Me and my dad moved to Clifton from Douglas, just over two years ago after my mother died. My dad didn't want to live in the same house or town anymore, too many memories, I guess. I took it hard, but my dad was on the verge of a mental breakdown. So I bottled it up inside, for his sake. Starting off in a new school was tough. I didn't have many friends in my last school, but it was familiar. I struggled for the first two weeks till Aisling came over and introduce herself to me. She had seen a drawing I drew and wanted to compare her work with mine. We both loved horror comics, so we kind of hit it off straight away. It was nice to have someone to just talk about stuff again. I wasn't interested in Aisling in that way and I was almost sure she wasn't interested in me either. We were close friends, she was someone I could turn to. It was around the same time that I met Aisling, that I started talking to Eve. Eve was the most amazing girl I had ever talked to in my life. She just totally got me in every way possible. Talking to her got me through some of the hardest times in my life. If it wasn't for her I don't think I would still be here. I think we helped each other. She had a lot going on with her stepdad. That's why we had never met. He kept her locked away. She wasn't allowed talk to boys. If she dared to go against her stepfather's wishes, he would beat her. We always talk about running away together. I would imagine myself as her knight in shining armour, ready to whisk her off and ride off into the sunset, rescuing her from her wicked stepdad. I would of went to the ends of the world for her. We had talked every day on the computer and even on the phone. Then one day her messages stop. I knew she lived in the same town, But apart from that, I knew little else. I didn't know if I had said something to upset her or worse, something bad happened to her. I wished to God she was just upset with me. It had been over two weeks since I had heard anything from her. Then out of the blue, a message from her inbox popped up on my screen. “WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE.” At first, I thought it was Eve messing about with me. I replied back, angry with her for just ditching me like that without any explanation. “MY NAME IS AGENT GARRISON OF THE CIA.” I couldn't believe she was persisting with the joke. I was so angry at her at this stage. I couldn't understand why she was mocking me, feeling really pissed off I shut my computer down and went to bed. The next morning I wake up to my phone ringing. It was a private number, but it could have been Eve trying to ring me to apologise. The voice was female but slightly muffled as if they were trying to disguise their voice. The voice over the phone told me they had been watching me for some time now and that they knew everything about me. That it was only a matter of time till they took me out. I demanded to know who I was speaking to, but she just hung up. I was feeling very scared at this stage. Walking to and from school I couldn't escape the feeling I was being watched. When I got home there was another message. This time they asked what I knew about Eve’s stepdad. Apart from him being a piece of shit, I knew nothing about him. That's when they told me Eve had been murdered by her stepdad. I had that all familiar feeling of disbelief and despair wash over me. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. Last time I had this feeling was when I was told my mother had died. They continued to tell me that Eve’s stepdad was part of a terrorist organisation. That Eve was helping them get evidence against her stepdad and that he must have found out and killed her. They told me, people, higher up, wanted me dead because I knew too much. But the agent I was talking to, had convinced them that I could help with the investigation. It all felt surreal. I felt so scared, all I wanted to do was scream for my dad but I couldn't get him involved. Agent Garrison swore me to secrecy. She told me they needed me to follow Eve’s stepdad and that it was at the highest level of national security. I felt trapped at this stage. I couldn't say no. If anything happened to me it would be the end of my father. I had to tell someone. That's when I decided to ask Aisling to help. I didn't tell her about the C.I.A, part. I just told her about Eve's stepdad We sat across from the address, Agent Garrison gave me. We watched him come and go from the house. I remember thinking how much I hated him. I thought about how if I killed him it wouldn't matter since he was a terrorist. I'd only be doing the country a favour. Apart from him moving boxes from the car. Nothing else caused us alarm. So we decided to call it a night. I offered to walk Aisling home but she said she had things to sort out and she would talk to me in school. I was slightly disappointed I had nothing to report back to Agent Garrison. So I decided to go to bed. I woke up to messages coming through on my computer and a load of missed calls on my phone. It was Agent Garrison and she was angry. She told me to look out my window. She asked me did a see a blue car and I did it was parked across from my house. She told they were watching me and that it was only a matter of time before they killed me and my father. I pleaded with her to tell me why. I did everything they had asked me to do. I pleaded for my father's life. I begged her to keep him out of it. She told me I shouldn't have got my friend Aisling involved. That she was a treat to national security. That a team had been dispatched to kill Aisling, her family, me and my dad. I begged and I pleaded for her life and the life of my dad. I said I would do anything. I even offered to kill myself. I was an emotional wreck at this stage. Agent Garrison told me to compose myself and that there was one way out of this. All I had to do was kill my friend and the lives of her family and the life of my dads would be spared. There had to be another way I begged. She was totally innocent in all this. I didn't even tell her about the C.I.A, I pleaded. But Agent Garrison insisted there was no other way and that she needed an answer straight away because the hit team were on there way. There was no other way out of this mess. I had no choice I had to kill her. Agent Garrison instructed me to be at a certain spot and that they would arrange for Aisling to be there. I was sent to a secluded spot at the back of the shopping centre in the town. I thought about running and just keep running until it stopped being real. But then I thought about my dad. Agent Garrisons voice was playing in my head. Telling me it had to be done. I must have stood there for over an hour, frozen with fear. I prayed she wouldn't show up. But she did, she was walking towards me smiling. I begged her to forgive me, I told her I loved her and I did. She kept walking towards me smiling. Then she wrapped her arms around me. As she whispered the words I love you into my ear. I plunge the knife deep into her chest. As the realisation of what I had just done was setting in, I ran and kept on running till I got home. My dad was standing in the hall as I burst through the front door. Shaking and covered in blood I collapse into his arms. I told him everything, about Eve, her stepdad, Agent Garrison, Aisling. I begged him to forgive me. Still shaking my dad wrapped me in a blanket and drove me down to the police station. He even brought my computer and phone. After the police had confirmed what I was telling them. They bring me into a room. They start pulling out pictures of Eve's stepdad. I tell them that he was the terrorist the C.I.A was tracking. I told them that's why Eve was murdered. I begged them to look at my message logs. Then they pull out the same picture of Eve’s stepdad. But the girl in the picture wasn't Eve, it was Aisling. That's when they told me, Eve’s stepdad was in fact, Aisling’s father. Then they hand me a letter which they tell me it’s Aisling’s suicide letter. First I want to apologise to everyone I love. If you are reading this letter it means I'm no longer alive. I know a lot of people will be upset at my demise. But I had no other way out. I didn't have the courage to kill myself so I concocted this plan to have myself murdered. I don't want Sean to get in any trouble, as this was planned from the moment I had met him. You were truly an amazing friend Sean. I loved you with all my heart. Eve’s stepdad truly was an evil man but it wasn't Eve he was abusing. I was let down by so many people I felt this was my only option. Sean, you are truly my knight in shining armour. I wished things could have been different between us. I love you with all my heart and I thank you for ending my pain.


When I loved you, I loved you deeply. I poured so much of my being into you, that there was nothing left to fill the mold of who I was supposed to be, so I depended on you to tell me. You broke pieces of me, little by little harboring them in a glass display case to wander past each time you thought of me. And when I sobbed at night, it was you that held me despite being the reason my lungs couldn’t maintain the air to speak and the reason tears escaped my eyes, running across my face like meteors. And when I left, you still had your hold on me. Never keeping me too far. Giving me many gifts that were inspired by my niches you cared to remember. It was like you were saying to me *No one will love you like I did.* And when I still kept those gifts because for some reason their presence only symbolized that no one did love me like you, but I didn’t want them to. Every time I start to get close to someone the acidic pain that you left in my veins begins its dreadful current straight to the command center of my brain which makes the conscious decision to shut them out. *No one will understand you like I did.* The pain that shoots through me only makes me feel that it’s true. No one will understand me like you did, but that’s exactly how you were able to make your poisonous words so effective yet seem like such a requirement to live. Before I had actually left, you knew exactly what to say and do to make me come back to bed with you. To lie next to my attacker and believe that he was my lover. You made me believe that love was supposed to be that way. Hurting each other as deeply as you could because it’s the withstanding of pain that proves you belong together. Secretly despising each other only makes the sex better. And when I swallowed those pills because I couldn’t stand a life where we didn’t make sense, yet made so much sense, it was you who I saw in the foggy haze of revival. Certain movies I can’t see, certain smells that scrape at my insides with a painful coldness. Certain places I refuse to go, people I refuse to see. *No one will care for you like I did.* I think the thing that I hate the most is that there are nights where I lie alone in a bed too small for me, in a room too empty for me, and wish that you would roll over and embrace me again. What a foolish idea. I tried turning my mind off, prescription drugs weren’t enough to keep my mind from trailing off into fits of PTSD and episodes of dissociation. The sadness I feel when I start to think about being with someone else is too much to bear. I can feel the anxiety of even thinking of it, losing someone again. Letting someone have control over me. I can’t begin to describe how much it hurts that I may never have someone like that again. I miss the love you gave when it was genuine love. When you actually cared, but at the moment I can’t think of any moments where you may have shown that you do. As this year ends, I am left with a melancholy reminder that 12 months ago we were happy in our little apartment with our dog. Six months ago I was still yours. Broken, but yours. I have damaged myself mentally, spiritually, and financially desperate to try to find anything that will make me feel like everyday is not a waste. Like I don’t regret taking the wrong pills and confessing my plan to someone else. Since then it hasn’t felt worth it. Still, I live. Barely surviving but surviving. Even surviving a car crash that seemed to make matters even worse, yet it’s my soul that is telling me to strive forward. Something in my soul is telling me that something big is coming. I hope it is something to set me right, make things better, make me stronger and more independent. I never knew independence when I was with you, because you were so much a part of me. Now I hope that I can continue forwards towards whatever paradise my soul is secretly and so subconsciously leading me towards. I hope I can truly begin to focus on myself and be the person I need to be and truly am. I just hope you know that you didn’t fully break me, but I appreciate you trying to.


She smiled. That beautifully radiant smile. A smile that could beat back the darkness of night and the bleakness of despair. It was a smile that many a man would readily die for. And it was for me. Her fingers entwined themselves in mine, holding them firmly enough to let me know she was there. I resisted the urge to squeeze them any harder, for fear of breaking the spell. I was utterly bewitched and she knew it. I was powerless to resist. *It’s not the fall that hurts. It’s the sudden stop that kills you.* The strains of music drifted through the air. At least, I think it was music. At this point it didn’t really matter what it was. It was everything and nothing at the same time. It was the perfect soundtrack to a movie of our own making. We were the stars of a show, written and directed by suns beyond our sight. She turned away, and dragged me through… a crowd? I don’t know. It mattered as much to me as a man’s debt does to an ant. I didn’t care. All that I yearned for was to be with her. In the here and now. Even if I knew that I didn’t deserve it. That I’d somehow used up all of my life’s luck in just one night. *But what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger… Right?* Why was I even here? Doubt creased my face with line upon line of impotent sadness. Words whizzed about, shouts and screams filled what anyone would readily perceive to be the air. But none of it reached me. I was an oasis of self-deprecation, unable to move beyond the pitiful cycle of self-immolation. The music changed. I think. I tried to clamber back up from what was a dark pit of ridiculous, nonsensical anxiety. What good would it to do to me to take myself apart like this, piece by piece? *I should just enjoy this. Even if it doesn’t last.* She must’ve noticed something was wrong. She pulled me close, and held me tight. I was conflicted, a maelstrom of opposing emotions competing to plant themselves at the forefront of my consciousness. I closed my eyes, and drank in the moment. The stupidity of the doubts crystallised in my head, and began to melt away. She pulled back, and looked straight through me. Her eyes sparked with the fires of life and passion. She was gorgeous beyond belief, her face contoured and sculpted by the gifted hand of the Maker himself. The exquisite lines of her being flowed from one feature to the next, never ceasing to amaze me as I watched her glide through my vision - a study in indescribable, breathtaking magnificence. *Things aren’t beautiful because they last forever. They’re beautiful because they can’t.* I finally returned the smile, a pale imitation of the loveliness that was before me. She let me go, satisfied that I had picked myself up. I finally heard the music and let it bounce around in my head. It moved me, us, bringing us up and down as wave upon wave of joy washed up on the shores of my soul. I was happy. She was happy. And that was enough. I tried hard not to think of what would happen once the night bade farewell. Maybe it would all be over once the music ground to a halt, and any number of fat ladies stopped singing. Maybe this was all it was ever going to be. Just another moment in time, lost amongst the infinite nothingness of irrelevance. *Hold on to that smile. You might never see it ever again.


We all died at the same time. It was a combination of two of our friends, Rhett and Sam, and a bit of unfortunate luck. I don't know what you would call it. Not murder, they only put things in motion. But they did mean to do it, so intended Manslaughter? Either way, it ended with the three of us with cracked skulls at the bottom of bleachers. That was my original guess as to why we were chosen for the roles we now play. We found out later that something we had each done changed the world through ripple effect, so the world isn't as random as you would think. They simultaneously cured cancer and started another war. Hannah became the World Angel. Quiet and soft, out of the three of us it was a nobrainer. My bet was she would have become the World Angel eventually even if we hadn't died when we did. She influences all the good I'm the world. The halo I joked about her having back when we were alive I now really there, as well as an extreme wardrobe change to a soft white dress. She wasn't a huge fan at first, being that she always wore a blue hoodie and jeans, but I think its grown on her. Will became the World Demon, which makes him sound a lot worse than he really is. It must have been a toss up between the two of us to be the World Demon at first, but he won out in the end because he has a certain way with words that makes it so you're going to listen to him. Naturally, he's in charge of negative actions. If you look around, our redhead is doing a good job right now. Said redhead was outfitted in a expensive look black suit and a red tie. Again, not particularly his style, but he stopped complaining after a decade or two. I think I've gotten the hardest job out of the three of us. After being done up in a beautiful gray silk dress, I was given the title World Truth, which wouldn't give away my spot without you knowing anything else. I'm in charge on assigning every important person in the world an alignment, so to speak. My predecessor assigned Hitler an evil alignment, for instance. I tell the two of my friends to keep am eye on people who I assign alignments. Which brings me to you. I've had a hard time with you. Watched through your childhood, and I know your future. Run for world leader, see how that goes. Since I know how that turns out, I'm supposed to give you an alignment. But I cant figure you out. You're a perfect neutral. Then it hit me. You'll end up be the next World Truth, a pure one. I'll be picking your World Angel and World Demon, I think I have them locked down. Hold him and her close to you, you might be spending a millenia or two with them.


As the constant drip burrowed itself further into his mind, Andrew had only one thought: I’m gonna die here. He had every reason to believe that. He had watched enough of those crime shows his mom liked to know that hostages hardly ever had a happy ending, regardless of if the ransom was paid or not. More likely than not, he would be found in a ditch somewhere, or worse, by some drunk dude who had to piss in a park. The park stuck out to Andrew. That’s where he had been taken. His mom would be pissed when she found out, she made him promise not to take that shortcut. This was the first year he was allowed to walk home alone (his parents were really overprotective), and he found that he got home at 4:15. That was a problem, because Spongebob started at 4 (if you ever told anyone he still watched it, he would deny it), but he had promised his mom that he wouldn’t take the shortcut, so he ended up only watching half of the episode. The day he was taken was different though. It was a special episode, one where Patchy the Pirate would be part of the adventure. He couldn’t miss that! So, he figured that just this once it would be fine to take the shortcut. It’s not like anything bad would happen, he was 12 years old and invincible! That had been 2 weeks ago. Since then he’s been stuck in this tiny room, which was just about twice as long as him and about that wide too. There has been nothing for him to do. No books, no tv, no music, not even any action figures (which, very importantly, are not toys). The only things he’s had to help pass the time are his ‘meals’—if you call plain mashed potatoes in the evening and plain porridge in the morning meals—that were shoved through the slot at the bottom of the door and the constant dripping coming from his bathroom hole in the corner. He’d already made beats off it, counted to 1000 with the drips, and sarcastically said “drip, drip, drip, drip...” along with the now obnoxious sound. It was this dripping he was listening to when he drifted off to sleep. ————————————— It was some time later, he had no way of knowing how long when he was woken up by the sound of a girl screaming... no, not screaming, yelling. “Get your fucking hands off me you creep! Let me go! I swear to god if you don’t get your hands off me I’ll fucking kill you you dumb fuck!” Andrew wasn’t allowed to use those words, he tried once and his mom grounded him for three whole weeks, but he knew how the girl felt. The shouting was right outside the door now. “I know Ju-Jitsu and I’ll break every bone in your body before I choke you and don’t let go!” Well that sounded fake. The door opened and for the first time in weeks, Andrew saw another person. Two of them, actually. One girl, around his age, many a bit older, and a big man wearing a ski mask and black hoodie. The man threw the girl to the floor and quickly shut the door. “Get the fuck back here you asshole,” he girl was already back on her feet, pounding on the door. “Fight me like a man rather than sneaking up behind me like a fucking coward!” “Don’t bother, it’s not going to work,” Andrew said from his bed. The girl must not have noticed him because she jumped at the sound of his voice and turned towards him ready to fight. “Who the hell are you? Why are you here? You better stay over there and answer my question— hold on...” she got right in his face, “you’re the kid from Highlands! Andrew, wasn’t it?” “How do you know me?” “Kid you’re famous! Anderson Cooper even took time off yelling at the president to talk about your case!” “My case?” Andrew asked. “Yeah your case! You’ve been gone for like a month,” Andrew realized that they weren’t breakfast and dinner, but daily meals, “you’re family has been going nuts, they’ve organized like 20 search parties, they’ve knocked on every door in town, they’ve been on every news network, hell I don’t think they’ve slept!” “They... they’re actually looking for me?” “Oh come on Andy, is it ok if I call you Andy? Might as well get used to it, that’s your name now. But come on! Of course they’re looking for you! Why wouldn’t they be?” “I dunno...” “Exactly! So what have you been working on? What’s your plan?” “What do you mean?” “What’s our way out? You’ve been down here long enough, you must have thought of at least a rough plan!” Andrew looked at the ground. He hadn’t thought of anything. He figured that there was no point, his kidnapper was going to become his murderer soon enough, plus he was in a tiny room with one steel door and no windows, how was he supposed to get out? “Come on Andy don’t tell me you never thought of anything. What about that hole over there? The one with the smell... that’s shit. That’s your shit hole. This is an actual shit hole cell,” The girl started laughing. “But can’t you get out through that?” “I don’t think so... I’ve never seen the... poop go down. Just slowly higher and higher.” “Well... fuck! Ok how do you get food? Does Meatloaf out there bring it in?” “No... he slides it under the door. I’ve never seen him until he brought you in, even when I was taken. I was walking through the park, I felt a needle in my arm, and then I woke up here.” “Jesus Christ Andy stop being so defeated! What else is there in here?” “You can see it all. I’ve got a bed and a bathroom hole—” “Shit hole, Andy. From now on it’s called a shit hole. Gotta take my laughs where I can get them.” “Okay… but that’s it. That’s all that’s here.” “What are you wearing?” “What?” “God dammit Andy we probably don’t have a bunch of time!” “Jeans and a tee-shirt! That’s it!” “Jeans…” the girl said contemplatively, rubbing the wall. “By any chance, are those jeans too big for you?” “A bit, but I wear a belt so I don’t have plumbers crack!” “That’s perfect Andy! Are you wearing your belt now?” “Yeah…” “Then we can escape! Andy, I’m a genius!” “Okay…” “Give me your belt,” the girl said, holding out her hand. “Hurry!” Andrew reluctantly took off his belt. He had joked about girls asking him for this before with his friends, but this wasn’t what he had pictured. “What’s your name?” Andrew asked hesitantly. “What does it matter? Hurry up and give me your belt!” “No name, no belt.” “You’re fucking impossible! Fine, my names Andrea. Happy now? Give me your damn belt!” Andrew passed her the piece of cloth from around his waist. She greedily grabbed it from him and smiled looking at the metal clasp at the end. “We’re getting out of here! Today! I know we are, Andy!” “Sure we are, Andrea… you keep believing that. Maybe it’ll help you when you’re lying dead in a ditch.” “If you’re not going to help, just sit over there and shut the fuck up.” Andrew went to the bed, still tired from his interrupted nap. He sat propped against the wall, crossed his arms across his chest, clenched his fists, and tried to shut out the new scraping sound coming from beside the door. ———————————————— “Andy! Come on Andy, I’m almost through! Come help!” Andrew opened his eyes and stretched, making the mental note to not sleep with his arms crossed ever again. His arms and hands were more stiff than they ever had been in his life. “Hurry! I need you over here!” He groggily made his way to the side of the room where Andrea had been scraping. On his way there, he saw the discarded remains of the belt he had gotten for his birthday. Mom would be mad… if he ever saw her again. Looking up to the hole where Andrea had been working, that possibility seemed more realistic. “Holy crap Andrea!” “Yeah I’m awesome, I know, now help me with this!” “What do you need?” “This part is thin, but I cant break it on my own. It’ll take both of us. Come on. We’ll start about… here,” she walked halfway across the room, “and get a running start. You're right-handed, yeah? Ok than lead with your left shoulder. This will probably hurt it and we might need to do some other stuff so it'll be good to have your right arm ready.” “I’m not sure—” “Oh shut up and quit being a pussy! Come on, count of three.” Andrew didn’t know what “being a pussy” was, but he didn’t think it was a good thing. He got ready with Andrea. “Three!” she shouted immediately. They both ran full speed into the wall, making sure to lead with the left shoulder. Andrew felt a crunch and his arm went numb. “God damn motherfucker holy shit what the everloving fuck that hurt!” Andrea shouted from beside him. Good to know she was okay. Andrew looked toward the wall and felt butterflies. It was small, but there was a hole. “We did it Andy! We’re free!” The hole was just wide enough for Andrew to fit through, and he was scared that Andrea might not fit. “You go first.” “Aww look at that, chivalry isn’t dead. Alright I guess I’m up.” Andrea started toward the hole and put her head through, but got stuck at her shoulders. “Fuck… Okay Andy you have to go. Go alone and get the cops. Remember where we are. Bring the cops back here.” “Andrea I can’t!” “Come on Andy, I need you to do this. It’s okay, just make sure you get out and bring the cops back here. I’ll be fine. But you’ve gotta go quick.” Andrew fought back tears and threw the arm he could still move around Andrea. “Alright kid, you gotta go. Be safe. Grab a piece of cement in case you see that big fuck again, bash his head in for me.” Andrew nodded and made his way to the hole. It was tight and caused him to nearly cry because of his shoulder, but he made it. Grabbing a piece of cement, he looked around to gather his bearings. The only thing he saw in this new, bigger square room was a staircase. He quietly made his way up, pausing at the top to see if he could hear the man in black. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he entered the area at the top of the stairs and realized that he was in a house. A nice house. To his left, he saw it. The door. He saw the houses across the street and started running. Pulling the door open, he started yelling. “Help! Help! Call the police! This man kidnapped us! Help!” ——————————————— The cops didn’t find Andrea. The man in black, James, said he had only ever kidnapped Andrew. It turns out he had made ransom demands, and when his parents met them, he had made new ones. Andrew had been right, he was just going to see how far he could push the parents before they couldn’t meet his demands and then he was going to kill the kid. But he had only ever taken the one kid. He was adamant about that. He confessed to everything else and plead guilty. The judge sentenced him to seventeen years in prison. The police and psychologists said that, because he had been alone for so long, Andrew had probably hallucinated Andrea. It’s a common occurrence. But Andrew knew that they were wrong. He looked toward his desk in his room and saw another sticky note: Clean your damn room, Andy. It’s disgusting. The shit hole smelled better.


I Remember, for years I was, and my world was, and nothing else, and I knew everything. I knew that I loved progress, and I created the walk. I knew that I was alone, and I created you. I knew that I loved you, and I created love. I knew that I wanted to have fun, and I created the world for you. I knew that you loved me, and created our nights. I knew we were tired, and I made the trip. I knew that we were afraid, and I created patience. Years passed and I was my world, and you were our world. One day you told me you were tired and I was surprised how I did not know. The next day I asked you what I wanted, and I did not know. The next day I asked you where to go, and I did not know. The next day I asked you how much I love you, and I did not know. The next day you said you want to go, and I'm afraid. The next day you went, and I no longer knew anything, and I created God to be your keeper. The life of a large bowl is full of cherries; red and black and coarse and fresh. One for me, one for you; do not bite the cores, break your teeth, believe it. It's a strange misfortune. This separation lasted for weeks and months, and it still burns for years; it is a hundred mercy for giving birth. I said, "Do not listen to me again, you may read." Remember what life was like? Was dark at night? Sofa in front of me was always empty? You do not know how busy you are, go and go, sprinkle and spit, play games, lessons, ice cream, travel, work, phone, machineries, subscriptions to business journals, shopping and laundry; remember the city of Farang? The same is under Windows; but it's still empty. It's as if all this screaming and humor does not sound at all, whatever the echoes are, the memories of the days that will not come back. Remember you said I will not do anything to you after you? I lied. Now there is someone sitting on the side of the table and listening to my words, sometimes laughing. Now, there is one person in my eyes looking for the same things that you went with yourself. When it is, it's fun, but when it does not, it's still empty. It's ridiculous, is not it? It has been summer. Last night I wanted to leave your vacancy with winter clothes in a large suitcase behind my wardrobe. I'm sorry. Winter is coming back, but what about you? We went to winter and I brought the clothes again; then I would stay with you again. I bought a large pot and a sunflower, yellow and black, tall and tight, a thin neck with a cute and brittle bend toward the sun and the window. For the moment, it has solved the problem. Life is a bowl full of cherries. Sour and sweet, red and black. None of the two is the same. It is true that your place is empty and may never be filled, but there are other places and other people who fill them. It's time for sunflowers to glow in the sun from sunrise to sunset every day, so there's nothing wrong with it. Now that he is taking care of the sun, I can also come to my life. I take another cherry, one step ahead, stronger, more relaxed, safer.


So I was walking down memory lane today and recalled a certain "ordeal" that my friend Josh and I managed to come out unscathed from. I wanted to memorialize it in case I croak tomorrow. This is a true story. Every detail was recalled with as much accuracy as possible, but there may be a few that we’re altered for writing effect. ***DISCLAIMER*** I have nothing but the utmost respect for the folks that allowed us to do this. None of the events were their fault. It was just nature's course. They taught us well. ***DISCLAIMER*** Read below for one of most harrowingly exhilarating stories that will likely rank top ten for Josh and I when it's all said and done. So my friend Josh convinces me to go skydiving. He had done it once before. I had yet to break the shell. I didn't want to go unless I could do it alone. Solo. It may seem a little counter-intuitive, but I didn't want to put my life into someone else's hands. Little did I know that notion was about to be put to the test… We decided to go to a certain outfit just outside of Carcross, Yukon. The outfit let you do your first dive by yourself. Technically they throw your chute for you and all you have to do is jump. You're still jumping out of the plane, for your first time, without someone strapped to you. I allowed it. We drive to the air strip and immediately we're greeted by this seasoned veteran. He says he's had “over 10 000 dives”. A real ‘seen it all’ type. Grey hair and grizzled appearance. It was intimidating. He had set up what can only be described as a classic Yukon base camp. Tents, tarps and campers. Equipment here and there. The odd ATV. If I hadn't already grown up in such environments, I might have been put off. Josh and I were still wary. We were jumping out of an airplane today, not camping, May long weekend style. There was a veneer of sketchiness we just couldn't shake. Perhaps this was all part of the show and added to the suspense. However, we had just drove hours to do this thing and we weren't turning back. So we get on with some "training". Basic stuff like practicing releasing the main chute. Cutting the main and releasing the reserve. Practicing maneuvers. Going over some theory. All the while we were waiting for the weather to clear. Eventually we just ran out of things to practice and we end up watching a really old, road trip, feel good movie. Things take a turn for the characters in the movie and there's a scene that plays out almost like what was going on that very day. The group drive up to an airstrip. There's a sign that says "FREE SKYDIVES". An old crusty pilot comes walking out of the hanger and asks the group who's daring enough to brave the sky. Well the main character is a bit of an egotistical jerk and says he'll do it. The grey haired pilot walks over to something covered in a large canvas. The canvas falls to the hanger floor revealing a dilapidated airplane. The main character starts to look a little timid at this point, but he doesn't want his friends calling him out. So he begrudgingly gets in. They take off and after much trepidation, he ends up jumping out of the plane. His main doesn't open however, and he freaks out. He remembers his training though and cuts the main and releases the reserve. Josh and I are glued to the screen, thinking 'what the hell are we watching'? This is way too intense! I start to get knots in my stomach. This must be part of the gig. To get us rattled before the jump. I needed air. I decided a walk along the air strip would do me good. Right around this time we had already been waiting for hours for the weather to clear. There's nothing like waiting for half a day in order to jump out of an airplane for the first time, SOLO, to get the ‘heeby jeebies rustling your jimmies’. Finally, the winds die down and there’s a small break in the clouds. They scramble the plane. It's just a little baby Cessna, barely enough room for the lot of us. We hunched into the sardine can and took off! But as we left the ground, we realized we had done it WITHOUT THE DOOR! It's loud. Wind is flying through the cabin. The pilot looks back and says, "The winds are actually much worse up here!" He says he has to slow the plane down enough so when we jump we don't get a face full of propeller wash. The cross winds are so extreme, the plane is almost flying sideways. I lean over to the pilot and I ask him, "Hey, wanna know what Zuneza means in my native language?" "Uh, yeah sure" he says. "It means bird!" "... and today I earn my wings!" I step out of the door first. The wind is blowing in my face and I'm regretting the events of the day. I hadn't drank that day (YET), but I wouldn't consider myself sober. I step out onto the landing wheel of this small plane. The same wheel that the 10000 jumps guy had bragged about earlier, saying that he lets go of the breaks on the plane and lets you fall if you don't jump soon enough. I grab onto the strut of the wing. I begin inching myself closer to the inevitable. I take one step off the wheel. Then the next. Now i'm literally hanging on this wing strut, legs pointing to the earth, thousands of feet below. I look at the pilot and he gives me a hasty thumbs up. I say some last prayers, make peace with whatever I could think of and let go. Apparently most first jumpers do what's called the "funky chicken" on their first dive. Basically, the body goes into an involuntarily dance. Legs and arms flailing around in a futile attempt to grab onto something. Anything. What you're actually supposed to do is spread out like a pancake. Better stability that way, apparently. Well somehow I'm clearheaded enough to do just that and it's in that moment when the rush kicks in. This is it? This is all there is to it? This isn't so bad! This is actually kind of fun! A few seconds later and my main had deployed. 'Thank goodness' I ponder, thinking back to that stupid movie. The jumpmaster (10000 jumps guy) starts squawking on the one way radio strapped to my chest and says: "We've got a problem" "You're not gunna make it" These are not the words I wanted to hear. My heart sinks… "The winds were too strong" "And blew the plane off course" "Do your best to make it to the drop zone" "I’ll try to guide you in if I see you" See, the area in which we were doing the dive is called the Carcross Desert. It's apparently the world's smallest desert. Its basically just a big patch of sand surrounded by the Canadian Rockies. We were supposed to land in the middle of that patch of sand, but as I looked below me, all I saw were the tops of forty-foot conifer trees. Not exactly landing strip material. But not all is lost, because I also see the desert ahead of me as well. The wind is behind me and its strong! I think to myself, "I might make it to the outskirts of the desert if I really boogie!". The only issue is the outskirts of the desert have trees scattered throughout. I would have to find a landing path long enough, through all the trees. The jumpmaster gets on the horn again, "Okay Zuneza, I see you coming up to the desert, but there are too many trees for me to see your landing, so you're going to have to do the landing yourself". Normally he's supposed to guide you down and tell you precisely when to flare the chute in order to sufficiently slow before the final touchdown. However, in his eyes, since he couldn't see me, he would only be further complicating the situation by trying to help. My heart is about to burst out of my chest like an alien creature. I see my approach. There is a long stretch of sand in between two patches of trees. I focus and line up my trajectory. I think it's just wide enough for one and a half parachute lengths. If I aim true, I should fit... I think. However, there are three more problems. The wind is behind me and it's STRONG, so I estimate I'm probably going over thirty miles per hour per hour. Also, my landing "strip" isn't exactly flat. There and dips and bumps and everything slopes off to the North. Never mind the conifer trees on either side. The last problem was something that was entirely my fault. I had twisted my ankle a few weeks prior and it hadn't fully healed. I had been walking throughout the day with a slight limp. I had concealed it from the jump master in case he grounded me. Beggars can't be choosers. Especially now, as I beg for the sweet embrace of the earth... well... without smacking into it of course. At that point the reptilian brain had kicked in. I had lost all sense of emotion, focused on saving my own life. These were the last moments before I either walked away from this or not. As my landing strip came into view, I had a fleeting thought, "I wonder how Josh made out?" I come screaming past the trees on either side. I had done well to remember my training and pulled HARD on my chute just at the right moment. SPLAT! My ass hits the earth instead of my twisted ankle. I was dizzy and the wind was trying to find its way back into my lungs… but I had made it. I was back on solid ground. Josh and I ended up driving back home and believe it or not, it was probably the drive that was the most harrowing experience of that day. The events that had just played out had sent us into a frenzy of adrenaline and I had to constantly remind myself to stay under the speed limit or else tempt fate once more by careening off the road. Him and I proceeded to prove to our local watering hole how amped up on adrenaline we really were by demolishing flight after flight of beers.


I look out the window of my cabin. The darkness seemed thicker more overbearing. Any light that was coming from the cabin was being consumed by the darkness. Edging itself closer to the cabin, slowly engulfing everything around it. There was no moonlight, no sky, just darkness. I turn to see my husband carrying our son up the stairs to bed. I call out to him, "I think the weather is going to turn for the worst," but he ignores me. Something is different. I can't remember getting back to the cabin, the last thing I remember is being in the car with my husband and my son and big bright lights. I go to the window to check for rain. All of a sudden my attention gets drawn to a group of trees that seemed untouched by the darkness. A dark figure appears by one of the trees, it begins to move out of the darkness, towards the cabin. I step back from the window, I call for my husband but I get no answer. I run up the stairs, into my son's room but my husband wasn't there. I walk over to check on my son, he seemed pale. I touched his face which seemed deathly cold. He looked peaceful and happy so I tucked the blanket snuggly around him. As I walk back downstairs, I call for my husband but still no answer. I walk over to the window. “What I saw was just my imagination,” I keep saying to myself. I look out the window, I start to hear voices calling me from the darkness. “can you hear us?” “can you hear us?” “come back to us.” A state of panic and fear take over me. I start screaming for my husband, but still no answer. I go to check the time but the clock in the sitting room was stopped. I start running around the house checking all the clocks, but they were all stopped at the same time (9.00PM). Still screaming for my husband and getting no answer I run upstairs to my son's room. To my horror, he is not in his bed. I start frantically searching the house for my son, no sign of him with tears streaming down my face I run back down to the window. I look out to the clearing in the woods. Only to see a ghastly looking woman staring right at me, grinning menacingly at me while gesturing to someone to come to her. I look to my left to see who she was calling too. I see my husband carrying my sleeping child towards the woman. I start banging on the window screaming for my husband to come back. As I'm screaming my son awakes as his father is carrying him, he looks at me and smiles and waves. I start screaming his name, pleading for them to come back to me. But the darkness just engulfs them and they disappear into the darkness. My knees buckle and I crash to the floor. I feel a jolt of electricity shoot through my body, then another one. As the electricity flowed through my body a bright light blinds me. I hear that voice again, the voice I heard in the darkness. “can you hear us?.” Scared and confused I start coming around to my senses. I look to my left and I see a clock that reads ( 9.00 PM). I look up to a doctor shining a light in my eyes. I feel a searing pain shoot through my body. I cry for my son and my husband. I hear the voice again. “You were in an accident. You were hit, head on by a truck, you're lucky to be alive.” I cry out for my husband and son again. I feel someone take my hand. “I am so sorry, they didn't make it.” It's been a month now since the accident and I sit here all alone in my cabin, I walk over to the window. I look out amongst the trees and there she is dancing between the shadows of the trees waiting for me. Forever calling me.


“Has the forensic team finished up with their part yet? I don’t want to contaminate the scene with my shoe prints if they haven’t cleared it.” “Yes. It’s ok to walk around now. They already did their thing. About two hours ago they got dispatched to a new crime scene. Another stiff was found a few miles from here. HQ didn’t notify you about that one yet? The crew is there working that case. I’m sure you’ll be investigating that one also. Dave’s still on vacation, right?” “Yeah. I guess It’s my lucky day.”; Hiroki Hamada responded to the deputy with an eye roll. The detective noted a couple of obvious things first. The victim hadn’t been dead very long and visible evidence pointed to it being a homicide. A large ‘T’ was carved in the man’s forehead with some sort of sharp instrument. That sort of cartoonish mutilation was usually reserved for big city murder cases and crime novels. It wasn’t enough that the victim died. The perpetrator wanted to make a strong statement about his or her victim. That extra level of effort implied it was a crime of passion. There was no ID present on the corpse but the forensics team had taken his prints and other info. They would know who the deceased was soon enough. Once his identity and personal background was known, a clearer picture of possible motives would hopefully present itself. For the time being the mystery man was simply labeled ‘John Doe #1’. The coroner picked up the body and transported it back to the county morgue for an autopsy. Detective Hamada called Mark’s work cell. “Hey. I hear you have another case? Since Jefferson is still hula hooping in Honolulu, this one is gonna fall on my assignment docket too. Text me the location. I’ll be over as soon as I finish my notes here.” Larson sent him the address. Upon arrival Hiroki immediately noticed the glaringly obvious connection between the two crimes. The victim was similarly posed and also had a large letter carved in her forehead. This time it was a giant ‘A’. He exchanged furtive glances with his be-speckled coworker. It was no coincidence. They were dealing with a spree killer. Who was Miss ‘A’? She did have identification on her person and from it Detective Hamada noted that no part of her name bore the initial ‘A’. He was immediately reminded of ‘The scarlet letter’. It was mandatory reading when he was in high school. “ I see she’s wearing a wedding ring. Does it list her emergency contact in her phone? As soon as we’ve make positive ID on the body and notified the family, I’ll bring in her spouse and have a little chat with him. Her death may not be that much of a shock. I’ll feel him out and see if he knows who our ‘John Doe’ is” “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”; Larson muttered. “Nathaniel Hawthorne?” “Yep.” —————- The woman’s husband was brought in for an exploratory ‘interview’. He seemed genuinely broken-up about her grizzly death but that was to be expected. Even if he killed her, that didn’t exclude the possibility that he felt genuine sorrow and remorse for his violent actions. Hiroki studied the husband’s facial mannerisms carefully but didn’t detect any sign of deception in his eyes or body language. His reaction came across as that of an innocent man grieving over a devastating loss. A detective’s instincts about a suspect were not indefatigable but his gut feeling had served him well over his career. In order to validate or strengthen his opinion of the man, it was necessary to escalate the pressure and intensity in the interview. It was about to morph into a full-blown murder interrogation. Certain terse details presented in the right way were apt to trigger an honest response. The day before, Hiroki had done some digging around in the wife’s personal life. He uncovered that she was having an affair with a man in her aerobics class. More telling, she hadn’t been terribly discreet about it. The ‘A’ carved in her forehead fit his ‘Adulterer’ theory perfectly but when confronted with the sensitive news, the husband denied knowing anything about it. Being asked point blank about something like that would likely rattle any pretense or acting out of the subject. He was genuinely crushed to learn of her infidelity. As tidy as it would have wrapped up the case, Hiroki believed the man really didn’t know. Interestingly, ‘Mr. T’ as they began referring to him; was not even the dead woman’s lover! His mysterious identity and relationship to her (if any existed) was still unknown. The other detectives on duty observed the interview from behind the one-way privacy glass. They were just as perplexed by the ‘near miss’ of not being able to connect the two cases, as Hiroki was. It was unusual having two unsolved murders for their modest-sized town. For them to be so similar and obviously connected (but unproven) was incredibly frustrating. Both crime scenes had been surprisingly free of usable evidence. The killer had been very careful to cover his tracks. They intended to bring in the wife’s lover for questioning but that would have to wait. Another dead body was reported in the industrial district. Like the first two cases, a letter was carved into the deceased person’s forehead. This time it was a large letter ‘H’. The detectives were starting to feel overwhelmed. The woman’s identity was unknown but based on several facts revealed at the scene, she was believed to be a prostitute. The detectives and forensic team recognized the tell-take signs of needle marks and drug paraphernalia on her person. They’d seen those things enough in the abandoned buildings nearby to realize she probably had an arrest record. A quick run of her prints at the precinct would reveal her identity. Much more complicated was going to be how to unravel her connection to the other two victims and what the ‘H’ stood for. Someone was leaving them a symbolic trail of breadcrumbs but they couldn’t see where the mystery led yet. ————— “Does anyone have a working theory or possible suggestions for what the letters might mean? Originally I thought the ‘A’ stood for ‘adultery’ since the victim was having an affair but that could just be a coincidence for all we know. The ‘T’ victim does have theft and larceny charges in his extensive arrest records but he’s been guilty of many other crimes as well. In the end, we are still assuming here. We could be wandering down the wrong path.” Detective Jefferson answered: “If your crime initial theory is right, what would the ‘H’ stand for on the prostitute? ‘Whore’? This killer is way too cunning to misspell a word like that. He’s been very careful in his efforts to avoid detection so far. That implies some level of higher education. For all we know, he’s just alphabetizing his murder spree. Heaven forbid! I’d hate to think he plans to have 26 bodies out there.” In the next few weeks several more bodies were found. An ‘R’, an ‘M’ and an ‘S’, among them. Detectives Hamada and Jefferson were up to their necks in seemingly unrelated details. They sought to find an obvious pattern to the murders. They examined financial details of the victims, relationship statuses, political ideologies, and a dozen other random variables. Despite the exhaustive research, none of the victims were believed to know each other and no connection could be found between them. It was baffling. Hiroki interviewed family, friends, spouses, and coworkers. He was able to build a clear understanding of the victims but wasn’t really able to find a common thread. Eventually he had to consider another angle. It was a strong possibility that their murders were the morbid handiwork of a completely unconnected vigilante. That would make solving the murders infinitely more difficult since there would be no clear connection between the victims and killer. Regardless, even a vigilante would have to encounter his victims somehow in order to know intimate details about them. There had to be at least a minimal source of connection in order for the killer to select each of them for their letter designation. Hiroki was determined to find out how the victims were picked. From there he hoped to track down ‘the alphabet killer’ before another person ended up with a letter carved into their head. One by one, the identities of the victims were uncovered. They came from all walks of life and personal backgrounds. Detective Hamada kept going back to his ‘sin label’ theory. The little bits and pieces he learned about them could possibly be tied to the letter they were found with. The victim with the ‘T’ had been a thief. The victim with the ‘A’ was definitely an adulterer. The ‘R’ victim had been accused of rape. The ‘M’ victim’s family strongly hinted during interviews that he had ‘touched them’ inappropriately. He had never been legally charged with molestation but those crimes often go unpunished. It was enough to support his suspicions. The ‘S’ case was difficult to tie to a traditional ‘sin’ at first until Dave Jefferson reminded him that homosexuals had been referred to as ‘sodomites’ in the past. That in itself was very telling about the killer, if correct. Finally that left the ‘H’ case. They knew she was a prostitute, so why hadn’t she received a ‘W’ or ‘P’; if the theory was right? —————- Somewhere in their modest-sized town, a very angry, judgmental killer hunted prey with little resistance. Law enforcement struggled to find suitable suspects to focus on. With all of the online surveillance and potential eyewitnesses of a modern society, it seemed reasonable to think that someone knew who he was. Someone held the key. The police department put out an urgent request for witnesses and tips. As was typically the case, most of the calls received were of questionable assistance. They interviewed dozens of felons and individuals with police records. Public and private pressure was mounting. The municipal powers that be, seemed as if they were more concerned about arresting someone, than finding the actual guilty party. To finger a patsy would be a double miscarriage of justice. State and federal police threatened to take over the investigation. Some days, Hiroki was beyond ready to hand it over but pride or masculine stupidity pushed him to keep going. Some days he wasn’t sure which one was the motivator. He surmised that perhaps it was a little of both. The ‘alphabet killer’ case drew national attention. The news media went out of their way to pander to public fear and imply that Hamada and Jefferson were inept detectives. Even the ‘favorable’ reports panned them as being way out of their league. That was perhaps the strongest catalyst for Hiroki to keep trying. He drew up a list of what they knew and then divided it from what they believed. Dave Jefferson has always been skeptical of the ‘sin letter theory’ but he didn’t have a better explanation for the killer’s motives. None of the victims names shared initials with the letter they were branded with. The two men decided to focus on the puzzle pieces which didn’t really fit. “Why was Charlotte Jones inscribed with an ‘H’? Did she try to rob a customer who retaliated, or was she lured into that vacant building with the sole purpose of killing her?” Jefferson answered. “I think she was ‘dead’ before she even walked into that seedy place. The killer had her number, er, umm, ‘letter’. It wasn’t really a crime of passion. The situation was fully controlled. She wasn’t shot or stabbed in fury. She was strangled with the meticulous focus of a baker slowly kneading some dough. This was a political statement, pure and simple. I think the ‘H’ might stand for ‘hooker’. It would suit your ‘sin letter’ theory.” Hiroki agreed with part of Dave’s assessment but disagreed with another key aspect. “Absolutely! This is about ridding the world of ‘undesirables’ (from his misanthropist point of view) but who does that? Who takes it that far? What person carries his contempt for the ‘amoral’ in humanity to the level of murder while branding them with a corresponding initial? It’s not enough to just take their lives. He also leaves us a cryptic clue as to why he killed them. This guy is ‘cool, calm, and collected’. He’s focused and very determined.” “Obviously.”; Dave replied. “He doesn’t make forensic mistakes that would lead us to him. To me, he doesn’t seem like the type to call prostitutes ‘hookers’ either. Maybe I’m wrong but that slang term almost seems ‘beneath’ him and ‘distasteful’. At least, based on what we’ve witnessed by his choice of victims. I seriously doubt he has a police record either. I get the feeling this guy is Ivy League educated and even hobnobs with social elites. He’s basically a morality snob. Who still calls a homosexual a ‘sodomite’ in this day and age? I wouldn’t be surprised if the guy wore a top hat and monocle.” Jefferson imagined the ‘Monopoly guy’ and grinned. What Hiroki said made complete sense. He laid out his argument perfectly. The normal pattern for a murderer is to have a lengthy crime record of escalating offenses which eventually build up to violent crime. They typically have a personal beef with their victims. This killer appeared to operate on some misguided morality crusade. It wasn’t simply a mindless murder spree. In the mind of the unknown killer, it apparently served the purpose of ‘bettering mankind’. Idealogical killings of that nature wouldn’t be committed by irrational individuals who had criminal records or made rookie mistakes. ——————- The two of them had spent too much time focusing on traditional criminal patterns and predictable behavior. Nothing about these bizarre killings fit the pattern of a sadistic felon with an uncontrollable bloodlust. Both men realized that a radical adjustment was necessary in their methodology and problem solving efforts. They refocused their energy on those with higher education and the devoutly religious. It brought in a whole new list of potential suspects. Hiroki couldn’t stop fixating on the ‘H’ victim, Charlotte Jones. He was sure that she was somehow the key to solving the crimes. Her name echoed continually in his head. He tried to work through the mystery information roadblock by sheer repetition. “Charlotte. Charlotte. Charlotte... the... hooker. Charlotte the ... huuuu”. Like a bolt out of the blue a thought came to him. “Adkins! Hand me that Oxford dictionary. Quick!” The clerk pulled the oversized reference book off the shelf and handed it to Detective Hamada. Hiroki flipped wildly through the pages. He scanned the top and bottom word of each margin in search of a specific noun. There on the yellowed sheet was the very answer he sought. ‘Harlot: noun; Origin Middle English, rogue, buffoon, female prostitute, from Anglo-French herlot beggar, vagabond. First known use: 15th century’ “Harlot!”; He almost shouted to Dave over the phone. “ it’s the ‘H’! It’s got to be! Harlot is an English noun for a prostitute. By prim and proper English standards of the older generation, Charlotte Jones was commonly referred to as a ‘harlot’. Why don’t we see if there are any expat British citizens living in or around the city? It would fit in perfectly with the evolving profile we’ve built about the killer.” The men dug in to their research with renewed enthusiasm. Hiroki didn’t even want to consider that their new idea might lead to another dead end. The cruel thought was unbearable. This HAD to be it. It just had to be. As luck would have it, there was an ex-English nobleman living nearby. He immigrated to their city less than a year before. Under ordinary circumstances, he would’ve never been on their radar but with their adjusted parameters, he deserved more attention. Hiroki and Dave sat down to discuss their interrogation strategy. Someone with his power and influence could easily ‘lawyer up’ and avoid answering questions if he became spooked. If he was their guy, he surely anticipated being caught as some point. If so, he had a strategic head start of almost a year. The distinguished subject of their interest was an older gentleman with degrees from Cambridge and significant financial resources. It wasn’t going to be easy to wrangle him into the interview room. He was definitely no ordinary suspect. It would be even more difficult to get him to be forthcoming if he was involved. The detectives needed to plan for every possible contingency. They needed the element of surprise to catch him completely off guard. They researched his background extensively so there would be no surprises (if and when they got him into the interrogation room). ————— “Good evening constables! I was told that my assistance was needed here at the precinct. I have availed myself to be at your service. Anything I can do for the brave lads in blue.” The detectives looked at each other in amused skepticism. His gentlemanly manner was almost too exaggerated to be believed but he was dead serious. He was suave, urbane, and genteel. Hiroki invited him in. The three men sat around the interview table and made small talk for a few minutes. It was all meant to put the suspect at ease to lower his guard but it had the opposite effect. For the suspect to show up so enthusiastically and unannounced, it put them at a strategic disadvantage. He was calling the shots. It was almost like he was interrogating them. Dave shot Hiroki a discreet look. He wanted to excuse themselves for a private moment to discuss the odd turn of events but it wasn’t a good idea. They didn’t dare leave him alone so early in the session. They had to keep tag-teaming him, to stop the suspect from collecting his thoughts. In an embarrassing gaffe, he’d already managed to fish some details from them over why they had asked him to come in. They had to regain control of the situation. All during the questioning, both men had to keep reminding themselves he was their lead suspect. It was surreal to think that such an affable gentleman was possibly responsible for a number of gruesome unsolved killings. He came across more like a dignified TV host of ‘Masterpiece theater’ than a serial murderer. The only hint of his possible guilt was how he dominated the interview. With that in mind, it was believable. The two detectives were used to being in total control. In this ‘cat and mouse game’, he was the cat. “Gentlemen, I hate to be imprudent but I sense there is something you wish to ask me. Can we dispense with the banter and pleasantries and ‘cut to the chase’? I feel we would all benefit from ‘yanking off the bandaid’, as it were.” Hiroki looked at Dave. The interview had drifted so far off course that it made getting back to their plan of attack, a challenge. The whole point was to put the suspect at ease and then slowly build toward confronting him. His forceful candor had turned the tables on them and unseated their careful stages of planning. Then he forced their hand before they could recover. “Mr. Maybeck. We appreciate your directness. Really we do. Let me lay it out for you. We have a series of unsolved murders in the city. We are certain they are connected because of certain commonalities between them. These reoccurring crime elements point to a person with certain distinctive traits. Through painstaking deduction and police work, we have created a profile of the killer. While that profile is still developing, it’s incredibly specific.” “And you feel that I fit this suspect profile...”; He interrupted. “Um, Yes sir.”; Dave replied. “You currently match our parameters so we’d like to ask you a few questions, in order to eliminate you as a suspect. Do you mind, or would you prefer having an attorney present?” “Ah! We were doing so dashingly up until now. I appreciate your candor, gentlemen. We can sit on opposite sides of the table and still maintain our dignity here. I’m sure that you’d very much appreciate closing the book on those crimes you spoke of. Please do me the kindness of not trying to outmaneuver me in some mental chess match. Just put forth the questions. I shall answer them with full truth. It’s my word as a person of honor.” Hiroki couldn’t believe the situation they were in and neither could Dave. They were actually considering being completely straight and open with the man. It went against every rule in the detective’s playbook but it was unique circumstances. Against his better judgment, Hiroki came out and asked him point blank about his involvement in the crimes. Mr. Maybeck smiled. “See. That wasn’t so hard, was it? I am indeed, ‘your man’. Honestly, it’s a great relief that I’ve finally been caught. I wish to unburden myself over my reasons and justifications for my bloody deeds soon but for the moment, I’m just curious about my ‘Waterloo’. What was my slip up that led you to me?” “Harlot.”; Dave deadpanned. “Detective Hamada realized that ‘H’ had to stand for something other than ‘hooker’ or ‘(W)hore’. Once we happened upon the old English noun ‘Harlot’, it pointed to an educated, older Englishman like yourself. We just looked into our census records until your information came up. If you had used ‘P’ for prostitute, we’d probably still be looking.” Mr. Maybeck smiled at the linguistic irony. He knew that one day he would eventually slip up. It was just a matter of time. He was proud that the two astute gentlemen across from him were the ones who finally brought him in. He imagined a ‘M’ carved into his own forehead.


“Economics is fascinating, really.” I said, looking into the mirror at the man sleeping in the backseat of the car. “Nothing is truly stable. There are fluctuations everywhere. The stock market, interest rates. Sure, people have an idea of how consistent something performs, and put all their money in that, thinking its safe. It’s not. Nothing’s safe when it comes to money.” We were driving down a long stretch of highway, enjoying the time we had together. “So, you put things in a ‘safe’ place, or at least your broker tells you its safe, and you trust him, so why not, right? Then that ‘safe place’ decides to go belly up. All that money you put in there is just vapor at this point, right? Just because a bunch of people didn’t value that stock anymore.” I gripped the steering wheel tightly. I wasn’t bitter. “Economics is just a fantasy on a planet-wide scale!. A bunch of people thought that the stock was valuable one second, the next, it’s worth nothing. Then schmucks like you and me have to deal with a auto-recorded phone call from their broker saying ‘sorry I’m a dipshit that gave you bad advice-blah blah blah- goodbye cruel world’” He even had the gunshot sound during the recording! Do you believe that?! Like I gave a shit about his pathetic life at that point. I had to get back to work!” My friend’s head nodded as he slept. He understood me, even while he was sleeping. He really was a great guy. It was too bad I had to drop him off. “So now, I’m what, sixty eight? My old job at the railroad was too much for me anymore. I can’t do what I did back then. My body won’t take it, but my mind. Oh boy, my mind is just as sharp as it ever was. So I take the last of my money, go to school and grab some certifications that I could use to help myself get back on the right track, you know? I grabbed some counseling credentials. Fuck, if my therapist can charge me hundreds of dollars an hour to talk, I could at least get a few bucks doing the same thing, right?” I heard a snore, which I took as affirmation of my thoughts. He really was quite understanding. “Turns out, nobody wanted to hire me. I look *great* on paper. Hell, I think I look great in general, you know what I mean? Look at me! I’m quite the catch!” I adjusted the rear view mirror to take a look at myself and brush a few stray hairs out of the way, brushing them back into my pompadour. “I would get through the initial phases, but for some reason, they didn’t like me after the interview! What kind of bullshit is that, I ask? Some major bullshit! I out-qualified every other applicant! They even told me so! ‘You’re overqualified’ ***WHATEVER***.” I pounded my palm against the steering wheel. My BFF fell over. It was a bit melodramatic, in my opinion, but at least he’s on my side. “So now, I have to go freelance, right? If there’s no opportunity, MAKE an opportunity. I’m so very glad you’ve decided to come along and help me make this opportunity for myself. I don’t know what I would have done without you. You know that, right?” Another snore, a loud one, confirmed he understood the importance of his assistance. The hemp friendship bracelets I had made for him had tangled together. I would have to help him get those off later. Don’t want him to wake up to hands that are asleep. That’s the worst feeling ever. “So, I found this opportunity up here. Real quiet town. One stop sign type of place. Nice little convenience store for people passing through like you and me.” I winked at him. “Anyway, I scouted the place out. I think we’ll do really well here!” I looked at the GPS map my Best Friend had pulled up for me, and we were nearly there. He was quite the catch himself. I felt so lucky to have him with me. “When there is no opportunity, you MAKE an opportunity!” I sounded so confident. I’m sure my heterosexual life mate would agree. “You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs! Fortune favors the bold! Yes, these are all true, my friend! We’re going to show those asswipes on Wall Street that even little guys like you and me can make a major impact on the world! We don’t need those fancy retirement accounts! We can survive on our wits! And our cunning! And...we’re here!” I turned down the main lane, stopping just a block away from the convenience store. “Ok! So here we go! I’m going to wander up there, ok? I parked a little bit away, because I need to stretch my legs. I’m going to grab the stuff, then in a few more minutes, you do your thing, right? And then I’ll be there to collect the checks and money! We can’t lose on this!” I got out, and rummaged through the trunk to find my sign and a table and a couple of folding chairs. I was halfway to the store when I remembered that I had forgotten to take off my soulmate's bracelets. I set the things down, and ran back to him, cut the hemp ropes off, and started walking back to my things while pushing the lock button on my key fob. “Remember kids, we’re parked on the tracks!” I chuckled at my own joke. So clever. I set up the table just outside the convenience store. Made it look all nice, had a couple of clipboards, some pens. The folding chairs were those nice ones with cloth covered foam seats. I went all out! It was going to pay off, I knew it. It wasn’t long before the railroad crossing activated. My car, and the love of my life were right there, in the middle of it. Sitting there, waiting for this moment. A moment later, the train whistle sounded as the locomotive powered down the line and finally was able to see the car on the tracks. I saw my love’s head jolt up, confusion on his face as he tried to clear his head from the chloroform headache. It was a doozy to get over, I tell you. Been there once or twice myself. When realization struck, he tried to reach for the door handle, but it was too late. The sight of a train hitting a vehicle is actually underwhelming, and nothing like they show in the action movies where there's explosions and cool people walking away from them without looking at the fiery inferno occurring behind them. Nope. It’s a loud crash, followed by the sound of screeching metal and rubber on the street. It was at that moment, that I unveiled the sign.


(WP) The Blind Date From Hell The bar is crowded, packed wall-to-wall with people, laughing and talking over drinks, some in the middle of the dance floor, arms up in the air, lips and hips moving to the music. The smell of perfume, beer, and something fried hang in the air like a thick, heavy curtain, and the man flashing his ID to the bouncer runs a hand through his hair, cheeks and neck flushed, fingers twitching even as he shoves them in his pockets. Perhaps he should have had a drink after all, before he’d left his apartment. He’d spent the evening getting ready, changing his clothes three different times before he’d settled on an outfit: a suit, an Armani number that was gifted to him from his late father. Maybe he is overdressed for the small, private bar at the corner, but he wants to make a good, lasting first impression, and if he does say so himself, he cuts a clean figure in it; he flashes a grin at himself, checking his reflection in the mirror that faces opposite the bar. He doesn’t know exactly why he’s so anxious; it’s not as if this is his first blind date. He looks around, eyes narrowing, looking for his blind date. He spots a tall, dark-haired woman standing at the bar, a half-drank martini in front of her. She’s wearing a tight, emerald green sheath with flowers stitched into the bodice, and her legs go on for miles. He’s a goner; he’s always been such a sucker for a woman with long legs. Was he late? Had he wasted time, in checking his appearance so diligently? His stomach winds into tight knots, and mentally, he shakes himself. *Get it together, Henry. You’re acting like an eighth-grader at a dance. She’s not going to* bite. Walking up to the woman, he reaches over and taps her on the shoulder, lightly, so as not to startle her. “Excuse me? Are you Karen?” His voice is surprisingly steady, and his heart is beating a fierce tattoo inside of his chest. “I’m so sorry if I’m late, I hope you weren’t waiting too long for me.” “Oh, not at all,” Karen replies, and she turns around, her hair brushing his face just slightly; she smells of orange blossoms and rose, sharp and floral. “Are you Henry?” “Yes, it’s great to meet you,” He says, and takes her hand in his, pecking it gently. When Henry looks back up at her, he could swear that her eyes flash crimson. But just as quickly as he sees it, it disappears, her eyes reverting back to amber. This creature was bewitching, he has to admit, at least to himself. Maybe putting himself back out there wouldn’t be so bad after all… \*\* “May I refresh your drink?” Henry asks, a little bit later when the bar begins to empty, people leaving in pairs or small groups. But that is fine with him; he is more than happy to have the place to himself. He and Karen have been talking quietly to one another; she insisted upon buying him another drink, this one a whiskey sour. “Please, that would be fantastic, Henry,” She replies, smiling at him, tilting her head to the side slightly. She squeezes his arm, and he grins at the electricity that flares from the touch. This is going so well, he thinks as he stands up with her glass, helping himself to the olive that she hadn’t eaten. Perhaps he’s been making a mistake, keeping to himself so much… He buys her another martini, asking for it dirty this time. He should ask her if she wants anything to eat; maybe they could go to dinner at a real restaurant, after they’ve sobered up, of course. As he waits, he leans on the bar, turning toward his date. Karen is on the phone now, a smile on her face, lips forming words that he couldn’t hear, even in the quiet. But she laughs, and the sound is high and bright, like the trill of harp strings. At least it doesn’t seem urgent. Realizing he has to use the little boys’ room, he asks the bartender to take the drink to his date, and the woman happily obliges. He runs to the bathroom, trying to make sure that Karen isn’t waiting too long. \*\* Henry finishes up in the restroom and starts heading back to their table, tucked in the corner, right next to a window. Karen is still on the phone, brushing her hair back from her face impatiently. Curious but not quite sure why, he gets close enough to hear her talking, then stops. Her voice is deep, guttural, and so distinctly *other* that it brings him up short. “Oh, don’t you worry, Boss. I’ve got this adorable human eating out of the palm of my hand. I’ll feed this vessel, and then, once we get back to his place, I’ll eat his heart and deliver his soul straight to you. But remember, we had a deal. You renege, I keep the poor sucker’s soul for myself. A human soul is a source of great power.” There was a short pause, and Karen’s lips tighten, as if she does not like the response she receives. “Just hold up your end of the bargain, and I’ll do my part. Don’t doubt me.” Karen looks up, and sees Henry standing there. She beckons him closer, smiling seductively, but he can see this time that her eyes are red, the color of old, congealing blood. Her teeth are sharp and pointed, more like fangs than human teeth. “Come, Henry.


I’m half-way through my final year at McMaster University when the biology program chair announces Mr.Robertson, my plant pathology professor, will not finish teaching the semester. His replacement is Mr. Jenkins. I’m furious. Jenkins is known as a GPA killer amongst biology students. As a student who prides himself on having a 4.0 GPA this is terrible news. By priding myself on having a high GPA I mean no socializing, clubbing, snapping, or fratting. School is life, and I won’t let a heavy-handed marker ruin my prestigious GPA. Mr. Jenkins is a pasty man. Translucent. His thick brown hair with grey streaks is slicked back like a 50s greaser. His eyebrows are filled and paired with a five o’clock shadow. He wears golden yellow tweed jackets to every class, with fitted clean white dress shirts, matching his skin, charcoal pants, leather loafers, and no tie. His dark sunken eyes never heard of sleep. His velvet voice is suited for a viral ASMR video, not a 9AM lecture. Each class is clockwork. He opens with a monologue about relevant research he read during the week, breaks out his Powerpoint presentation he designed in 2003, and finishes with a brief question period. I hang on his every monotone word in lecture, and I study six hours a night for his course, double what I spend on other courses. I’m the only student to ace the final exam. Not shocking. What is shocking is the email I open from Jenkins inviting me to his house for dinner to discuss my paper on the rise of *hybrid fungi.* Dinner with a professor? If I have to schmooze my way to an “A,” I will. I arrive at Jenkins’ residence fifteen minutes before our scheduled 7pm dinner. His house is large and made of golden brick matching his tweed jackets. A burgundy interlock driveway leads to a double garage with firetruck red doors. Emerald hydrangeas edge the elevated cement veranda. He opens the white oak door, as if he’s been standing there since sunrise for my arrival. He wears a familiar outfit. *Does he own different clothes?* His molasses voice pours into my ear. I’m wearing the most formal navy blue hoody and khaki pants I could find paired with a set of brown sneakers I cleaned earlier with *Tide* and hot water. Jenkins rambles about his admiration for my paper and complements my succinct writing skills. I’m counting the rings around his eyes. In the dining room stands a thick gothic table. Plain white plates, burgundy napkins, and sharp silverware rest on top. “Are you a drinking man Stewart?” Jenkins inquires. “No sir, water will be fine.” Jenkins reaches into his wine rack and slips out a bottle. “I thought this Cabernet Sauvignon would pair well with our fillets this evening, it’s savoury with a bitter end,” Jenkins describes. “Sure, I’ll have a glass.” He grabs a corkscrew and stabs it through the cork, twisting. “You know Stewart, I haven’t come across students as bright as you. I know I hold the reputation around McMaster as being an unfair professor, but I simply expect the best, from everything.” The cork makes a squeaky thud as it escapes the bottle. Jenkins pours blood red wine into smooth glasses before handing me one. He raises his glass in cliche fashion. “To plants, and all they do for us.” We clink and drink. I fight the urge to frown. Jenkins slips on a white cloth apron to protect the one outfit he owns. He pulls fillets from the oven. Burnt rosemary and garlic fills the air. “Mr. Robertson was one of the brightest professors in our department, it’s a shame he left us so unceremoniously,” Jenkins states. “It’s true, he was a great professor,” I add, starring at the charred filets soaking in their oils. “You’ll have to excuse me Stewart, there’ll be no vegetable dish tonight. I’m practicing a carnivore diet. You should really try it, it’s invigorating,” Jenkins suggests. I look down at the sizzling fillet. First glance reminds me of the shoe leather steak my grandmother served me in her later years. Jenkins takes the head of the table, I sit on his right. “Please Stewart, dig in.” I grab the serrated knife and cut into the fillet. Jenkins tucks his napkin into the front of his dress shirt. I chew a small piece meat. A strong rosemary flavour punches me. “This is basic biology, I assume you know, through photosynthesis, plants harness energy from the sun and transform it into chemical energy,” Jenkins mentions as he tears into his fillet. “Of course,” I say. “Mr. Robertson had a brilliant paper on the environmental regulation of photosynthesis, it’s truly fantastic, you’d enjoy it. Again such a shame.” Jenkins frowns before hacking off more fillet. I take another bite. The meat is tough. The rosemary continues to overpower. Jenkins points his knife at my plate. “You know I have a theory of my own, much like photosynthesis,” Jenkins throws a larger hunk of meat past his teeth. “Would you like to hear it?” “Absolutely sir.” “We humans can consume intellectual energy, much like how plants consume the suns energy.” Jenkins smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes deepen. “How so?” I ask. “You’re doing it right now.” I look down at the deformed chunk of motionless meat staring at me. I can feel the blood filling my cheeks like a toilet after a flush. “What is this?” I ask, as I trap a sliver of meat between my teeth. “This is a dish I like to call…Mr. Robertson,” Jenkins declares. I rip the white napkin from the table and spew debris into it. “Stewart, we are consuming the intelligence of Mr. Robertson. That big beautiful mind and all its power is becoming ours,” Jenkins grins as pieces of Mr. Robertson fill the gaps of his crowded teeth. I push myself up from the table and race to the front door. Jenkins rises and shouts, “Do you think I invited you over here tonight to befriend you Stewart? To make your acquaintance? You’re on my next dish!” I glance over my shoulder and see Jenkins pursuing me with a serrated steak knife. I reach the door and notice the five gold locks trapping me. He grabs my hood and tosses me to the dark hardwood floor. His grey hairs hang forward as he drives his knee into my chest. A vacuum of empty space fills his eyes. “The sad part is Stewart, no one will miss you…no one will know you’re gone…no one will look for you…and your mind will be mine.” He raises the serrated blade and drives it through my shoulder. My scream echoes through his foyer. I feel the knife wiggle in my flesh. I grab hold of Jenkins’ knee and twist it off my chest, forcing him to the ground. I sit up with the knife lodged in me. I stumble to my feet and introduce Mr. Jenkins’ face to the sole of my right sneaker. His hooked nose bleeds onto a cheap welcome mat. I open the locks as Jenkins screams in agony. I scramble down the burgundy driveway towards my car. The next meal Jenkins consumes will be in prison.


A friend of mine has started doing a regularly updated set of short stories all apart of one longer story. She's released 6 posts so far and I think they're pretty entertaining. Thought you all might enjoy. Here's Chapter 1: # Chapter 1: "Cake" Kari stood in front of the mirror and yawned as she always did first thing in the morning. The sun streamed in through the uncovered window, lighting the small room and promising for a good day. She doubted that very much, but deep inside she hoped for it. She ran a brush through her long dark hair and combed the short bangs forward. They seemed more trouble than they were worth, always sticking up every morning after sleeping, but her mom liked them and insisted on cutting her hair that way. She had learned to pick her battles and that one was so small, she’d rather sacrifice looks for beatings. Dark circles under her eyes made her brown eyes look darker. She had never slept well. Ever since she remembered her dreams had always been detailed and wild, but they faded within moments upon waking. Every night a dream and every day she was left with nothing, only this feeling of loss, like she was missing half of who she was. “Karina Francis Lam! Get your ass down here!” Her mother bellowed from the depths of the small house. Kari’s bare feet flew across the worn wooden floor and thumped down the stairs. “Yes, Mother?” “The animals won’t feed themselves.” Kari ducked her head in a nod. “Yes, Mother.” She turned and jammed her feet in her black rubber boots then traipsed out the door. Their five acre farm stretched out before her in the morning sunlight. The trees lined the edges of the fields and the blackberry bushes threatened to swallow the fences. She followed the worn dirt path to the little red barn. The door had rolled off the hinges and hung crooked on the railing. She’d have to convince her brother to help her lift it on to the track again. Inside, the horses nickered and the cow lowed. She pushed the wheel barrow down the center aisle and stopped to throw a few flakes of hay at a time to each horse as she went, stopping at the end near the cow, Mrs. Mooney. “Morning girl.” After throwing her a flake, Kari scratched the cow on the forehead then grabbed the metal pail and went into her stall. She pulled the stool out of the corner and set it down next to her and the pail underneath. Her fingers squeezed each teat and worked the milk from them. The muscles between Kari’s thumb and index finger bulged with each stroke. Jingles, the tabby cat that had adopted the family meowed and rubbed at the side of her rubber boot. Kari took a hand and stroked his back. His rear end lifted to meet her hand with each pet. She dipped her finger in the milk and then let him lick it off the end before she continued with her task. He meowed happily and took this as an invitation to climb the edge of the bucket. As this was an everyday occurrence, Kari was ready and caught his paws, redirecting him in a path away from the bucket. He gave her an annoyed look, one that every cat has perfected and sauntered off. When she was finished, she measured and dumped the grain for the horses, cow, and pigs. She fed the chickens, ducks, and rabbits, then returned to the small barn and filled the waters. At the end of it, she opened up the back doors of the stalls and horses cantered out of the stall, flipping their tails in excitement. The cow moseyed out, giving her a nudge on the hand before she left. Kari let out a sigh and wiped the sweat from her brow. The morning sun was already sweltering and she would be glad when the heat finally broke, but that would mean school, and fall leaves, and mud. She returned to the house, left her boots on the porch and walked through the screen door. Her mother was working in the kitchen. “Where’s Dad?” Kari asked. “He went to a friend’s house. They are getting a new washing machine and are giving us their old one.” Kari sat at the table. “Will he be back before dinner?” Her mother turned around, spatula in hand. “Do I look like I know?” Kari dropped her eyes and shook her head. Her mother turned back to the counter. “Selfish girl. Only thinking about dinner and not about the family. We’re getting a new washer. You should be happy about that. No more hand washing your clothes or water all over the ground. Instead you worry about if daddy will be home for your dinner. Selfish, selfish, selfish.” She waved the spatula as she spoke. “Not even a word of how thankful you are for what I’m doing for you.” Kari leaned to the side to see around her mother. A large layered chocolate cake sat in front of her. She was using the spatula to coat chocolate icing on it. It wasn’t often something so decadent graced the house. Kari’s eyes went wide. She couldn’t believe her mother was actually making a cake for her birthday. Usually they just bought a cheap ice cream cake from the store. “Edwin! Lucy!” Her mother called. Her throaty voice creaked on the last syllable sending her in to a hacking smoker’s cough. The upstairs floor rumbled like a heard of horses as Edwin and Lucy ran for the stairs. Their giggles filled the room as they slid into their seats at the table. Their mother tipped her chin to the side to watch them, a gleam in her eye. “Now, I am going to make you breakfast. I need room on the counter so I’m going to put this right here, but you can’t touch it. It’s for your sister’s birthday party tonight and you wouldn’t want to make her sad, right?” Her mother set the chocolate cake in the center of the square kitchen table. Her brother and sister’s eyes went wide as they watched the cake land. Edwin’s finger was almost in the cake before it touched the table. Mother batted it away. Her eyes connected with Kari’s in a warning glance. Kari’s jaw clenched. She knew what she was supposed to do now. Their mother turned back around. “Now just be patient. I’m going to start cooking breakfast. Don’t touch that cake.” Edwin smiled like a devil and swiped his finger in the cake. Kari darted forward and caught his hand before it reached his mouth. She brushed the icing off his finger and smeared it back on the cake. “Kaykay,” he whined. “Shh…” Kari whispered. She held his hand in place on the table. Lucy leaned forward smelling the chocolate masterpiece. She leaned forward more and more, then stuck her tongue out. Kari wrapped the fingers of one hand around her brother’s wrists and pushed Lucy back by the forehead. “Stop it,” Kari whispered. Lucy stuck her tongue out and snarled her nose. “Breakfast will be done soon.” She spared a glance at her mother. She seemed to be moving extra slow as she flipped the bacon in the pan. Edwin squirmed. Kari eased her grip to make him more comfortable, but he lunged forward and stabbed his fingers in the side of the cake. Kari caught one hand, but the other one jammed a fist full of icing in his face. Lucy’s eyes narrowed as she watched Edwin’s face light up with the delightful taste of chocolate. Kari patted at the cake, trying to smooth it over while Lucy took a swipe at it and licked her finger. “MMMMmmmm,” Lucy moaned. Kari’s eyes went wide in horror. The smell of burning bacon filled the room and their mother turned around. She saw the cake and the chocolate smeared all over Edwin’s and Kari’s hands. “Karina! I told you not to touch the cake. How is it Lucy is the only one that listens to me?” She put her hands on her hips. “Fine. You want cake so much. You will eat it. All of it. I don’t want a single crumb of it left on this table. Happy birthday.” Her mother turned the stove off and left the room. Lucy and Edwin dove forward, shoving pieces of cake in their mouths in handfuls. The burning bacon smell filled the room as it continued to sizzle away. Kari jumped up and moved it to the side. A splash of bacon grease hit the back of her hand. She let out an angry hiss and ran it under cold water from the sink faucet. Her brother and sister giggled between bites of chocolate cake. The cold water cooled the burn, but every time she removed it, the hot stinging pain returned. After ten minutes, she gave up and returned to the table. Half the cake still remained. Edwin leaned back in his chair. His face and shirt were covered in chocolate. Lucy patted her stomach, her mouth still chewing the chocolate goodness. Kari leaned forward and stabbed at it with a fork and took a mouthful. It was deep and rich. Every mouthful felt like eating a week’s worth of food. She couldn’t believe her mother had gone through all the trouble to make this of all things for her birthday. What did she do to deserve such an extravagant cake? She ate a few more pieces when her mother came in. She took a seat at the head of the table. Kari avoided her gaze and dropped her hands down to her sides. “I said eat it all. Not a single crumb left.” Kari lifted her eyes. Her mother’s eyes were dead serious. She took the fork and continued to take bites of the cake. Edwin ate a few more bites, using his hand to scoop it in. Lucy swiped at it with two fingers and finished off another large chunk, but there was still so much. Kari dutifully worked at it. Scoopful after scoopful. Mountain after mountain. Her stomach started to turn. The richness filled her mouth and she craved something wet to wash it down with. She went to take a step away from the table and get a glass of milk. “What are you doing? I said eat it all.” “I was jus--,” “Just, just, Just what? You wanted the cake so bad, now eat it. Sit. Eat,” She commanded. Kari nodded and sat quickly. She spooned more mouthfuls in. It was so much cake. It was her looming hurtle and she knew what was in store for her now if she didn’t finish it. Edwin sighed. “Can I go play?” Their mother’s eyes narrowed. “Did you finish your cake?” He held his cake covered hands up. “I ate it.” Their mother nodded. “Alright. Go wash up. Lucy, you can go too.” Her eyes swung to Kari. She left the words unspoken. Kari avoided her glance and continued mouthful after mouthful of chocolate. She had been eating it so much that is started to taste like dirt. It was more like a mountain now. The icing like creamy winter mud stirred up by the horses and the sponge like planting soil. It sank in her belly like heavy stones and filled her esophagus until her heart felt like it was going to burst at the seams. A few bites remained. “Finish it.” Kari held back vomit as she shoveled the last few pieces in her mouth. She stuffed it in until only the chocolate icing was left. Her mouth chewed but she couldn’t swallow. Her eyes looked up at her mother with a question. Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to listen next time?” Kari nodded her head. “There are still a few crumbs left.” Kari used her fingers to smear the icing and catch the crumbs. She put her fingers to her lips and pushed it in. “Good girl. Now swallow it.” Kari chewed and chewed. She wanted to throw up, but she took in a big breath through her nose and forced it down bit by bit. Her mother stared her down. She finally finished it. Her mouth felt stiff and her jaw sore. She opened her mouth to show her mother. Her mother nodded. “Go play. I don’t want to see your face until dark. You disappoint me.” Kari lowered her head and left the room. She knew it was foolish to hope for a nice birthday. She jammed her rubber boots on and left the house. She followed the path to the barn, then through the pasture and over the fence. Once she was in the trees she found the trail to the creek where she sat. The rushing waters of the creek covered the sounds of her retching.