeah, I always tell him to get a car, but he insists on driving that dingy old thing,” complained Ariel. “Something about it being convenient or whatever. Watch, you’re going to get into an accident, and I’m going to have to say I told you so.”

“To be fair, that thing does look like it’s going to fall apart any second,” Taylor smiled. “You think he’s the type of person who’s more likely to get hit or hit someone else. I’d say he’d hit someone else.” Lucas’ eyes widened desperately, begging Taylor not to continue, but she only smirked at him.

Ariel bit her lip, contemplating as she looked Lucas up and down. “Yeah he does kind of seem more likely to hit someone with the moped than get hit.” Lucas stole a gyoza from Ariel’s plate, “That’s tax for how lowly you think of me,” maneuvering his plate so she couldn’t steal one back. “You are so immature Lucas,” Ariel scowled at him. “I’m sorry Lucas, but I agree,” Taylor laughed. “You guys are perfect for each other. You both suck.” Their lunch continued as Taylor and Lucas threw jabs at each other, neither side yielding. The only cooperation they showed was in dodging Ariel’s suspicion at them having met before, which only caused her frustration to grow. When the time came for Taylor to leave, she kissed Ariel goodbye and waved at Lucas. “Be careful on your moped next time,” she grinned. She closed the front door, shutting off any chance at Lucas returning that comment with a clever response. He didn’t have one anyway, so perhaps it was better off that way. After her exit, Ariel angrily turned to Lucas. “You guys are hiding something from me, and I hate it. I finally have a great relationship with a girl I really like, and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t go behind my back to meet up with her,” she ranted. Lucas’ expression shifted to concern. “Whoa, what do you mean by that.” “I mean that you two clearly have a thing, and she’s cheating on me with you!” she yelled. Lucas internally face palmed. He knew that Ariel had issues with trust, but he didn’t know that she would be this angry. “Look, it’s not like that,” he grabbed her balled fists in his hands reassuringly. “I promise you it’s not like that.” “Then what are you guys hiding from me?” she sniffed. “I hate not knowing.” “It’s nothing, we’ve never even met before,” Lucas said softly. “I’m being honest. Also, she’s definitely not my type. Way too strong-willed for me.” “Hey,” she punched his shoulder playfully. “I like that about her.” “Whatever floats your boat man,” Lucas shrugged. “Are you sure you guys don’t know each other?” “Yep, one hundred percent.”


“Grow up Petra. It's about time to grow up, and become emotionally mature, or you’ll continue to whither and crumble like dried fragile rose petals,” is the last thing he said to me. Can you believe it?! The cheek! What does he think he is, a poet?! Who does he think he’s talking too? I’m 47! He’s 30! I’m old enough to be his mother, almost. Literally speaking I AM OLD enough to be his mother! Perched on the edge of his sickly green couch, I dug my fingernails into its soft corduroy, and starting with a violent simmer, began to boil. Dagger eyes almost lurched out of my head, as I tried my sweetest smile through clenched teeth and managed, “Thank you so much for pointing that out, I’ll think about it.” And. I did think about, as I walked out of his office, and marched down Picadilly, waving the masses out of my way, and demanding that the whole of London disappear into one huge black hole! I thought about it some more, as I stormed with the intensity of a demented lightning bolt around the flower beds of The Rose Garden, in Hyde Park. Playing his words around in my mind, again and again, boiling more furiously, it burst into a frenzy of tormented bubbles, “Grow up. Grow up! Emotionally immature. Whither. Crumble. Like dried rose petals. Dried fragile rose petals! Hmm. I’m not sure if he should be saying things like that to someone with no self-confidence, to someone who hates themselves, feels like they’re a complete failure and have wasted their life entire life! Hmm. That was not very skilful. In fact, that was very unprofessional, and could cause severe further damage to my self-esteem, from which I may never recover! How dare he talk to me like that. How dare he say those mean things. How dare he drive the nail in deeper! He better apologise the next time I see him. No actually, you know what? I’m going to quit therapy. There you go! Take that now you 30 year old fledgling who knows nothing about real life, because you’ve only just outgrown your nappies. There! Not sure I can trust him. He’s just mocking me! No other therapist would say such a thing. He’s not qualified. How can he be? A mere 30 year old child who says that I’m like dried fragile rose petals, which makes absolutely no sense anyway! Completely contradictory is what it is! Right, that’s it! I’M QUITTING THERAPY!!! Oh my god. He’s right! Dam it! Oh, the little bastard is right. What do I do now? Where’s my chocolate?!” I sit on a bench, take a deep breath, whilst fumbling through my bag, hands shaking, “Where’s my chocolate??!!” I proceed to unzip all the little compartments. Mirror. No chocolate! Phone. No chocolate! Lipstick. No chocolate! Nondescript object. No chocolate! Purse. No chocolate! Half-eaten apple. No chocolate! Teddy bear key ring. No chocolate! Little pink slimy snake thing that’s supposed to stick on the kitchen tiles when thrown with force, but is now covered in grime and fluff!! NO CHOCOLATE! Underestimating the power of my rage, the bag is accidentally catapulted from my hands three metres into the air, then lands on the ground one meter away, just in front of tiny sandalled feet… I stare, body shrinking into the bench with embarrassment at those tiny feet, as full realisation of my childish behaviour whacks me in the chest. I take a deep breath and meekly look up. A small boy of no more than three years wearing a KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON t-shirt looking me directly in the eyes, breaks into a cheeky grin. He looks at my bag, then back at me again, then back at the bag, which he picks up, turns over with innocent curiosity, and playfully shakes out the contents. I grimace as everything tumbles out, including a bar of CADBURYS CHOCOLATE! Being the first thing he spots, he relishingly plucks it from the unsightly clutter, and places it on my lap with a don’t worry manière. I take a deep breath… This is where the second part of my life begins... yes that’s right. This is when I am reborn -the beginning part of being reborn anyway. This is when I realise how deeply I need to change. The journey feels eternal at times, and progress so painfully slow it can go unnoticed, for what feels -simply put- like far too long. The clouds part. The sun shines with extreme brilliance. The rose bushes are expanding in their beds, robust and ready to soar. It's spring. I share my chocolate with the loveliest little messenger that has thus far ever appeared in my life. We munch without saying a word. He giggles and points at the squirls. We play a quick game of hide and seek. His mum waves and gives a thumbs up from another bench, and comes to collect him about twenty minutes later. "I would have come over sooner, but it looked as though you were both having fun," she tells me. We hug, say goodbye. I sit on the bench for a while longer, whilst recalling and pondering some words I overheard a friend say recently. She was giving advice over the phone about growing plants, “The slower they grow, the stronger they grow. Patience.” The friend on the other end of the phone was getting anxious at how long it was taking for his asparagus seedlings to emerge. He would literally shout at the bare soil with exasperation every morning when there was no sign of progress. My friend gave further explanation: “Don’t give up. Try to be positive. These seeds need nourishing, they need fertiliser, they need water, first growing in the dark towards the light. They are happiest in a sunny place. They need looking after and tender care. You can even talk to them, say gentle things. It helps them to flourish. They need all this, yet don’t spoil them too much. It will take time, but your efforts and patience will all be rewarded. While they are on their path of becoming, appreciate and encourage their loveliness, especially when they are just vulnerable seedlings daring to peep their heads above the ground. And when they are ripe, you will harvest beautiful crops, which you can then share with others.” However long it takes, for however many days are left, there and then, I decide that it's time to grow up...


Ten days I'd been in this area. Ten days of no running... Taking time to breathe. It was quiet, modest sized, and secluded. The ideal spot hidden away. Somewhere to blend. To disappear. So I rented a room on the edge of the town, and haven't been out since. An incredibly lonely existence, but it was safe. Safe from him.

I'd been running for a few years. From place to place and everywhere in between. Never over staying my welcome. Never sticking around long enough to leave an impression...never leaving roots. I'm merely a shadow of the person I once was. Someone I barely recognized. A damaged soul with so many broken pieces I was sure I'd never put myself back together again. Maybe I didn't want to . Feelings had dissipated. Thoughts of freedom long gone. I was empty. Bruised and battered by the viciousness of what some call... love . Love had charmed me. Love had pulled me in, and when I fell deep, love watched me fall. Just to pick me back up to do it again. A repetitive cycle that wouldn't end. A cycle I'd barely escaped. Now, alive as I felt, I wasn't really living. Parts of me wanted to die, parts of me wanted to live, but I didn't know how to do either. I lived in a heightened state of anxiety. Fear consumed me. I trusted no one. Constantly looking over my shoulder. Knock, knock ! I jumped. My stomach turning. Could he have found me? As quickly as I could, I slid off the dusty old bed, reaching under my pillow. Pulling out a handgun, I made my way to the door. My pulse beating incessantly. I swear I could hear my own heart. Drips of sweat forming. Hands shaking. My mind on high alert. I was terrified. Could he have really found me? I shook the thought away. He couldn't have . I've covered all my tracks. .. Even as the voice in my head spoke, trying hard to convince me, I still held the gun to the door as I peered through the peep hole. Flinching, as my eye looked out, expecting to see the same icy stare and ominous smile eating at my soul. But as I refocused my eyes, gripping the gun so tight I thought my hand might break, I realized it wasn't him, but a woman. The woman who worked the front desk of the motel. Thank God.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I relaxed, opening the door enough to allow communication. Her eyes were warm and inviting. A greenish blue color so brilliant it reminded me of the ocean. A place I'd always hope to end up...and her smile was bright. Much brighter than anyone I'd ever met. The glow of happiness shining around her. It made my heart ache. What it must be like to feel so wonderful... "Hi!!"

She paused, smiling sweetly, but nothing came out of my mouth. "Sorry to bother you. I work at the motel."

She turned, pointing to a small building. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone..."

My voice cracked as I said the last word. I couldn't help but glance around.

"Right, sorry for intruding." She must've sensed my uneasiness because she continued, as if to reassure me she meant no harm.

"I usually don't bother guests, but I noticed you haven't left your room...," she hesitated, "I wondered if you wanted to join me for dinner? The food here can't be something you're enjoying." She laughed. Her laugh eased my mind. If things were different we could be friends. "You don't have to, but I thought you might like something decent at some point."

She laughed again and I managed a small smile. "Thanks... I don't know if going to town is a good idea. I prefer to be alone. I...like my privacy." "Oh...," she looked disappointed, "you sure? If we went now, it'd be empty. They have a back area. No one sits there." "Um...," I hesitated. "Gosh I'm sorry! You're clearly uninterested. Everyone says I'm too pushy."

Shaking her head, the brightness of her smile faded and I felt bad. There was no harm in dinner. There'd been no signs indicating he was close... Against my better judgement, I decided I'd go. "Don't be, dinner sounds nice. It'd be good to get something better in my stomach." I said reassuringly. Her smile came back instantly. "Wonderful, do you want to walk? It's not far." "Sure, that...sounds nice," my smile met hers, "let me grab my bag." "Great!" She was beaming. Closing the door, I leaned back, taking a minute. Long enough for my brain to work against me. What if she knows him? Could be a trap. Oh God, what if it's a trap?? The scenarios flooded my head so quickly I shut my eyes, wanting to scream, but not allowing myself to. My heart picked up speed. I could feel the anxiety creeping through my bones. I grabbed at my chest when the constraints hit and it became harder to breath. I was inhaling and exhaling so fast tears where forming in the corner of my eyes and my fingertips were going numb.

"Hey, it's Alexandra, right? You okay?" The sound of the woman's voice stopped me dead in my tracks. I released the breath I'd been holding and assessed my surroundings. Realizing I was fine. He wasn't here. I hadn't seen a hint of him...and she WAS being friendly. As long as I kept my guard up, I'd be okay. Quickly grabbing my bag, I slipped the gun inside, opening the door once more.

"It's just Alex, and I'm fine." "Well, Alex, I'm Haven. Haven Wynters...let's get you something to eat." *** Weeks came and went. Then months. The longer I stayed, the more relaxed I got. Hanging out with Haven didn't help either. As our friendship grew, so did my hope of freedom and feeling safe. I even started helping her around the motel. Maybe after all this time he'd given up.. . My wedding anniversary was coming up. A date that brought up too many memories. Made me uneasy...but I was determined to make it through unfazed. However, when I met up with Haven, for breakfast, there was a chill in the air. Something felt out of place and I got the very distinct feeling I was being watched. Glancing around from side to side, clutching the gun, I saw nothing. Still, as I walked to the diner, I felt I was being followed. My gut telling me I was right to be worried, but my brain battled between: second guessing myself, being paranoid, and being right. When I walked into the diner, though, all I was met with was Haven's bright smile. Something I'd come to find comforting. "Alex!" She jumped up and grabbed me in a hug. I flinched. Which only made her hug me harder. Even though I'd never told her about my past, she seemed to have sensed something bad happened. Her daily hugs were always followed by... "You know, Alex, if you need to talk I'm here." "I know, Haven." She'd nod understandingly. Then we'd eat. Make small talk. Most of which was about Haven's life. But something about the way this morning had gone made me want to open after all.

"Have you noticed anyone new in town...other than me?" "No... Why? Expecting someone?," she asked eating away at her blueberry pancakes, "Cause if you are I'll keep an eye out." "No...yes...it's complicated." Haven looked up inquisitively. Her mouthful of pancakes.

"You okay, Alex?" "I'm fine...I just..." My voice trailed off. What could I say? "Alex," Haven's hand met mine, "I can see you're not okay. Always looking in every direction, you're never really here, and you flinch ANYTIME I touch you. You never even left that room until I asked you to dinner. Who knows how long you'd of stayed in there if I hadn't. It's okay if you're not alright. No judgments. I want to help." She sounded so sincere, I burst into tears. No one had ever been so kind. I hadn't expected to feel safe with her. So I opened up. "It started after we'd been married five years...five years? Can you believe that?... I met him when I was young. So handsome. So charming. And when he kissed me I felt I was where I was supposed to be. Such a deep connection. We had many years together. Happy years. Then something changed. It was like one day somebody flipped a switch and he was no longer the man I'd married. He was dark...dangerous, and he drank. I tried to help, but he'd get angry. Say horrible things to me... Everything I said got twisted. I was always wrong...and I'd end up feeling bad for something he did. How could I've ever allowed that!?," I sighed heavily, "But I did. Over and over. Taking everything he said to heart. Clinging to every shred of happiness he threw my way. Which was always an apology... I loved him so much, and I don't even know why." I paused. "It wasn't until he pushed me against a wall, knife to my throat, saying, "I could kill you. No one would notice. No one would care.", that I finally gathered up enough strength to leave. Since then I haven't stopped running. And I never stay anywhere long... Except here. But I shouldn't have, Haven. I feel like I'm being watched, like he's here. Taunting me. I can feel it. I swear. I feel that same fear in my gut. I know he's here. Lurking. Waiting. What should I do?"

My eyes were so teary I could barely see Haven's smile. She squeezed my hand tighter and moved to my side, wrapping me up in a hug. I cried harder and she held me. "Oh Alex, you don't have to run. He's not here and if he is...so what? I can help, everyone will help. I promise we'll keep you safe. You don't have to be afraid of him anymore." Haven's words were comforting. But not enough. At least if he took me down, someone could speak for me. Maybe take him down too. She'd been such a marvelous friend that it hurt my heart to know I was leaving. She meant well and probably had every intention of protecting me, but I knew, all too well, he was better. I couldn't risk her getting hurt because of me. I would keep running as long as I had too. *** We'd finished our meal with the promise of me joining her for dinner. However, I had different plans. As I walked briskly back to my room, my stomach turned from the anxiety creeping up the back of my neck. Something was definitely wrong. Or maybe I was incredibly paranoid. .. My gut told me that wasn't true. I could feel him.

I wrapped my fingers around my gun as I unlocked my room, ready to shoot, and swung the door open... Nothing. God, I was crazy. I breathed a sigh of relief. Haven was right. I was safe. It was my own paranoia causing these feelings. He couldn't have found me. Reassuring my brain was enough for me to release the grip around my gun. Not a second later, I felt someone shove me forward. Hitting me hard on the back. Causing my full weight to fall forward. My head smacked the corner of the bedframe and I was out. *** I awoke groggy, my head pounding, not sure what happened. Looking around I saw nothing. So I tried to get up. Realizing quickly that wasn't going to happen. I was tied to a chair. Tears forming in my eyes. He'd found me.. . Then I noticed the bathroom door was ajar. He was there. I could feel it in my bones. Feel his grip on my skin, see that malicious smile. My heart started racing. Sweat dripping, hands shaking. I could feel the familiar pain in my chest as my breathing quickened and I grasped for air as it got harder to breathe. Eyes darting in every direction as panic filled my entire body. "Alexandra, darling, breathe. It'll only get worse if you continue to panic." My heart dropped. Staring at me, with a smile I could recognize a mile away, was him. "Thomas...please." I uttered between raspy breaths. A moment later he was in front of me, his hand caressing my face. I flinched at his touch. "Do you know how long it took to find you," he put his face in my lap, "I was afraid I'd never see you again." "That was the point." I spewed angrily. His head shot up. Smile gone. He looked as if I'd just given him the worst news. "How dare you say that? Don't you know how much I LOVE YOU!"

His voice increased in volume so much he was yelling by the end. He'd grabbed my arms and shook me around.

"You are MY wife. Look at what you're making me do! I had to look every where for you! You stupid ,ungrateful, bitch. I do everything for you! And this is how you repay me? By taking off and disappearing!" I felt the sting of his hand against my face long before he made contact. He grabbed my hair, yanking so hard my head was thrown back. Through tear stained eyes, I pleaded with him. "Thomas...please..., just let me go..." His laugh cut right through me. "Let You go? Oh, my darling, Alexandra, I will never let you go. Ever. Again."

The menacing tone of his voice caused me to cry harder. I'd made it this far to end up here...Thomas having the power. He grabbed my throat so tight I could hardly breath and untied me. Pulling me to my feet, he got close enough that I could feel his breath. "You are mine forever." I cringed. He dragged me forward. "I need you to pack your things. We're going home." "Please, I can't...I can't breathe." He let go, but turned me to face him. "No funny business, Alexandra. You will pack and we will go. Or I'll have to hurt you." I nodded and he released me. But never left my side. Scrambling, I rushed around grabbing my belongings. His body not a step away from mine. Bending down, to grab my bag, I realized the gun was still inside. I stood up. Not letting on I'd started forging a plan. With a gun I had a chance.

Motioning to my bag, I asked if I could grab medicine for my head. He agreed, but eyed me with suspicion. Reaching in, I clutched the gun and slowly lifted my hand. A second later I dropped the bag, pointing the gun at Thomas, who was enraged and running towards me. Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger. BANG!

The same time I shot, Thomas snatched me up. Narrowly missing a bullet to the head. He threw me against the wall. Then pulled me up by my hair. I winced as he put his arm across my throat. I could feel my trachea being crushed. Tears blinding me, I held tightly to the gun he was desperately trying to take. Grunting in frustration, I saw the evil in his eyes as he backed away. The second I breathed, I felt his hand connect with my face and I fell over. I tried to cock the gun, but he stomped on my leg so hard I was sure it broke. I yelped, crumpling to the floor while his laughter broke my heart. "Oh, Alexandra, look what you're doing to us. Look what you're making me do!"

He was pacing now, one hand on his hip the other against his forehead. As if trying to decide what to do next while I laid in a ball whimpering. A few minutes later he'd changed completely. Anger vanished, replaced by the manipulating, apologetic, man I'd come to hate. He bent down to my level, wiped tears from my face, and hair from my eyes. I flinched and he smiled sympathetically. "I can't let anyone have you. You have to be with me." Taking a chance at getting through to this side of the man I once loved, I said what I knew he wanted to hear. "Thomas, baby..." He looked triumphant. "I...I love you so much. You know that. I was scared." "Darling, you don't have to be scared. I won't hurt you." "I know baby, but my leg. I can't move. I need a doctor." "I'll get you fixed once we get home." I could hear anger building back up. I had little hope of getting away. Words weren't enough. I needed something more. So I leaned in. Using my free hand to grab the back of his head, I kissed him like my life depended on it. Because it did. He pushed forward, kissing back, running his hands through my hair. Moving, I slid my hand down his chest and over to the gun, slowly pulling back the hammer. It was so slow it hadn't made a sound, even as I released. Thomas was so lost in the moment, it wasn't until I pressed the gun to his chest that his eyes met mine with complete confusion...then anger. "Alexan..." was all he muttered out before the bullet hit his chest. His eyes wide with shock as he fell back. The gun still pointing his way, shaking in my hands; which had turned white. I was breathing hard. Ears ringing. Then nothing. Everything was still. Nothing but silence. I was free.


From the diary of Kermit Roosevelt, the second son of Theodore Roosevelt, found in the estate of his younger sister, Esther Roosevelt. Sunday, February 27, 1927, Rondônia, Brazil Thirteen years the nightmare has haunted me.

I have blamed myself, pushed everyone away — everyone except Esther and Archie and mother. I ended it with Belle, nearly ended myself many, many times. And here I am, back on this ink-black river. Back to search for him, what remains of him, if anything remains after thirteen years, but how can there not be something remaining of him, as vital as he was — father? The forest on either side of the river is a green wall. I already feel the eyes on me, the natives hiding among the trees, watching, as they did thirteen years ago. The sun is rising. We are off at midday. --- Friday, March 4, 1927, River of Doubt, Amazon Jungle When father was feverish, in delirium, he kept repeating these lines of Coleridge over and over: "In Xanadu did Kublah Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree." Over and over. Hours on end. The same words, repeated, repeated. They run on in my mind.

I should not have come here. I am no longer a young man.

What do I hope to achieve by this? The black water of this river rushes, rushes, turbulent and black like my mind. --- Friday, March 11, 1927, River of Doubt, Amazon Jungle Insects everywhere, a black, buzzing, biting cloud. "This is my last chance to be a boy." That's what father said to me as we set out on the expedition, thirteen years ago. Maybe he died a boy.

How odd, for a son to hear his father wishing to be forever a boy, a Peter Pan, but that was him, wasn't it, the forever boy? Get action!

How many times we heard him say that:

"Get action!"

As if constant 'action' would chase away the black moods, the despair. Yes, that is what I need. I realize this is why I am here now. It's the only way to keep from eating the barrel of a gun.

Get action! --- Thursday, March 17, 1927, River of Doubt, Amazon Jungle We woke this morning to find the dog at the stern of the canoe, shot full of arrows. It was the same as thirteen years ago. A message from the natives following us, watching us from the jungle on either side of the river. They could do this to us at any time. Why do they refrain? Do they want us to turn back? Do they want to egg us onward? --- Friday, March 18, 1927, River of Doubt, Amazon Jungle We took him for a native. He came out of the jungle, jumped into the river, swam towards my canoe.

When he pulled himself out of the water into the canoe, I recognized him. It was Julio de Lima, the camarada porter who had snapped and killed a man during the prior expedition, then disappeared into the jungle. Thirteen years later, here he was, back again. He did not look a day older.

"Ajude-me!" he cried out. That is ' Help me! ' Then: "Chefe do pau grande — " A single arrow flew from the jungle and pierced Julio through the throat, cutting off his words.

The arrow must have been dipped in some terrible poison, because Julio withered before my eyes, his skin wrinkling so that he took on the appearance of an old man, his hair turned from black to gray then white, his lips drew back from long yellow teeth, and he fell dead on the spot. We buried Julio under a tree.

This is the place. The spot where I last saw father.

This was where father told me he had determined that he would end his life with the small of bottle of lethal morphine he always carried with him, so that he would no longer be a burden for the expedition. By then, the infection in his leg was so bad that he had to be carried.

“Boys, I realize that some of us are not going to finish this journey," father said. "I want you to go on. You can get out. I will stop here.” But I refused. I would carry him out, I said, even if it was his dead body I carried on my back. So he might as well come along alive. And I would have. I swear I would have brought him out alive. But it wasn't to be. That night, the malaria fever took me. By the time I recovered, it was days later, we were down river, and father was gone, left, as he wished, in this forsaken spot to die. --- Sunday, March 20, 1927, Xanadu, Amazon Jungle Now I understand Julio's last words: Chefe do pau grande. But first, let me describe this place. Here, in the middle of the hot, humid, insect-infested, rotting jungle — Paradise! As in the literal meaning of the word 'Paradise' - from the 'walled gardens' in the Persian Empire. I have found Eden, here in the Amazon, west of the headwaters of the River of Doubt. The air is perfectly temperate, the trees bear fruit that taste of all the best foods my palate can imagine, animals of all kinds roam free, the lion next to the lamb, and a tribe of innocent and peaceful people live in this walled garden, eating the fruit, enjoying a perfect, simple life. And here I found him, ' Chefe do pau grande ': The 'Chief of the Big Stick', elected by the tribe to be their leader: Father. He is alive. Alive and a young man again.

To see my father again, to clasp his hand, to speak to him, is beyond what I could have imagined.

More incredible still, to see him as a man now several years my junior, in the prime of his life. In the middle of the walled garden is a fountain, a wellspring. Those who drink from it will have their youth and vigor restored and live forever. But there is a price to pay, and I am not yet certain I can pay it. Father has lost all memory of his former life. That is the first price to pay for those who drink from the fountain of youth: your past life forgotten. The second price: never to leave the pleasure-dome of this walled garden.

Julio left — and paid the price. --- Friday, March 25, 1927, Xanadu, Amazon Jungle If I drink from the wellspring, will I know father as father, or will even that memory be lost to me, as it appears to be for him? Will he simply be a friend? So be it. I swore I would not leave him. I will keep my promise. Four of our number have decided they must return, must leave Xanadu. I will give them this diary to take to you, Esther.

I will drink from the fountain. I will give up my memories. I will remain in the pleasure-dome. I will stay with father. Smile when you think of me and of father. Here there are no black moods. Here there are no dark memories. Smile, and remember me.


My name is Ella. Growing up, I was told to do my best and conquer the world. My duty was to study, focus on important stuff, and not get distracted. No movies, books, friends, or boys were supposed to derail my mother's goal: I would have what she didn't, and I would share the success with her: my sponsor, my promotor, my everything... at least for a while. School was always tough for me, not because I found it challenging to deal with it, but because I was never as good as others thought I could be. The pressure at school was much better manageable than the one at home, even when I realized my mother was strict but would never kill me if I failed math. I was never a sports girl or a genius in science, and even if I loved literature and reading, learning grammar was boring and consuming. Despite the struggle, my grades were good enough to pass year by year, and they improved during my high school years, allowing me to attend university: I was on the right path to becoming "something." In those semi-adult years, I chose a career that should give me a bright future, and it did... until the lights went out, and I decided to change my life before it decided to run away from my body. But I am getting ahead of my story.

I believe I did burn out for the first time during my university years, even though no one took me to a doctor's office to diagnose such a condition. Looking back, I remember my engineering course as a continuous nightmare, one of those where someone chases you, and you keep running...forever. I did not like what I was doing, and I did not want to change either, which seems stupid, but it's the truth. I did not want to change or stop because I felt I couldn't. How could I? That would mean failing my mother's expectations and, even worse, contradicting the firm belief that had been given since I was an infant: never stop, never quit, always show you can do whatever is necessary. What was I supposed to do? Look for happiness by doing something energizing? To feel good? No. I considered it but did not dare to do it, so I continued and finished my studies. That was supposed to take the weight from my chest... and it did until the next thing came across. Because there are always things thrown at us and others... well, we choose them even if we have no idea what we are doing. After years spent with my nose buried in books, the next logical step was to look for a job. In a rebellious attempt to take ownership of my life, I moved abroad and got my first job, where I learned a ton, mostly about people. Sometimes, I even learned things about myself, which might sound ridiculous since that's who I had always lived with... but in fact, I hadn't, not like that. I had ups and downs, and a few years later, my mother politely asked whether my universe domination headquarters could move to her living room. Unfortunately for my mother, I had listened for years- too well- to all the stories she told me about the mysteries of this planet and its people, so I decided to move around to see it all with my own eyes. If I had been a bit more adventurous instead of settling in apartments, I could have made a YouTube channel to speak about my van life. If I had not decided to work stupid hours in a corporate job, I could have taken surf lessons, partied for days straight, and taken over fabulous businesses. But not. I met someone. I fell in love. I had children. I kept working, studying, and having wonderful goals for a wonderful future. And then, again, a dark cloud. One day, on our way home from work, I asked to go to the hospital instead. That was the first time I thought I was dying... but I was not. I was "just" having a panic attack. And a few weeks later, I had the second.

At that time, I had a tough job and two children who were not in the business of making life easier. Some of my colleagues did yoga and meditated; others popped pills like candy to overcome that thing called stress. I was terrified of pills and what they do to people, what they turn them into, so I decided to speak and hate a stranger instead. Oh, my, how I hated that woman, for months, sitting in that red chair, speaking... I talked and talked, and the seasons changed. I moved away from that red chair, together with my family, into a more Nordic style, with lower temperatures and greyer skies. I had always thought sunlight was overrated. Now, I think that's what you feel when you have it every day. I got a new job and then another. I met more people, got more responsibility, grew older, and lost patience for silly things. And politics. And things and people that are supposed to be like all the others... Maybe Taylor Swift is correct, and if I were a man, I would be the man, but at this point in my story, I don't know if I even would want it. I don't know if I want to conquer the universe anymore. I feel more inclined to write about it and attack the cookie drawer instead... or travel worldwide and enjoy a good coffee and sweets. Last year, I burned again. While having a panic attack on the elevator and struggling to breathe on my way to the seventh floor of my office building, I tried to think what that meant for my future. None of the thoughts were good or politically correct. I wished the world would burn instead of me, but I am a reasonable person -most of the time- and what I decided was much easier for everyone around me. After all, the problem was me, not them. I left. I cut ties. I disappeared from their lives to take over mine. One year later, I write from my living room, read in my bed and garden, pick my younger kid up from school, play with him and his siblings, and share my life with my partner. I do all those things, but I feel nothing. I am productive. I have a goal and a continuous challenge. I've chosen my path, the one that was supposed to make me happy... Someone told me once that it was a perfect job for a tormented soul. Based on that, I should be the most successful person in my area, but not yet. Right now, I'm just perfect on paper: tortured and conflicted.

One more decision. There is a little bottle in front of me. One pill a day keeps me sane and stable. I look at it and think about sanity and stability, what it means, and what doesn't. This is not it. I don't think so. I take the little container. I open it. I pour the pills on the counter. So many things I've decided in my life. So much struggle... and then, now, not anymore.


“Ashley, wait!”

There was no way I was going to give her the satisfaction of turning around. There was nothing left to explain. “Ashley, you bitch, I know it’s you!” I grabbed my apartment keys and gripped them tightly between my pointer and middle finger – just like my older sister had taught me in middle school. “Always go for the eyeballs or nuts,” she had told me, although I knew if she caught up to me my keys wouldn’t do a damn thing. I turned up Market Street and started walking faster. A group of tech bros were taking up the entire sidewalk and I pushed my way past them, knocking one into the other. “What the hell?” They yelled after me but I didn’t care. I broke out into a sprint. “Ashley, you need to stop right now!” She was gaining on me. I needed to think fast.

How the hell was this happening? How did she find me? And more importantly, where the hell were the others?

The karaoke bar my co-workers had talked about hitting up was close by. If I could just get there, they could protect me. There was power in numbers, right? Wait, that’s exactly what got me into this mess in the first place. I turn down an alleyway and started sprinting as fast as I could.

This was getting to be ridiculous. Was I going to spend my entire life running from them? They would never stop until they got what they wanted.

I slowed down to catch my breath. Tears streamed down my face. When did I start crying? What was going on? Why did she still have this effect -- this power -- on me after all these years? “Ashley, it’s time to pay for what you did." And then she was there in front of me, looking exactly like I remembered her.  The rockabilly wig was gone and her natural blonde hair cascaded down over her shoulders. God, she had always been so beautiful. "Ashley, it’s time to come home.”

*** The night had started in predictable fashion. The team had met up for drinks at the Mexican restaurant across the street from the office before people started closing their tabs or breaking off into smaller and smaller groups to figure out where to go next.

I was already three Rosarita Red margaritas in – Tio Johnny’s signature drink – and there was no way I was planning on heading home to my apartment anytime soon. Thankfully it appeared Jim, Laurel, and Brent from accounting weren’t ready to call it a night either. It was a motley crew, no doubt. I don’t think I had ever said more than five sentences to Brent before this evening but he seemed down and, more importantly, that he wouldn’t rat to HR in the morning should the night take a turn.

We were still trying to agree on a place to go next when my phone lit up. Derek was down at Lucky 13 with a crew and wanted to know if I wanted to roll by. Of course I wanted to roll by. I always wanted to roll by when it came to Derek. Derek. What the heck were we even doing? Why was I entertaining the thought of meeting with him and his pretentious band friends. “That chick I want you to meet is here,” he texted. I left Tio’s without saying good-bye. ***** The familiar smell of whiskey and popcorn hit my nostrils the minute I walked in. I found Derek out on the patio and went up to him and gave him an awkward half hug. A girl with blunt Bettie Paige bangs and too much eyeliner was standing next to him. Ugh, definitely his type. Why did I agree to meet her? Why was I torturing myself? “Liv, this is Ash,” he said. She looked me dead in the eyes. No fucking way.

“I think we’ve met before," she said with a smirk. My heart dropped. "Wait, what? Wild!" Derek said, oblivious to the tension between us. "I swear this city gets smaller and smaller." "Are you sure?" I said, trying to keep my cool. "People tell me I have a familiar-looking face all the time." "Oh I'm sure," she said. "You said it's Ashley, right?" "Her name is Liv," Derek said with a slight laugh. But I was already out the door before I could correct him. ***** I never wanted to be an Ashley. Growing up I would beg my mom again and again to call me Kelly, after my favorite afternoon TV alter-ego, but she wouldn’t budge. “I don’t want to be an Ashley anymore,” I would whine from the backseat of our beat up Plymouth Voyager, my older sister sitting next to me.

“Why?” she would sign. “All of your friends are Ashleys and you love your friends.” My mom was a lot of things, but creative wasn’t one of them. There were four other Ashleys in my class – seven in my grade alone. Who knew how many hundreds of others were out there. It was the most popular baby girl’s name of 1988 after all. But I didn't love them. I was scared of them. “Fine,” she would finally say. “What if we called you Ash?” Ashley Donte had already claimed Ash as her own. I wasn’t about to cross Ash Donte even if she was my best friend. You never wanted to cross Ash.

As I grew older I resigned myself to the fact that this sequence of letters was me, my identity. I was an Ashley – I was one of them – whether I liked it or not.

Until I wasn’t. Until they forced Ashley into hiding and Liv emerged. Liv was everything Ashley was not. Most importantly, she was free of the others and what they represented. Liv was alive. I moved across the country. I found a new job. New friends. A new life. The Ashleys couldn’t get to me. At first the hairs on the back of my arms would bristle when I would hear my former name. At Starbucks, in a bar. Until one day it didn’t mean anything. I was Liv. I was okay. They couldn’t make me do those things anymore. They couldn't hurt me. They say there's power in numbers, but I had found my strength all on my own.


As We Speak the Truth. “Raise your right hand and repeat after me.” “I, Wilfred McNab do solemnly affirm that the evidence to be given by me shall be the truth , the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

Wilfred looked nervously around the courtroom. He’d been in jail several times in his life and the prospect of returning was not one he relished. His big dilemma about taking the required oath was whether to tell the truth, or slightly bend the edges in order to shape an outcome that hopefully would keep him out of prison.

He blinked several times, adjusted his glasses and met the gaze of his partner in crime, Myrtle Dubois. She smiled serenely, the effect immediately calming Wilfred’s fears, bringing his world into a balanced centre. He stoically repeated the oath, his eyes never leaving Myrtle’s face. The crown prosecutor began building his case. He methodically laid out the charges and began a grilling, which though casual in appearance was a carefully constructed framework designed to snare and trap Wilfred into a guilty charge. Wilfred sensed the danger and did his best to foil the hunter in front of him. He quietly answered the questions being asked and only occasionally glanced towards Myrtle for assurance. Things had begun rather innocently with a plan.

Viewed through the eyes of many, especially those steely orbs of Lady Justice, it was a bad plan. Myrtle and Wilfred however failed to consider the full extent of what they were contemplating, especially the possible consequences. The pair lived within a marginalized reality that respected little of conventional systems of law and order. Basic survival was the main drive and rules that bound many, failed to deter them from the scheme they began to devise. It was Myrtle who first broached her partner. “Wilfred, we need food.” “I know Myrtle.” Wilfred sighed. He dug into worn jeans, pulled out a thin wallet and realized that he had just enough currency to cover a limited number of choices. Cigarettes? With their treaty card they could squeeze out maybe two packs, three if they turned a bit of change on the street.

Booze?

They actually had a fairly good routine going at their favourite LCB. Wilfred would play his fiddle while Myrtle, wearing her favourite ribbon skirt, primly danced to the fiddle’s call.

She would smile beguilingly at passersby.

One might imagine her toothless grin would scare people off.

That gaping dark hole seemed instead to prod the occasional person out of a numb zone of indifference. Some deep well of forgotten guilt edged its way to consciousness. Gratitude for a mouthful of pristine white enamel came with a cost. Many passing by had a vague awareness that a company dental plan absorbed most of the exorbitant fees of their oral upkeep. They managed to avoid the reality that this was a luxury denied to the less fortunate in life. “Those lucky bastards live off the government.” “My hard earned tax dollar supports these sponges.” “Why don’t they get a real job?” These attitudes conveniently overrode any compassion with the ignorant assumption that ‘those sponges’, got way more than their fair share of the pot. Myrtle and Wilfred played the odds.

They knew they could count on those rare souls burdened with an awareness of their entitlement. This knowledge inevitably overrode a more measured sense of caution. These benefactors knew full well that their contribution to the pot of change at Wilfred’s feet was not going to any dentist.

For the most part they were inured to the various and sundry stable of performers, begging for their ‘hard earned’ money. These reluctant caretakers, upright members of a reputable community, managed to overcome their repugnance and stopped to politely watch the entertainment. They understood that the “Need food for our children”, “Homeless,need shelter”, “Trying to get to …” signs were nothing but a ruse.

The clever signs served to further poke away at their conscience and induced some sense of obligation to compensate for all they had.

Some simply sighed, aware that the scene before them would be best forgotten if they pulled out a few loonies, tossed them into the pot and walked away quickly. Wilfred and Myrtle actually did need food. They lived somewhat frugally and yet often found themselves short at the end of the month. They were grateful for a small pension that guaranteed them a roof over their heads, enough food to stave off starvation and a little extra to supplement the needs of less fortunate relatives. They understood that their vices, cigarettes and alcohol were a problem Fortunately, they had a plan and more importantly, a good friend who was ‘white’ and looked like an upright member of acceptable society. Sandy had been brought up in a foster homes that endeavoured to instill values that might better guide the destiny of her life. Her birth home had held little promise of that opportunity and it was hoped that her removal at a young age would assist in a more productive outcome. This was not to happen and when she aged out, starting life on her own, barely managed to stay off the streets. She began associating with questionable companions and quickly became familiar with the many ways to relieve others of the burden of their earthly possessions. Sandy was a most proficient con artist and an accomplished thief. Over the years, she honed her skills and was able to make a rather comfortable living from the profits of selling her ill gotten goods. Her friendship with Wilfred and Myrtle had begun early in their lives. They’d all lived in the same foster home at one time and had formed a bond which had stood the test of time. Wilfred and Myrtle were sometimes a little shocked at the deviousness of Sandy’s schemes. They were astonished that she had managed to escape the long arm of the law and were quite baffled as to how she had achieved this skill. It was not exactly a talent they possessed. They had each been strongly influenced by Kookums who had raised them til death had placed the two children into the care of the social services system. It was in this environment that their traditional values began to falter and eventually, they simply accepted that Sandy had a real good thing going. So, they were having tea with Sandy and casually mentioned their problem. Sandy smiled, forefinger to nose, thumb to chin and said, “Hmmm, I may have a plan. to solve that.” Wilfred only cringed a little. His youthful ‘plans’ had earned him a place in a gang and that experience had not turned out well. He’d spent several years in jail for crimes mostly related to violence and was determined not to make that mistake ever again. Myrtle however, knew the potential of a good shill and was not above capitalizing on Sandy’s ability to pass as a normal, middle class, white woman.

The next day found them at a well known high end department store.

They were careful to enter separately and though they perused the same areas, made sure that no one would guess they had connection. Sandy, dressed to the nines and disguised as a wealthy suburbanite, carefully filled her cart with expensive electronics and pricey gadgets which would bring a good price on the street. In the clothing department, she selected top of the line leather jackets, fancy high heels and an assortment of classy costume jewellery. Myrtle nodded as Sandy’s hands passed over various articles, indicating an especially good catch. Next came the difficult part of the scheme. The three friends would head to the main floor, select a checkout till close to an exit which afforded a quick getaway.

Sandy had borrowed a friend's van. The handicap placard allowed her to park in a spot designated to assist those unfortunates. This spot further facilitated a quick escape. Sandy parked her cart by the door, pretending to look for a magazine on a rack facing the exit. Myrtle and Wilfred proceeded through the checkout. Wilfred tried to look as guilty as possible, fumbling in his pocket for change to pay for some small items they had chosen. Myrtle glanced around furtively, pretending to watch for suspicious security. Their act was successful. The clerk punched in their purchase and with disdain queried, “Is that everything? Do you have anything else?” Wilfred pulled out a dirty handkerchief, wiped sweat from his brow and mumbled, “No, that is all.” As they proceeded to leave the store, the clerk had already pressed the buzzer that alerted security. Within minutes, two burly security guards appeared and told Wilfred he was going to have to wait for the police to arrive before leaving. Myrtle went into high theatrics, yelling, “What? What are you assholes trying to do to us? This is racism, you’re targeting us ‘cause we’re Indians.” “Get your hands off my man or I’ll beat the shit out of you.” Wilfred joined the act. “You people are crazy, I’ve stolen nothing, everything in this bag is paid for.” By this time the police had arrived and a rather large audience of bored shoppers was watching the live drama unfold before their eyes. Wilfred went to reach into his pocket, pretending to hesitate as though looking for a weapon. All hell broke loose. The police pulled their guns out, Myrtle started screaming and Wilfred dropped to the floor pretending to have a seizure of some sort. The surrounding audience began to panic, people saw the guns and were terrified of being caught in the crossfire of a shoot out.

Shoppers turned and began running away as fast as possible. Those who could, darted out the exit doorway and along with them, pushing her stolen booty, went Sandy. The police, the store security, all the gathered clerks, never even noticed her departure with several thousand dollars worth of merchandise. Sandy made her way to the parked car and quickly began dumping her haul into the opened hatchback. No one even noticed her as she slammed the door closed, got into the vehicle and calmly drove off. It was only after Wilfred and Myrtle had been released and time had passed for the store to do an inventory that estimated the damage of the threesome’s shopping spree, that more serious justice was sought. The police arrived at the McNab residence, read Wilfred his rights and hauled him off to the city jail. The next morning found him in front of a judge, the courtroom clerk read him his rights and invoked his oath to tell the truth. Wilfred felt trapped. He knew there was no way he or Myrtle could be connected to the theft in question and yet he was torn. His Kookum’s spirit sat on one shoulder, gently nudging him, “Son, tell the truth, tell them what your plan was.” Myrtle’s steely gaze from the courtroom spectators warned him, “Don’t you DARE!” Wilfred took several minutes to debate his choices. He made an invisible sign of the cross, placed his third finger over his index finger and firmly stated, “I stole nothing from the store that day.” The frustrated prosecutor decided to give up and not waste any more money on this useless game of revenge and retribution. Wilfred and Myrtle left the courthouse, took the bus across town and met Sandy in a divvy bar. The three chortled as they counted out the dividends from the fenced items and made the three way split. The money greatly relieved Wilfred’s sense of guilt and what little remained was washed away by the straight whiskey in his glass. My question for you dear reader is this... “Would you have dared to tell the truth?”