High-gloss vessels of all sorts and colours were lined up on the windowsill, the narrowest of all the formerly available surfaces, and they baked again each day in the summer sunshine.

Shafts of sun traversed the floor and walls in a daily search for something, pausing for long periods to examine the textures and colours of all the objects they could reach.

They slipped in slow motion across pots and goblets, some holding shaping tools and random utensils that had collected there.

They probed stacks of packaged clay, they lingered on bottles of paint and gloss and varnish, they took a spin around the wheel.

They waited at the door of the kiln as if wondering what remained inside.

Every day the silent visitor found a slightly heavier coating of dust, but nothing else was changed. ***** Vel had been a force to be reckoned with from the day she was born, kicking and screaming.

Her dad said she was born frustrated, as if she knew already there were great things she could be doing if only she could walk and talk.

The solution for that was to fast-track her development, and if it was possible for a baby to do so, Vel was already the author of her own destiny.

She was the leader of the “Bike Riders!”, her neighbourhood pack of kids, before kindergarten began, and she was the most feral of all the pre-teen pirates and wild horses that roamed the woods at the end of the park. Vel lived her childhood years like she was an eighty-year-old with a second chance.

It was as if she was aware that those years couldn’t last forever, but she got as much use out of them as possible before they went the way of all the t-shirts and jeans she wore out with glorious living.

When childhood was over and done she had no trouble relinquishing what she no longer needed, but she kept the parts she loved and made sure they never wore out. Vel always had a knack for sorting her life into what she wanted and what she didn’t want.

The sub-categories were what she already had and what she would get, and what she got rid of and what she avoided altogether.

She just had a gift for it.

She weeded through the people who entered her life like an expert gardener, cutting off the unwanted elements when they had barely shown their heads while tending the good ones with perfect doses of attention and repose.

She did the same with school and work, taking what she chose from her education and chucking the rest in the compost where it belonged.

It was the formula for a blessed existence.

Her parents did wonder if perhaps her success came too easily.

It was great that she had built so much confidence as a child, but they thought she might be unprepared for a fall when it came, as surely, it must in some form.

That’s just how life was, for everyone else at least.

But Vel, well, Vel began a career in travel writing just as the market perked up.

She travelled the world.

There was nothing out there that was daunting to Vel.

Her radar for shady situations never failed, nor did her independent spirit and open mind. Each time she came home, she’d go straight to her studio to record in clay the swirl of ethnic designs she had seen in her travels.

As she pictured the markets, the backstreets and lonely places she had visited, she would spin her impressions into bowls and goblets.

She conjured the people who had shared their food and drink with her against the background of their traditional homes.

She riffed on the idea of vessels for food being shared, of cultures, represented by food and creative design, being passed physically into the hands of guests who ate and drank from them.

The anthropologist in Vel recognized clay as an ancient and intimate medium.

She loved to take a lump of nothing and build it up into something beautiful with her strong hands, and then, with a delicate touch, create the patterns that told a story. While she worked she edited her current books and articles, adding the personal observations that made them best sellers.

Vel knew it was a life most people could only dream of achieving.

She revelled in every moment. Vel hardly noticed the years flying by.

She was taken by surprise when her friends reminded her not to make travel plans for the weekend of her fiftieth birthday.

They gave plenty of notice, but still, fifty was a surprising number.

She felt much as she had when she was thirty.

Still fit, slim(ish) and energetic, working out in airports and hiking all over the world.

She hardly went anywhere without carrying her 45-pound suitcase.

But on her next trip, just to Ireland, she did feel the travel weariness a bit more than usual in her knees.

No, just one knee.

She thought she’d shake it off once she could get some exercise. Not far into the coastal cycle tour from Fenit, Vel realized that exercise was irritating her left knee.

It ached all that day and into the night.

She couldn’t concentrate to write about her day.

Frustrated, she took painkillers and slept.

The next day, and the next, walking and cycling, the pain was worse and spreading down her shin. Painkillers didn’t work.

For the first time in her career, Vel was happier to be going home than to be off to somewhere new. “It just hurts, all the time!” Vel told her doctor.

She focussed on the pain, not the fevers or tiredness.

That, she could concede to her time of life, she supposed.

“It must be a bone spur or something.

It’s just exhausting.” “Ok, I’ll run some tests,” the doctor said.

“Have you travelled to any exotic places recently?” They both had a laugh.

Vel felt relieved.

When the tests came back the news was not relieving.

It was nonsensical.

Bone cancer was not something from Vel’s world.

An unknown, unpredictable, uncontrollable factor?

What was she supposed to do with that?

Her gifts, her own special brand of carefree luck, were no help to her with this.

It was not possible to simply avoid this. “Nip it in the butt, Velly, like you always do,” her dad said.

“You can absolutely bite it in the butt, and you’d better get your fangs out.” The cancer was aggressive, so the treatment was too.

“We’re going to cut away all the disease and create a nice stump to work with,” the surgeon said.

He actually said “stump”?

Vel had been having trouble processing.

“They’re going to try for a below-knee amputation,” she told her parents on the phone.

“Best case scenario.” “A baloney amputation?

Have you checked this guy’s credentials?”

Her dad was truly unstoppable. Vel laughed, taking herself by the surprise.

“Maybe he was just pulling my leg, Dad.” The surgeon took the joke away when he took the knee away too.

“Knock knock.” “Who’s there?” “Nonie.” “Dad…” “Come on, I worked on this the whole time you were out.

Nonie.” “Nonie who?” “Nonie to knock.

Or how about: Nonie left, but I am Vel anyway?” Vel spent her fiftieth birthday with her friends, reclining in a wipeable plastic chair, getting her toes done.

“Half price?” she quipped, and she could feel her friends relax a little.

It was scary for them, too, seeing her, minus a leg, hooked up to a machine receiving chemotherapy.

No one knows how that works until they need to. Vel realized she should have shared some of her wild adventures while they were still fun.

Instead of a travel brochure or an inflight magazine, it was a catalogue of prosthetics her friends bent their heads over as they considered the immediate future.

They had brought her a present from the shop downstairs.

It wasn’t a snow globe from Iceland or a bookmark from Peru.

It was a headscarf, made in China, sold in America.

It was meant to cover her lack of hair rather than her hair.

They had chosen one with kitten skulls in black and white, with pink bow ties.

For some reason they still had their ears.

They wouldn’t be cute without them.

They’d be too real. Vel had been polite about the scarf.

She had had a cheery day, as abnormal as it had been.

When she looked at those skulls the next day, she threw up. “Howdy Chemo-Sabi.” “Dad!

You really shouldn’t say things like that.” “Just checking on my girl.

You still have your spark.” It wasn’t a spark.

It was an ember growing dim. She was tired.

Bone weary.

Stress fatigued.

Exhausted.

How do you have hope when you can hardly drag yourself to the bathroom?

How would she ever get her life back when she couldn’t even operate her pottery wheel anymore, never mind travel?

She was just so tired. Vel curled into a tight ball and allowed herself to slip into darkness. ***** The long rays of summer sun came every day to explore the studio.

The change was very slow, but the Sun and Time were old friends of the patient, quiet kind.

The long rays melted across each patterned vessel, the halted wheel, the cold oven; and Time indicated how the layers of dust that accumulated on them were a study in themselves.

Something an anthropologist or forensic scientist might appreciate. The layers were a record of Time, separated into eras.

The lowest, right against each surface, was the oldest layer and the first to settle.

This was dust of clay, thrown everywhere during the artistic process.

It was fine in grain and reddish in colour.

The second, in the middle, was thinner, paler and softer.

This was the dust of disuse, the dust of emptiness and undisturbed space, the dust of Nature taking her course.

The third layer, the one that settled in on top, was the thickest and most recent.

It was the one that was active.

This was sawdust. A shadow passed across the window, distracting the rays from their investigation of the studio.

Out in the yard, an artist was stepping back to study her work.

It was larger than any of the pieces she had done before.

She considered this one to be the first that wasn’t for practice.

This one was a showcase of her skills. It was nine feet tall.

It featured a little boy launching into the air.

Below him, in a rambunctious pile, were creatures from an imaginary forest, where wolves and monkeys, rabbits and parrots lived together in harmony.

These were just roughed in as yet.

Their features, along with the boy’s feather and leaves outfit, his panpipes and his prosthetic leg, and the fairy on his shoulder, would be added with finer tools.

For now, Vel hefted her chainsaw to cut some chunks from the base.

She loved the feeling it gave her, recrafting formerly living organisms into something fresh and beautiful.

It was power over destiny that she had never felt before. In her travels far and wide she had seen plenty of hardship.

People lost limbs all the time, and they lived without them.

Vel had been fitted with a bionic prosthetic.

She could do her job without a leg.

In fact, she could probably do it better, now that she fit in a niche all her own in the travel writing genre.

Now that she was strong and healthy, Vel was ready for a comeback.

She was ready to be better than she had been before. As always, she cut what was unnecessary from her existence.

She didn’t want to build empty vessels any longer.

She wanted to destroy in order to create.

She wanted to wield the power to create vitality in something dead with her own two hands, like the surgeon who had cut away the rot and the prosthetist who made her new leg, all rolled into one. She thought of how the surgeon had referred to her stump in such a matter-of-fact way and wondered if, in that moment when she had barely grasped his words, had been the seed of her new adventure.

Her dad took the credit for himself, saying that it was his new nickname for her that had inspired the chainsaw carving.

Stumpy.

“Stumpy’s Chainsaw Sculpture.”

How he loved watching her explain to visitors that she hadn’t lost a leg to her art. She was pleased, so far, with her piece.

She wanted this one to be perfect.

It was going to stand in the healing garden at the Children’s Hospital.


I have to get it working. Four hours without life support and we'll all be dead, but that's not the main thing. I mean, it is. Obviously. None of us want to die out here, least of all me. But we've also got a point to prove.

They said we weren't ready. The Council fought us every inch of the way, and I know it was only Ethan's intervention that got our expedition over the line. Ethan's name, really. There's only so much can be denied to the crown prince, even by the Council.

And the reason Ethan fought them so hard? Me. So we're out here now, lightyears from home, hours from death, all because of me. All the exhileration of the launch, the adrenaline of the crew, the bombast and the posturing and the talk of guts and glory has splintered into stardust. Hundreds of accusing eyes burn into me as I pass through the ship. There might only be a dozen of us on board but the weight of those souls threatens to crush me. Their shading tells me louder than words that it's the guts rather than the glory that currently occupy their thoughts. I've heard what they say about me, too. I'd have to be deaf not to, it's not like anyone has the energy to spare my feelings right now. I've heard it all before, how I'm over-rated, over-promoted, a mad scientist that no one sane would let out of the lab. Usually it rolls off me, but usually I'm not holding my accusers' lives in my tentacles. Nepo baby. Sycophant. Catamite is a new one; I’m actually faintly impressed by the erudition of the insult.

None of it serves to divert me for long. Because not only is the mission my baby, the ship herself is too. The hull, the engines. The life support system. I'm her inventor and her chief engineer, and while Ethan is her captain and pilot everyone knows she's mine to her wiring.

I don't want to die. We have a point to prove to the Council. But I have a promise to keep to Ethan which is written in more than blood.

“Are you sure?” His tentacles played over mine as we lay entwined in his bed. “I trust you, Tam, you know I do, but...” “I know. It's a big ask.” I couldn't hide the waves of colour that swirled across my scales, hope and excitement laced with the deep burgundy of avarice. To be first , to be the one to break the barriers of the edge of our star system, for it to be my ship, my engine, my innovations that cradled my people out into the unknown? A shiver of anticipation rippled over me, ruffling my frills. “I won't let you down, Eth, I won’t embarrass you.” He'd shaken his head, a hint of hurt staining his cheekbones emerald. “It's not that, Tam.” I waited, confused, as he coloured with anxiety. “Is it safe?” “Of course it's safe! You think I'd risk my own skin if it wasn't?” He'd frowned at me, knowing me a little too well, his look all that was needed to conjour the memories of boyish expoits and youthful innovations that blew up in my face, often literally. Sheepish, I'd conceded the point. “This time. This one is safe, Eth, I swear.” “You'll bring them all back? The crew? Every one of them?” “I swear.” I was under no illusions about the kinds of folks who I'd be given for the voyage. Those with too little to lose, too much to run from. Or those servicing a debt so great that it could propel them beyond the limits of our atmosphere. But a life is a life, and even though Eth is a much better person than I am I was happy to promise him this. “On my life, Eth.” Quite literally, actually, since there was no question of the ship leaving the planet without me. He'd nodded, apparently satisfied, and golden exhileration flooded my body. To be replaced by a chilling sense of horror at his next words. “I'll captain her, then.” More than blood, then. Instead, a vow to which I'm tied by the soul bond between me and him. Oh, there's no deep magic here, no arcane link that compels me to obey, nothing like that. Just the fact that this man is half of my whole, and my entire heart, and nothing in this universe matters if he is not at my side. I'd be a hell of a lot happier right now, though, if he wasn't literally at my side, but instead safely ensconced in the royal chambers in Selmat.

Is this what he expected? Is this what his family anticipated when they appointed a royal engineer to their court? It was a fancy of his father's, I'm sure, a conceit inspired by visitors from abroad who displayed their own scientists and mathematicians like a florist bedecking a ballroom. He'd requested a physicist and a cosmologist as well and the univeristy had been only too happy to offload me, the troublesome thorn in the administration’s side, to complete the trio. Aretha and Silas didn't last long, their tempraments far better suited to the dusty, theoretical towers of academia than the whims of a court which demands flair and novelty more than rigour and punctiliousness. But I was in my element. Every harebrained idea I'd ever had suddenly had an audience. Nothing I could say was too out-there, nothing too outlandish to delight my avid fans.

I wasn't expecting anyone to take me seriously. It had never happened before, after all. Oh, I knew my ideas would work, but I'd never persuaded anyone else. Or, at least, anyone who had the wherewithal to actually get them beyond the point of theory. Not until Ethan. Ethan listened . Not in the delighted, vapid way of the rest of the court but with actual interest. He asked questions . Intelligent ones. It was my engine design that fascinated him the most. His father quickly lost interest in the scheme once Ethan's questions become more detailed and my explanations less about showmanship and more about satisfying the insatiable curiosity of the crown prince. And about proving myself, of course. But that was fine, because in the face of his father's impatience Ethan began to ask for ‘personal briefings' on my ideas. They became increasingly ‘personal' as we got to know each other, and for a while the whole space exploration programme risked being derailed entirely as we discovered just how much exploration we could undertake within the four walls of the prince's bedroom.

The scene in the engineering bay, when I get there, is a horror show. A pall of smoke hangs in the air, choking the handful of crew who know one end of an induction manifold from the other and have hurried in here in a forlorn attempt to help. There's little they can – or dare – attempt without my instruction, but they'll stand there and broadcast their resentment in neon blue streaks nonetheless. My orders echo around the cavernous space, chillingly unimpeded by the engine's usual hum. Suddenly six tentacles don't feel like nearly enough as I press reset buttons and hammer overrides and make absolutely no difference to the silently accusing power gauges.

It's the fuel. Of course it's the fuel. I know it, even the underqualified grunts hovering at my back know it. But none of us have dared say it yet because to go in there and deal with it, to pass beyond the containment field, is only fractionally less of a death sentence than sitting around here waiting for the air to run out.

We're out of time, and I'm out of delaying tactics, and I've known for a while – since the instant the explosion rippled through the ship and the alarms began to scream and the crew was painted lime green in terror – that it would come to this. Muttering ripples round the room but I can't spare the attention, not right now. There are supplies in the emergency locker for this, and I snag the tub of gel that I've never found the opportunity – or perhaps never been sufficiently suicidal – to test and start to smear it across my body.

A commotion by the containment hatch catches my attention just in time, and my panicked screech stops the youngster's tentacle just before he overrides the security lock. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!” He freezes, glares, steps into the shadows to try and hide the shade of his scales which are now so dazzlingly viridescent that they almost glow. “I'm the most junior. Sir. You don't have to order me.” “Order you to what?!” Panic and confusion is making my voice shrill and a couple of the onlookers wince and cover their sensitive earholes.

The youth – Derran, I recall, belatedly – looks faintly uncertain. “To go beyond the door. You... you do realise it's the fuel, don't you? Sir?” The honorific is tacked on tentatively, like he's increasingly unsure it's merited. Not that I can really blame him at this point. “That the lines are clogged?” “Of course I do, I designed the bloody thing.” I've finished slicking myself with goo now and I'm feeling unpleasantly tacky and more than a little nervous, and my temper is fraying. “What makes you think I'm sending you in there?” His expression goes flat, confusion and scorn and faint hope swirling across his scales. “Because someone has to unclog them, and it's a death sentence, and I'm the most junior.” He doesn't even bother with the ‘sir' this time.

I can't help myself. I scan the room. Half of them are staring at the floor, the rest meeting my eyes with a degree of defiant condemnation and the words are out in a jumble of hurt before I can stop them. “That's what you think of me? Seriously?” I'm at the door before the first of them realises my intention, and the shock as the rest catch on is almost palpable. “Don't follow me. If I can't do this, no one can.” It's not hubris, it's the bare facts from the one who designed the engine, built it from scratch, nursed it through these first dozen light years and beyond the edge of the Relean system. “Give me 20 minutes then evacuate.” It's an order they might or might not obey. There's an escape pod, of course, but who will find it out here? They can jump ship, but they'll be drifting in the void for the rest of their natural lives unless we've woefully underestimated the population density of this section of the galaxy. That’s not my problem, not right now. Not with the containment door looming imposingly above me and the handle suddenly heavy under my hand with the weight of what's riding on this.

It's a tiny comfort, as I take a final breath and step into the airlock, that Derran's scales are shining with relief and gratitude. (A little adoration and hero-worship wouldn't go amiss too, I'm putting my life on the line here, but beggars can't be choosers.) If the engineering bay was a horror show, the containment pod is a hellscape. There are no alarms blaring in here, because there isn't supposed to be anyone to hear them. But the heat and vapour and the smell assaults me and it's all I can do to focus on what I need to do. The goop on my scales will protect them, and I grabbed a respirator as a bit of defence for my eyes and gills, but both will falter when confronted with the scale of this catastrophe.

As soon as it happened, as soon as we felt the ship rock and heard the alarms blare, I knew what must have happened. No one is ever meant to come in here, because I built backups for the backups and the only way they could all fail was through a series of events so unlikely that designing it out seemed a waste of time. (I'm reconsidering that assessment now, you will understand.) A blockage, an explosion, the failsafe systems taken out neatly in precise succession with split-second timing; I couldn't have done it intentionally if I'd practised for a month.

In the vanishingly unlikely event we all get out of this alive there's a hell of a repair job and plenty of redesigning to do, but now is not the time. We can send the cleaner bots in later, but for now it's down to me and my tentacle-tips and the rising temperature is doing little to make them any more dextrous. The ringing noise in my head and the blurring of my vision tells me the muck is already seeping into my system, and choking clouds of fog are still blocking my view of the critical parts.

In the end I have to just go for it, forge forwards into the choking miasma and rely on my instincts to guide me to the right place. Like I said to Derran: if I can't do this, no one can.

The next minutes are a blur. Afterwards, only fractured impressions remain. The shriek of pressurised steam escaping from another rupture. The heat of the metal under my tips as I wrench at the valves. The choking stench of leaking exhaust and singed scales.

The sound fades away. Finally I realise I've done all I can, and there's a protesting gurgle that sends a flood of hope through me as the fuel reluctantly starts to flow again. I stumble back to the hatchway, yank it closed behind me, and collapse in a heap on the blissfully cool deck.

Ethan is there. Of course Ethan is there. He's there because he's the captain, and because he's the closest thing we have to a medic on this forsaken tin can, but mainly because he's my... because he's mine . I can feel the fluttering of his limbs on my body, the respirator replaced with medical masks, something sharp breaching my scales below my frill. His tentacles are everywhere, his touches reassuring and tender and a shade too intimate for a public setting but it's not like anyone's going to begrudge him those in my last moments.

The ringing noise in my head fades and I realise that this must be the end. Oddly, I’m no longer scared. I've kept my promise, after all: our ragtag little band of explorers are safe. I've not failed Ethan. I've not failed my ship. I expect to see Ethan's scales swirling with the deep black of grief but to my shock it's the faint crimson of irritation that I see, not deep enough to truly be called anger, but hurtful nontheless as my... my Ethan's reaction to my last seconds. (It has occured to me more than once that we really ought to get round to naming this thing that's between us. I guess we're out of time, now.) Without the ringing noise I can hear snatches of words, and their unexpectedness tugs my brain closer to consciousness. Idiot. Stupid, bone-headed, self-sacrificing... And then it occurs to me that the scene is getting clearer rather than fuzzier, and the pain is starting to recede, and the realisation that I'm not actually on the verge of death hits me like a shockwave. “Ethan?” There's relief marbled through the crimson as he locks some of his eyes with mine. “Tam. Of all the stupid—” “I kept them safe. I promised you, Eth. I kept them safe.” Ethan glares at me and then scoops me up in his tentacles with an ease that I usually find incredibly hot but for which I am just overwhelmingly grateful right now, and bears me off to bed and healing rest. As we approach the door I'm shocked to hear the approving sussuration of frills from the others in the room, and see the shades of gratutide and loyalty, if no little surprise, that adorn their bodies.

I don't know what we'll find out here, beyond the edges of our home system and out in the depths of the galaxy, but it looks like one thing has changed. Our little group of court sycophants and university spies and futureless outcasts has changed into something else today. I get the hopeful sense we're doing this as a comrades, now; teammates. And Ethan is here, and he's holding me close, and despite the utter carnage of this morning I can't help but feel that a lot of good has come out of today. I settle against his chest and let sleep wash over me as his insults fade into endearments. There's time enough to rake over today's debacle and make sure it never happens again; for now I can rest. I need my strength back - we've a universe to explore together, after all.


"ISABELLE CARTIER, THE HOUSE IS SURROUNDED. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!" Jolene bolts awake beside me. She stares at me in disbelief. "You're still here." I nod. "I'm not going to leave you behind again." "WE KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE MS. CARTIER. COME OUT NOW OR WE'LL BE COMING IN." "We'll see about that," I mutter as I pick up my phone and press the self-destruct button for the house. "What did you just do?" Jolene asks. "This building will self-destruct in five minutes," says a computer voice. "They can't catch us if they think we're dead." We get up and calmly make our way to the living room. I have an emergency bag packed already in the basement and I stored all the jewels I have stolen in a case near it. I didn't want to leave so soon, but I wasn't going to let the cops catch me because I wasn't prepared. Where's the fun in that? Jolene grabs her clothes and follows me as I lead her into the basement. The basement is attached to a network of caves and tunnels I constructed in case of an emergency like this one. When the house self-destructs, the rubble from the explosion will cover the caves. I also set up explosives near the entrance of the caves to make sure no one would find anything. I rigged the self-destruct sequence to cover up my coverup on purpose. "This building will self-destruct in three minutes," says my cousin, the computer voice. It's a little joke I like to tell myself since I am a very realistic android. The real Isabelle Cartier built me before she died. She gave me her name and all of her memories in the hopes that I could steal jewels for her while she went back to Jolene. She died before she ever saw Jolene again. I grab my emergency bag and the jewels and I urge Jolene to go into the caves. Once she's inside, I follow and blow the entrance up behind me so the police can't find our escape route. We walk until the blast from my house self-destructing shakes the ground beneath our feet. The real Isabelle built stabilizers into my legs, so I don't fall but Jolene does. I help her up. She says nothing about my ability to balance while things are exploding. It seems she's more concerned with other matters. "How did they figure out it was you who stole the gems from the museum?" she asks. "I'm not sure. But now they think we're dead. We can slip away unnoticed." "They'll comb the rubble looking for you." I shrug, "by the time they finish digging we'll be long gone." She stops dead in her tracks. "Long gone? To where? Don't I get a say?" "Not if they find out you slept over last night." She checks her pockets, then she frantically checks them again. "My phone..." "It's okay." I start walking again so she has no choice but to keep following me. It's not like she'd have much of a choice anyway since this is now a tunnel with only one true exit. I built a myriad of fake tunnels and fake exits to throw people off my scent. Every other exit I built will explode when someone tries to use it. A little bit heavy on the murder, sure, but that's what it takes to for a jewel thief be safe these days. "They'll know I was with you." "We're getting out of the city today." "Where will we go?" "I bought and island in the Caribbean using an alias. We can get there undetected." "What about the border?" "Let me worry about that. Let's get to the end of the tunnel, get some breakfast, and make our escape." I take Jolene through a series of twists and turns as we head towards the only real exit to this maze. The exit of my tunnel is on the PATH near Toronto's Union Station. There are parts of the PATH that are close to Lake Ontario. We can slip away unnoticed while the cops are still digging through the rubble of my house. I'm about to exit when I notice that the only clothes Jolene brought with her are impractical for an escape. She's wearing my shirt, which she slept in. And she's holding her dress and a pair of high heels. She'll need something more comfortable if she's going to move around. "Men's seven, right?" "What?" "Your shoe size." "You remembered?" "Yes. And... women's medium for everything else?" She nods. I change into the clothes I brought with me. Since the clothes I'm wearing are the only clothes I brought with me, Jolene will need something else. Fortunately, I'm not far from a Winners. I zip in, grab what I need, and zip back out. The clothes are basic but they should be comfortable and easy to move in. I can pick some more clothing up when we stop in the States in a week or so. Jolene changes into the new clothes. We go to the Tim Hortons next to the Hockey Hall of Fame and grab breakfast. We carry a conversation in whispers that are easily drowned out by the noises of the other customers. "So... what's the plan?" she asks. "Board my boat, take the St. Lawrence River out to sea and ride all the way down to the island." "You make it sound easy. What about supplies?" "Already covered. There's enough food and water to last us for a month. And we can always catch fish if we want some variety. And we'll be stopping in the States in about a week." "What kind of food did you pack?" "Dried beans, pasta, canned goods, I also picked up a few dehydrated things the last time I went to an outdoors store. I'm not sure how dehydrated crème brûlée tastes, but we're about to find out." "This is insane even for you. You know that, right?" "What is? The preparedness?" "The leaving like it's not even an inconvenience." "I'm taking you with me this time." "But you were prepared to leave at the drop of a hat." "Because we're jewel thieves. Would you rather go to prison?" She sighs. When we're finished our breakfast, we put our trash in the proper receptacles. After that, we take the PATH to the waterfront. My boat is moored near the Beaver Tails place. We get Beaver Tails, then we board my boat. I drive us out into Lake Ontario, which is surprisingly calm for this time of year. Jolene is out on deck watching the waves. When we're in the middle of the lake heading towards Kingston, I go out to her with a warm blanket and a cup of hot tea. I wrap the blanket around her, kiss her shoulder, and hand her the tea. "You'll freeze out here," I say. "I can't believe we're leaving just like that." "If the authorities catch us, you can call it a kidnapping." She gives me a look. "What do you want me to say?" I ask. She shakes her head and looks away. "I don't know if there was another option that would have kept us out of jail." "I need some time alone," she says. "Okay... I'll just be... you know... steering the boat. I'll... be up there if you need me. Uh... the kitchen is downstairs if you're hungry. The bathroom and bedroom are on that floor as well. If you don't want to share the bed, you can take it and I'll set something up at the helm." She says nothing. I go back to steering the boat. I access the original Isabelle's memories to try to help me figure out why she might be upset. I did kidnap Jolene. But... I never forced her to come with me. At any point during our travels to the waterfront, she could have run off or told me she didn't want to go. But here she is. And she's with me. Yes, I was prepared to leave at the drop of a hat but I took her with me this time. I mull it over as I drive. I suppose us escaping might bring up the memory of me leaving her the last time the cops came. After that realization, I try to think of something else. Something that won't distract me while I focus on getting us to the St. Lawrence River safely.


She was a woman of substance, a pretty looking, admired by all, a flawless beauty, a special person who stood out in a crowd of thousands. A noble being from her childhood was a bit shy and had all the features of a perfect woman. The best a man could’ve got to be a life partner. Her motto was doing good to others and lending a helping hand to the needy. She had a whole lot of followers who admired her for her beauty and her goodness. She was a woman of character, an untarnished life, un- perturbed by any external influence. She was a special woman who was too good to live in this world of rotten beings. But she survived because of her noble deeds. Anaida Craig was the one which every girl would’ve longed to become. Everything was going smooth in Anaida’s life. She was a good entrepruner, hailed a textile business and a school for costume designing. At a very young age she was awarded as the woman of the year. But things were not the same as she had expected. She hadn’t even dreamt that her life would be in turmoil and she would face many atrocities by the society. Anaida was a busy woman and she wanted a capable person to assist her in finance. An advertisement was put up for a Chief accounts head to run the show. Many were interviewed and three were selected for the final round. Ruth won the race among the three; he was the one who cleared all the tests with flying colours. A handsome looking youth Ruth was the centre of attraction in the office. He was admired by everyone especially the lady staff because of his dashing looks. Though Anaida was engrossed in her busy schedule, she always kept an eye on her employees. She just wanted a clean atmosphere in her workplace. His entry had changed the whole scenario. He was always surrounded by women. His flamboyant approach attracted many. Anaida was annoyed by the sudden change in the mannerisms of her staff. She had maintained a complete decorum and discipline in her office. This changed atmosphere was unacceptable by Anaida. She was a workaholic and her goal was to reach heights in her textile business and also make fame in the world of fashion. Though Anaida was strict in her behaviour she was very attached to her employees. She saw to it that her employees were given every benefit that they could afford. But today was something different, her staff were women in a major portion and his entry was like a bee running around flowers. “Hi, Anaida, Ruth exclaimed, “Oh God, Take a break from your work, how much do you slog every day, you have put up a huge threshold to you business and your fashion school is simply superb. And your accounts have boosted up, then why do you overstress, just take a chill pill and relax” Ruth came close to Anaida and started leaning on her, he came very close to her, with a heavy breath he said, “You are so beautiful, your looks, they kill me “. Anaida was completely flabbergasted by his sudden approach. But she didn’t lose her cool. She just got up and said, “Mr. Ruth , behave yourself , How dare you come close to me and behave like this, Look here I am not that kind of a woman , who would fall for handsome guys. So I think instead of wasting my time and yours you can just get back to work.” “And one more thing, Mr. Ruth I 'am your boss and you are my subordinate, so please don’t barge into my cabin without my permission” “Close the door Ruth was taken aback, he had never expected this. He just went out of her cabin without uttering a word.  This was the first time that his looks and charm was ignored by a girl. He felt that he was humiliated; a sense of rejection by a woman triggered his male ego. But he didn’t react; he didn’t show his anger on his face. “Sorry Ma’m I forgot my cadre and wanted to make friends with the queen. I’m sorry for my behaviour”. “You have to be, now please just leave me alone and do your job, don’t you ever try to trespass again”. He just barged out of the room with red shot eyes. Ruth had stopped annoying Anaida, after the incident. Though Anaida heaved a sigh, she felt she was missing something. After all she was a young woman who felt the need of a partner in her life. She was just observing him day and night, she felt the sudden change in his character, he was always engrossed in his work and made others to work who were clinging always clinging to him. Days passed the office atmosphere was normal, every other staff was busy in organising the grand event sponsored by Anaida fashions. Her school was ready to make a mark in the world of fashion. It was a huge opportunity to show the fashion world the creative extravaganza of Anaida Fashions. Anaida and Ruth were discussing the financial expenditure for the mammoth show. In the meantime they had to meet now and then to discuss terms; this triggered an emotional binding between the duo. They got along with each other and within a short time their physical intimacy brought them together. Anaida was a woman of character, these things were new to her, but she had always longed for a partner for life. She was excited to announce the relationship with Ruth; she wanted a life time commitment with him. She was planning something big; she wanted to disclose her engagement with Ruth on the day of fashion show. She arranged everything, but there was something shocking awaiting her, that she had never expected. The d day arrived, the fashion show was a super hit Anaida fashions rocked the world of fashion with its new creations. At the end Anaida walked along with the other models she was beaming with pride about her success, but her success didn’t last long the gown she wore tore up and fell down, she was humiliated in public. The crew wrapped her in a blanket and moved her inside. Anaida was shocked; she had never ever expected this. She was crying a woman of substance was stripped in front of many. This was a most disgusting incident which shamed a woman in public. Anaida couldn’t handle this shameful episode which defamed her. The next day was more disastrous, the paparazzi had knocked on her doors, and the intimate relation with Ruth was exposed without any hint. Anaida was in a shock, she was completely shattered and tarnished. He life was in dismay; the ruthless cheap tricks tarnished a woman’s life forever.   She was being targeted to bring her down to the streets for no wrong of hers. Her only mistake was she fell in love with a wrong man who was a cheapster; his male ego ruined a woman’s life forever. He had tarnished her character defamed her to ruin her life. The society laughed at her. She was mocked by one and all. Jealousy had struck her life like hell. She was a victim of jealousy. Though Anaida was a shattered soul, she took the incident with an optimistic approach; she handed over her business and her fashion school to her close friend Sara who was always with her as a moral support. Though she felt doomed she didn’t give up. She just hibernated for a few years; the society took it as a mockery and called her a coward. Anaida took some time to revive back. Today the whole world is admired by her; she is being honoured for her noble deeds, the woman who helped destitute women who were pushed to human trafficking. She rocked the fashion world with a difference. A dress with a cause was a major hit in the textile market. She regained her flawless beauty.


The address I had been given led me to an old building on Mission Street. On the walls of the entryway I saw the names of the different businesses that occupied the place. The names included a firm called The Introduction and another called This Narrative. I saw the one I was looking for, the one my friend had scribbled down for me: This is It!. According to the directory, This is It! was on the third floor. As I was halfway up the stairs, I walked by what appeared to be an old closet with the door half-open. Lights, colored lights, were coming from somewhere inside. I could not resist taking a peek. I walked in and as I turned in around the door, I saw two people admiring a strange sculpture. They were both wearing goggles. One of the figures was wearing a lab coat. The other had on an outfit that reminded me of a spacesuit. It was wrinkly and shiny and reflected the colored light around the room. The room itself was full of other sculptures, contorted, geometric pieces and other things that looked like large chunks of glass. The two figures both turned their heads toward me as I walked in. “Amazing, isn’t it?” one of them asked me. “Um, what is?” I replied. “You see,” he explained, “or perhaps you don’t see. In any case, when we percieve things, be they objects or animals or sculptures, what we see or perceive is not really the object itself but all that lies between us and the object.” “I don’t understand” I said. “Well, for example the intervening air or the light, the physical and also psychological preconceptions that you might have. Thus, to change an object you don’t have to change the object itself, you just have to change how it is perceived.” “I’m sorry,” I explained, ”I really have to go.” I walked out of the room and continued up the stairs. Arriving at the third floor, I reached an office door that had a piece of paper taped to the door. The paper said “Yes, This is It!” so I assumed that, yes, it was. Before I could knock, the door swung open and a man came out. He asked me if I was thirsty. “No, I am not, thank you.” “What did you think of what you saw downstairs?”, he inquired. “What do you mean?” “The room with the colored lights. You peeked in, of course. Everybody peeks in.” “What was going on in there?”, I asked. “I have no idea,” he said. “I think they are artists.” We both stared at each other for a bit after that. It was an uncomfortable moment. He was looking at me but not expecting me to say anything. He was looking at me the way one might gaze at a painting, studying me. I realized that he was not going to say anything more so I spoke up. “I’m here to see you. A friend recommended you. You see, I lost my dog. I was out walking her and let her off the leash just for a moment and next thing I knew she had disappeared! I don’t know what to do. She was my companion. It has been awfully lonely in this city and now here I am losing my dog! My friend said that you find dogs, that you can help me.” “Sure, lets go!” he said and started leaping down the stairs. What could I do? I chased after him. At the bottom of the stairs he was waiting for me. “Where was it that you lost her?” “Oh. Nearby here. The corner of Valencia and 20 th .” We walked over there together. This time he walked slowly down the street, looking all around, the way that tourists do in a new city, appearing somewhat astonished and also in a mood to be astonished, eager to be amused. “You know,” he said suddenly,” I usually don’t do dogs.” “What do you do, exactly?” It only now occurred to me to ask. “I am a finder. But I usually deal in, well, more metaphysical things. People ask me to find them not their lost love, but a new love. Or, to find them a new favorite pastime, or to help them see differently, though I’d have to take some time to explain to you what I mean. In most cases, I help people find what is already there.” “And how do you do all that?” “Ooh, I really want a taco!” he burst out suddenly and then ran right into a taqueria. I followed him, of course. The smell of the grill had wafted into the street and I had to admit that I too was starting to get a bit hungry. I ordered a taco too and sat down with him at a table where he was already slurping down an agua fresca. He was staring at a framed picture on the wall of the taqueria. It was a large painting of a rotisserie, nothing else. But the rotissier looked just like the one that they had in the taqueria itself. “I love that painting” he said “It is clearly done lovingly. It makes you appreciate what a wonderful thing a rotisserie is, you know. Clearly, the painting has been hanging here for years. The grease stains on it match the wall quite well.” I merely nodded. “You know” he told me, “there is a guy at the table in the corner that keeps glancing at you. He is either trying to figure out how to mug you or maybe he is interested in you.” I turned around and there was someone there. I knew him. He lived in another apartment in the same building. We had greeted each other a couple times but I cannot say I knew him. Nevertheless, we looked at each other when I turned around and I gave him a weak wave. He waved back. The finder – I didn’t even know his name – yelled out “Hey! Come join us!” My neighbor came over as requested and the finder-guy said “Hi! We are looking for her dog.” This of course started a conversation among us, about my dog, about the taqueria and we all introduced ourselves. The conversation had been loud enough that it became one of those conversations that dominates a room. The other tables were either single people downing their burritos or a quiet couple or two, all amused by the conversation at our table. “I think I saw the dog!” a girl at a nearby table volunteered. She went on to explain that she was certain she saw the dog around Valencia and 21st, heading rapidly North. By the time we left the taqueria, we had become a small group. It was a Saturday afternoon, it was a sunny day and many of the people in the taqueria had something of a loose agenda for that day. We all walked toward Valencia and 21 st and when we stopped, I began to explain what had happened. The finder-man then piped up “You know, if I was a dog, I’d head West. There are better smells coming from that direction. From just the few moments we have been standing here, it is clear to me that dog traffic is naturally heading in that direction” We only made it a block before we all stopped for ice cream. Ice cream cones in hand, the group continued westwards, heading in the direction of Dolores Park. “This is Dog Central!” the finder-person spoke up,” this is where I would go to if I were a dog.” We all generally agreed that indeed the impulses of a dog would be likely to lead them here, but despite splitting up and looking all around the park, we failed to find my dog. I asked the finder what he had planned now. He stated that he had no plans. His plan, as it were, was to stay here at the park because it had a great playground and fields for playing soccer and he loved soccer and he had no urge to be anywhere else. He soon joined in a pick-up soccer game and the last I saw of him was of him doing a remarkable head shot into the goal as his team-mates cheered him on. Some of the other members of our impromptu group also began to scatter. Some went home, others went off to meet their friends. A small group of us remained, however, including the neighbor I had met at the taqueria. With no other ideas, we also decided to stay in the park a bit longer. The summer day had become a warm summer night. Someone had brought a blanket and we all sat and watched the warm sky slowly fade, the cluster of buildings of downtown San Francisco looking like the Emerald city from the Wizard of Oz. As darkness descended, we shared stories about who we were and what we are all doing here in this city,  until we were just a group of disembodied voices, a campfire setting but without a campfire. As the nighttime cold came in, my neighbor asked if we all wanted to go to his place. We could continue chatting there. He had some drinks and snacks too. We all agreed, and headed out together towards the apartment house. We walked back across the same streets. But now, the streets had changed as people that had been out on a sunny day were retreating inside. Bars that had been closed earlier were now alive with people and colored lights. When we arrived at our apartment house, at my home, my dog was waiting for us there on the front stoop.


They all think I did it. They all think I killed my best friend. I didn’t, though. However many times I plead innocent, they don’t believe me. They think I am lying. I’m not, though. Even though I was the last person to see Natalie Park alive, I did not kill her. They say I’m crazy. They say I’m deranged. They say I deserve my own padded cell.

Why would I kill my own best friend? “Avena.” I look up at the sound of my name. My sister, Magnolia, stands in front of me.

“Lets go. You’ve got a trial.” I want to curl up in bed and cocoon myself in a blanket. I don’t want to feel the cold, hard eyes of the jurors on me. The judge’s judgement as to what I’ve become. “I don’t feel well.” I try to lie. “I think I’m coming down with something.” Lia looks at me, clearly not deceived. “You’re always coming down with something on court days.” I sigh and pull myself out of bed. I throw on a blue dress and some blue flats. I pin my blonde hair up in a bun, and straighten my glasses. “Are you ready to go?” Lia asks. I draw in a long breath. “Yes.” She leads me out to her car, a blue Corolla. I open the passenger door and climb inside. Lia squeezes my leg. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. You’ve got a great lawyer.” I sigh.

She looks at me, her blue eyes piercing into me. “You didn’t do it. If they can’t see from every angle, every suspect, then they are not great at their jobs.” “But what if they do find me guilty? I didn’t do it, so what? I’d get, oh, I don’t know, fifty years in prison for nothing?” “Life.” Lia says silently. I put my face in my hands. “I’m doomed.” ******* Lia and I walked up the marble steps to the courthouse. We pushed open the large fancy doors and walked inside, her heels clicking against the cold stone floor. We enter the elevator, and the rumbling as it ascends along with the easy listening music make me feel like I need to throw up. Nervousness could be a factor, too. We enter the courtroom and I take my special defendant seat. My palms are sweating,and my shoes all of a sudden feel too tight. The prosecutor starts the opening statement. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my name is Zachary Richard Smith. I am here today to prosecute on behalf of the family of Natalie Park for the murder of their daughter. I will call three witnesses to the stand. One, Mary Anne Park, will testify. Two, William Grant will testify. And third, Vera Wells. “At the conclusion of the case, we will ask you to convict the defendant, Avena Richards, of the crime as charged. Thank you. “First, I would like to call to the stand, Mary Anne Park.” Mary Anne, Natalie’s big sister, approaches the stand. She never liked me much, and she was there on the last night. She starts, “Thank you. I was at a party with the defendant and my sister the night she went missing. The defendant and her had been fighting. They had both been drinking. My sister left the party with-” She pointed at me with a sneer on her face. “ Her .” I instantly recoiled, my shoulders scrunching. My lawyer, Dean Stewart, approached the stand. “Your honor, I have a few questions.” “Objection, your honor!” Mr. Smith said. “Overruled.” The judge said. “Mr. Stewart, continue with your questioning.” Mr. Stewart faced Mary Anne. “Miss Park, did you try to stop those two from leaving the party?” Mary Anne turned red. “N-no, sir.” “Even though they had both been drinking, you did not try to stop them from getting into a car and driving away?” “Objection, your honor!” Mr. Smith said. “Overruled.” The judge said. Mary Anne became very interested in her dress. Her answer was only a squeak. “No.” The jury mumbled among themselves silently. “Thank you.” Mr. Stewart said, his point clearly made. “No further questioning.” “Thank you, Miss Park.” Mr. Smith said. “I would now like to call to the stand William Grant.” Will walked up to the stand. His blonde hair seemed paler, so it wasn’t exactly blonde, but more like a grey white. His blue eyes also seemed leeched of their color. He clearly hadn’t slept well last night. He sighs. He clearly does not want to be on the stand. His parents probably pressured him into it. “Hi. I was at the party, and to agree with Mary Anne, they did fight. But it was over something really stupid and girly, like, um,” He scratched his chin. “Oh! It was that they wore the same perfume, and they were accusing each other of doing it on purpose. By the time they left the party, they were giggling and it was like none of it had ever happened.” “Any questions?” The judge asked.

There were none, because this testimony had aided both sides. It proved that we had fought that night, but it also proved that by the time we left, we weren’t mad at each other. “I’d like to call Vera Wells to the stand, please.” Uhg. The popular girl. In our high school group, she was the most popular. She had the nicest hair, clothes and accessories- but she was also the brattiest. That tended to happen to people who were born with silver spoons in their mouths. Vera made her way to the stand, sashaying, trying to show off her Miss Me jeans and Gucci belt. “Hi. I was at the party the night, like, that Nat went missing. Avena and, like, Nat were totally fine! I never saw them arguing, and when they, like, left, I left at, like, the same time. Avena, like, brought Nat home. I saw Nat, like, getting out of the car and walking up her front steps.” A tremor passes through the courtroom.

“Any questions?” The judge asked. “A few, your honor.” Mr. Smith said. He approached the stand.

“Miss Wells,” He started, “What time of night did you see the defendant drop Natalie Park off at her residence?” “Maybe, um, ten or ten thirty?” The courtroom was silent for about ten seconds, the only sound was pens scraping on legal pads. “Thank you. No further questions.” Mr Smith said. Vera returned to her seat. “I will now start the closing statement. We know that Natalie Park and Avena Richards did argue that night. However, they were friendly again with each other by the end of the night. Avena Richards dropped Natalie Park off at her house, where she was never heard from again. However, as Avena had Natalie in the car with her, she was still the person who last saw Miss Park. Therefore, I ask for a guilty verdict. Thank you.” Mr Stewart stands. “I will now start the closing statement by defense. While Miss Richards was the last person to see Miss Park, she was witnessed going into her home. Miss Richards drove away, leaving Miss Park at her residence. Which she shares with her family.” He sneaks a glance at Mary Anne, then continues. “Therefore, I ask for a non-guilty verdict.” “Thank you.” The judge, Judge Miller says. She continues, “I will now conversate with the jury to get a verdict for Miss Avena Richards.” And they go into a closed session. Lia walks over to join me. “It’s gonna be okay, Ave. It’s gonna be okay.” Although it sounded more like she was reassuring herself, and not me. I started to sweat, and my feet tapped against the cold stone floor. Minutes ticked by, feeling like several hours. The clock on the wall felt menacing, its white face glaring down at me. Finally, after what felt like hours, Judge Miller and the jury presided. “We have reached a verdict. We find the defendant, Avena Richards, innocent as charged. Thank you.” At first, I didn't understand. I was so ready to be hauled off in handcuffs. I looked at Lia, and she was grinning so wide I thought her smile was going to break the confines of her face. Court was dismissed, and I ran and hugged Lia.

I’m innocent I’m innocent I’m innocent. Me and Lia were so excited, we went to ice cream afterwards. I could almost forget the dirty look Mary Anne Park was giving me. Almost. ******* I walked up the steps to my house. It was a week after the trial, and life was somewhat back to normal. No one whispered about me in the halls anymore at school. People were sitting with me at lunch again. I was about to open the door when I noticed an envelope wedged between the screen door and the door. I pried it open and pulled out the paper inside. I knew it could have been for Lia, but I opened it anyway. Avena Richards, you are next. Definitely for me, then. I somehow got the meaning that You are next didn’t mean You are next to recieve a great prize! or You are next to get a free pass to Disneyland! I didn’t know what it meant. I looked behind me and along the street. It was barren and empty. I quickly went inside and slammed the door. My breaths were ragged and quick. What did it mean? I went to my room and did homework. I sighed, and no matter how many times I reread the same paragraph in my textbook, it would not stick in my brain. You are next. I shuddered and closed the textbook. No reading tonight, apparently.

Instead I opened my laptop and searched Natalie Park . Of course, all the local news headlines came up. Natalie Park, 17, Goes Missing Remains of Natalie Park, Missing Local Girl, Found Trial Held for Suspect of Natalie Park’s Murder Avena Richards Found Innocent For Murder Of Natalie Park And so many others. I could keep scrolling this webpage forever, but I hear a knock on the door, so I close the tab and go out to the main room. I opened the door. “Hello?” A small envelope fell at my feet. I stuck my head out the door and looked up and down our street again. Empty. I picked up the envelope and opened it. I’m watching you. It was all I could do not to scream. Who? Who was watching me? Why? I turned around and went inside the house, slamming and locking the door. I closed all the shutters and locked the back door. About an hour later, I heard someone trying the door. The knob jiggled, then the person knocked. I crept over and looked through the peephole, and I released a huge breath. It was only Lia. “Why did you have the door locked?” She asked once she was inside. “And why are all the shutters drawn?” “I have a headache,” I lied. “I must have accidentally turned the lock on my way in.” Lia didn’t look convinced, but she said, “Okay. You go get some rest, then.” I slinked back to my room, pretending to have a headache. There, I found an email in my inbox from someone titled “You Know Who”. Closing the shutters and locking the doors does absolutely nothing. You’re next. I looked frantically around my room. What? I didn’t know who! I lied down, trying to just relax to calm my shaking nerves. I must have fallen asleep, because I woke to shattering glass as a rock was thrown through my window. I sat bolt upright. What was that? Someone landed on my rug with a thud. Broken glass crunched underneath them. Their shoes made outlines on the carpet. The person walks toward me. They wore a black hoodie, and black leggings. Black high tops adorned their feet. They pulled their hood back.

The face I was looking at shocked me. Mary Anne Park. “Wh-what do you w-want?” I asked, stuttering through my fear. “You. Gone.” Mary Anne replied. If I could only reach my phone, I thought. I could call 911 or get this on video. My fingers crept to my phone on my bedside table. Mary Anne noticed, unfortunately. She grabbed my phone and threw it out the window, into the night. “Nuh-uh-uh.” She said. “None of that.” I took a deep breath, then screamed, “LIA! LIA! MAGNOLIA! HELP!” Mary Anne looked shocked for a second, then she regained her posture and said, “Quiet!” I listened intently for the slightest sound of footsteps walking down the hall. Nothing.

“LIA! LIA, HELP! IT’S AN EMERGENCEEEEEEYYYY!” I shouted. “That’s enough!” Mary Anne said, pulling a small black bar with a wider end out of her pocket. A taser. She was leaning toward me to touch the electricity to my neck when my door burst open. “What’s the problem, Ave?” And then she saw Mary Anne. “Get away from her!” Mary Anne turned, obviously surprised by my sister’s words.

“I said, GET AWAY FROM MY LITTLE SISTER!” Lia shouted and tackled Mary Anne. They rolled around, Mary Anne’s taser flickering on and off in an attempt to electrocute Lia. Lia finally got Mary Anne pinned, and she straddled her on the ground. Then, Lia pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed 911. “Hello? Yes, I have a home intruder…” ******** One month later… I walked down the stairs, on my way to my biology class. The sun streamed bright, and I had to put up my hand to protect my eyes. That night, Mary Anne Park had been hauled away from me and Lia’s house in handcuffs. Two weeks later, she was found guilty of breaking and entering, and even worse, the murder of Natalie Park. She had been sentenced to life in prison. We had been assured that she would not be bothering us anymore. I reached the bottom of the steps and almost ran into someone. He had thick, black glasses, and short blonde hair in a crew cut.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I said, recomposing myself. I was about to continue on my way when he looked at me and said, “You’re Avena Richards?” “Who wants to know?” “Ben Sullivan. I’m new here.” He held out his hand to shake. I readjusted

my textbooks in my arms so I had a free hand. “Did you want to maybe...hang out sometime?” He asked nervously. I smiled almost as bright as the sun. “Sure.” Maybe things were starting to look up.


Jill’s heart shivered when she saw Bruce for the first time. The young woman didn’t expect her blind date to be so handsome. After Jill saw Bruce, she wanted to thank her best friend, Rachel, for setting her up on a blind date. Jill hoped that her date felt the same way about her. Since Jill was a psychologist, she tried to read Bruce’s body language toward her. She studied Bruce’s gestures while sitting across from him at a table. Jill liked everything about Bruce, and she couldn’t understand why. She liked the way his lips moved as he spoke to her. She liked his smile and how it complimented his attractive, prominent jawline. Jill loved the hint of gray that decorated Bruce’s short blondish hair.

Bruce felt the same enthusiasm toward Jill. He loved Jill’s curly fire engine red shoulder-length hair and her gorgeous facial features, which had an Asian-like essence. Everything about Jill seemed perfect to Bruce. Like Jill, he also liked the way her full lips moved when she spoke. There was something that bothered Bruce. He loved meeting Jill, but a melancholy atmosphere would nip at his thoughts now and then.

“So is this your first blind date?” Jill asked while smirking at Bruce. She licked her lips in anticipation while waiting for her date’s reply.

“Yeah, this is my first blind date.” Bruce chuckled when he saw a glimmer of disbelief in Jill’s eyes. “Honestly! This is my first blind date!” Bruce repeated. He broke into complete laughter as he tried to convince Jill.

Jill slowly nodded while squinting her eyes at Bruce with her lips still wearing a smirk. “So I’m the first woman you’ve gone out with? That’s hard to believe.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Bruce shot his question at Jill while still laughing. The man began drumming his fingers on the table as he waited for Jill’s answer. Jill shrugged her shoulders while looking away from Bruce for a minute. “The guys I dated in the past always dated other women before me. Some of them had girls on the side while they were dating me. I’ve never been with a guy who said that I was his first date. It would be refreshing if it’s true.” Jill laid her suspicious eyes back on Bruce’s ruggedly handsome face. She tried to look serious, but a slight smile would constantly manipulate the corners of her mouth every few seconds. “It’s true. You’re the first girl I’ve dated.” Bruce looked Jill straight in her eyes and he never blinked. The man folded his hands on the table and he leaned forward with an earnest glow on his face. He wanted Jill to believe him because he was telling the truth. He watched as the smile on Jill’s face slowly faded.

“You must be a virgin,” Jill stated without hesitation. She watched as Bruce sat back in his chair while giving her a shocked stare. Jill snickered when Bruce’s face turned red. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.” Bruce stared at Jill incredulously while chuckling. He wanted to say something else to Jill, but he held back his words while nervously brushing his fingers through his spiked, sharply cut hair. Bruce cleared his throat and he took his eyes off Jill when the waitress approached their table. *** As the evening went on, Jill and Bruce became more attracted to each other. The couple was no longer at a restaurant. They were now inside of an L.A. nightspot, grinding against each other on the dancefloor. Bruce had his hands on Jill’s curvy waistline and he loved feeling her hips sway rhythmically to the DJ’s hip-hop EDM.

Jill loved feeling Bruce’s tall and muscular build hugging her from the back. Occasionally, she would playfully gyrate her buttocks against Bruce’s manhood area. Jill couldn’t understand why she felt so comfortable around Bruce. She didn’t feel guarded around him. The young woman loved feeling free around Bruce. She never felt so free on dates with other men. There was something about Bruce that exhilarated Jill. She didn’t mind getting loose with him. She didn’t mind feeling his large, firm hands on her butt even though they had just met a few hours ago.

Bruce enraptured himself in the nightclub’s erotic atmosphere. The young man also enraptured himself in Jill’s atmosphere. It aroused him knowing that his body sweat was mingling with Jill’s. Bruce never thought of himself as a good dancer. But tonight, Jill awakened a rhythm inside Bruce that he didn’t know he had. He had to catch up with Jill’s dance moves and it amazed him to watch Jill gyrating and grooving like an NBA cheerleader. Bruce’s hands molded Jill’s wide hips and he could feel her sweat leaking through her silver skin-tight dress. The young man stayed in rhythm with his blind date. He rested his chin on Jill’s shoulder while wrapping his bulky arms around her waist and enjoying the feeling of her hand stroking the side of his tattooed neck.

Jill and Bruce were perfectly in sync with each other. The couple was inseparable as they danced to the DJ's remix of Marco G’s Dancefloor . The R&B dance tune was turning the nightclub upside down.

“You wanna go to my place after we leave the club?!” Bruce had to shout out his question to Jill over Marco G’s young voice and a booming beat that shook the club’s floor. The young man’s heart skipped a few beats per minute when Jill smiled up at him while nodding her head. “I’ll ride with you for the rest of the night!” Jill shouted up at Bruce while reaching up and resting her arms on his shoulder. “I like you! You’re cute!” Jill announced her feelings for her blind date. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol talking for her or if she was really expressing her feelings for Bruce. Within a second, Jill brought her lips in for a kiss. She had to stand on her toes to kiss Bruce. The kiss made Jill’s skin tingle. Every cell in Jill’s body celebrated when her lips connected with Bruce’s soft lips. Jill thought she was kissing an angel. When Jill kissed Bruce, the nightclub and the crowd of dancing young people disappeared. This was the best first date Jill had ever experienced. She became one with Bruce and she could taste the tequila on his warm lips.

Bruce couldn’t feel the bounce of the crowd anymore, or the nightlife atmosphere that embraced him and Jill. All he could feel was Jill’s plush lips massaging his. Kissing Jill made Bruce forget that he was a married man. It made Bruce forget that he lied to Jill at the restaurant. Bruce had a wife, but he decided that tonight he was a single man who found love for the first time. The young man embraced the moment with no fear of consequences for lying to his blind date. Bruce felt that he never lied to Jill, so he had nothing to feel guilty about. Everything was falling into place for Bruce, and all he cared about was making Jill happy.

*** Midnight had arrived and Jill kept thinking about the unforgettable experience she had with Bruce at the nightclub. Jill had a little too much to drink while she was at the club. The young woman still felt aware of her surroundings. Her head was a little fuzzy, but she knew that she was inside Bruce’s house. She made herself comfortable on his sofa, and she didn’t find it strange that Bruce was kneeling in front of her like a man ready to propose. “You got a nice crib,” Jill giggled out her words while looking around the living room. She studied the clean and sophisticated living room, which had a Mediterranean style. Jill loved every piece of furniture in Bruce’s house and she couldn’t take her eyes off his coffee table, which had the shape of a palm tree. “There’s something you need to know,” Bruce said while maintaining his kneeling position in front of Jill. “I haven’t been honest with you.” Bruce continued. He chuckled when Jill giggled at his words while playfully tapping the tip of his nose. Bruce knew that Jill was substantially drunk and that she was half-listening to him.

“Oh-oh, you haven’t been honest with me? You’re hiding something?” Jill’s speech was a little slurred and she caught on to what Bruce said to her a minute later. “What do you want to tell me? You can tell me anything, you know? Because you’re cute and I won’t get mad.” Jill spoke with a flirtatious spice in her already sultry voice. She leaned in Bruce’s face, almost burying his nose in her busty cleavage. The young woman couldn’t keep her hands out of Bruce’s hair and she knew that she was acting silly, but she didn’t care. “I lied to you when I said you were the first girl I dated.” Bruce softly threw his words out of his mouth and he nervously gazed up at Jill when he felt her hands come to an abrupt stop in his hair. Jill lifted one of her eyebrows. She kept a bewildered smirk on her face while leaning away from Bruce. “What are you talking about?” Right after Jill asked her question, a mysterious young woman wearing a pair of ripped denim jeans and a pink halter top cautiously stepped into the living room with her hands folded in front of her. To Jill, it looked like the woman appeared out of nowhere.

“Please, don’t get upset. I can explain this.” Bruce put his hands up in a pleading gesture. He watched as the playful smile on Jill’s face melted into a look of disgust.

“Who is this? What’s going on?” Jill still had a relaxed tone in her voice, but it had an edge. She tried to stand up from the sofa after it sunk into her mind that Bruce had made a fool out of her, or so she thought. “I need to go home.” Jill became a little sober after the other woman came into the living room with a pitiful expression on her face. “Don’t touch me! You’re an asshole!” Jill’s soft, sultry voice exploded when Bruce attempted to place his hands on her shoulders. “Take it easy. She’s not what you think.” Bruce chuckled nervously after Jill shoved his hands away. “She’s just the babysitter!” Bruce knew that he couldn’t waste any more time. He quickly reached for his phone to play a video for Jill when he saw that the young woman was about to slap him.

“What the hell is this?” Jill snatched the phone away from Bruce and it took a minute for her to realize she was looking down at a recorded video of herself talking. Jill couldn’t believe that she was staring down at herself in a video. She turned up the volume on Bruce’s phone to hear what this other Jill was saying. “Is this some kind of joke? Is this CGI or something?” Jill shot her questions at Bruce and she watched as he slowly shook his head. “You recorded this video yesterday, but you don’t remember it because of your condition,” Bruce explained. His gentle voice shuttered a little when he felt tears trying to bloom in his eyes. “She has a message for you. Just listen.” Bruce tapped his finger on the phone's screen. “Hey, Jill! I know you’re probably sitting on the sofa feeling confused right about now. Don’t worry, girl! I’ll try to explain everything!” The video Jill laughed out her words while pointing at the phone’s camera. “The man who you went on a date with is your husband. You’re celebrating your anniversary tonight. I hope you had a good time. I told your husband to make you happy for the both of us.” The video Jill paused for a minute while looking down and wiping away a tear. “You have what the doctors call severe anterograde amnesia. It’s a type of amnesia in which a person cannot remember recent memories. You still keep your long term memories, like your childhood memories. But you can’t remember recent memories. You got in a car accident while driving to work. A drunk driver ran a red light and plowed into you, causing your car to rollover. You suffered a severe brain injury and you needed surgery. Every day, you forget who your husband is and your children. I made this video to help you remember that you have a lovely husband named Bruce Livingston, whom you’ve been married to for eight years. You have two beautiful kids. A girl and a boy. Your son’s name is Scott and he’s five years old. Your daughter is seven and her name is Olivia.” Jill had her hand over her mouth with her eyes glued to the phone's screen. Seeing herself in the video still felt like a dream. “Since your anterograde amnesia causes you to forget recent memories, you probably don’t remember doing this video the night before.” The video Jill took a deep breath before letting out a soft laugh. “Every night I make a video so your husband can show it to you. I didn’t want you to forget your anniversary, that’s why making this video was super important. I told my hubby, or maybe I should say, our hubby, to take you out on a date. I wanted him to recreate the blind date that your best friend, Rachel, set you up on ten years ago. I wanted Bruce to recreate the night when I first met him. I wanted him to take you to the same places you went to on your first date with him. I wanted your anniversary to be special. I hope you had a good time at The Cobra nightclub. The Cobra was where you kissed your husband for the first time. You have severe amnesia, but you will not let a car accident and your amnesia stop us from enjoying life. You will not be bitter and depressed because life is too short for that. Take notes by recording videos every day so you can capture and remember the best moments in your life. A drunk driver took away a piece of you, but you can get that piece of you back. You’re a wonderful mom and a splendid wife. You’re also a powerful woman and nothing will stand in your way. I love you, girl! You hang in there and I want you to stay strong for the both of us! I can’t explain everything in this video, so your husband will finish the job. I want you to give my love to your beautiful husband and your two gorgeous babies. I wish both of you a Happy Anniversary.”

Jill kept her watery eyes on the phone even after the video ended. The young woman couldn’t talk for a minute, and she allowed her tears to drip down on her husband’s phone.

Bruce used his thumb to clean away some tears beneath his wife’s eyes. He watched as his wife slowly stood up from the sofa while softly gasping and brushing her hair away from her wet face. Bruce stood up with his wife and he jumped a little when Jill dropped his phone before grabbing him and kissing him passionately.

Jill never said a word to her husband and she let her lips do the talking. After assaulting her husband with a heavenly mind-altering kiss, the young woman took her husband by the hand. She reached out affectionately to touch the hand of the babysitter who was a seventeen-year-old girl named Amy Washington. “Your children are asleep. You want me to show you where their room is?” Amy asked Jill while embracing the woman’s hand. The babysitter guided Jill down the hallway after the young woman gave her a nod while still crying. Amy knew Jill, but she knew that the mother didn’t remember her. The teenager would later find the right time to reintroduce herself to Jill. But for now, she felt that it was more important to show the woman where her children were sleeping, so she could give them her love. Jill still had her husband’s hand when she stepped into her kids' bedroom. The young woman wasted no time kneeling beside Scott and Olivia’s bedsides and kissing them. She made sure not to let her affectionate kisses wake up her son and her daughter. Jill’s reality was still sinking into her mind as she gazed at her children, feeling like she was staring at two angels for the first time. She would occasionally gaze up at her husband unable to stop her tears. After giving her little boy and her little girl one last kiss on their foreheads, the happy but confused young woman slowly stood up and embraced her husband.

Bruce kissed his wife on her lips. He watched as his wife wrapped her slender arms around him while laying her tear-soaked face on his shoulder. As he held his wife securely in his arms, Bruce thought about how he instantly fell in love with Jill when they first met. Tears tried to escape from Bruce's eyes when he thought about how the car accident, his wife’s surgery, and her amnesia never destroyed their marriage.


It was a hot day, but not unusually so for the middle of spring. The citizens of the small town of Bael went about the normal routine of their lives. This consisted mostly of farming, hunting in the nearby woods, and generally keeping to themselves. The people of Bael owed allegiance to no matriarch, were part of any kingdom, nor did they have any roads or marked paths to their little town. They simply lived and wanted to be left alone in their own little paradise. The self-isolation of Bael went on for so long that the town was eventually forgotten by the outside world. And that was just fine with the town of Bael, who although forgotten, did not forget the world outside of it. So when Beau stepped out of the edge of the woods and into this village that time seemed to have forgotten, to say he was surprised would be a gross understatement. At first Beau thought that he had somehow wandered into a renaissance fair, but that did not make any sense. He had gotten lost in the woods, dozens from even so much as an access road. It did not take long for the locals to notice Beau. One by one, they all stopped what they were doing and stared at him with solemn expressions. “Uh,” Beau began, “I’m sorry but I got lost in the woods and I could use a little help.” The locals continued to stare at him, and Beau began to feel uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. Beau began to back away towards the forest. “Never mind, I can see you are all busy. I’ll just keep tracking along.” Beau almost made it into the woods before an older man stepped forward and beaconed him back. “Wait,” the old man yelled. His appearance was a bit cleaner than the other townsfolk, though he had no hair, was missing most of his teeth, and looked like a stiff breeze might knock him over. “Please don’t go.” The old man continued to walk towards Beau as he spoke. “You just surprised us is all. We don’t get many visitors in our isolated community, so when someone walks in through the forest it catches us off guard. Please, come in. We will see what we can do to help.” Beau slowly left the border of the woods and stepped back into the clearing of the town. “That’s okay. I’m… I’m sorry I surprised any of you. I’ve just been lost in the forest for a couple of days and I’m getting a little desperate.” “I understand,” the old man gestured for Beau to follow him. “Come, let’s see if we can get you some food and drink.” Beau walked up to the old man, and then they both walked towards the town. Beau introduced himself, “I’m Beau.” “Aligrax,” the old man dropped his name casually. “That is an interesting name.” “Thank you,” Aligrax said with sincerity. “You are interesting yourself. Those clothes of yours are quite different.” Beau looked down at what he was wearing; jeans, a t-shirt, a button jacket, boots, his cap and his backpack. “Really?” Aligrax nodded. “They’re pretty plain where I’m from.” “As I said, we don’t get many visitors. We’re bound to be a bit… out of touch.” “That’s cool Mr. Aligrax.” “Just Aligrax, will do.” “Sorry,” Beau smiled. Aligrax was very friendly, and Beau began to notice that all the other locals seemed to begin to warm up to him as well. “So, what is this town called?” “Bael.” “Cool name. How long has this town been here?” Aligrax led Beau to an outdoor campfire, sat down on a wood bench, and motioned for Beau to do the same. “I honestly couldn’t tell you.” Aligrax answered. We haven’t had the best record keepers here. Most of us can barely even read, but I know that we have been here for many generations, happy to be left to our own devices.” Aligrax looked over at a woman who was going about her day. “Lilith, could you be a dear and fetch our guest something warm to eat?” Lilith nodded and started to trot off to a nearby house. “Thank you Lilith.” “That’s amazing that you’ve been here for so long. I had no idea that there was any civilization out here.” “Nobody does,” Aligrax sighed, “and that’s the way we like it.” Beau digested Aligrax’s words for a moment, and then grew somber. “Wait… that means you don’t have a way to contact anyone else to help get me home.” “I’m terribly sorry, but that is the case.” Beau shifted uncomfortably on the bench as he mulled that over in his head. “That’s alright, I’ll just have to make my way back on my own.” Aligrax said nothing; he only looked at the flames of the fire in front of them. And then Beau put his hand on Aligrax’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Aligrax, I won’t tell anyone about your little town. I mean, you’re feeding me and letting me rest. You’re basically giving me the best help that you can. Keeping your community secret is the least I could do.” Lilith came back with a steaming bowl and a wooden mug, and handed it to Beau. “Thank you very much miss,” Beau removed his hat before accepting the food and drink. “It smells wonderful.” Lilith gave a sideways glance at Aligrax, and then looked back at Beau with a smile on her face. “You’re welcome?” Her response caught Beau as a little strange, like she didn’t feel comfortable with being thanked. Lilith hesitantly turned away, then scurried off down the dirt road of the town. “My apologies for her awkwarness,” Aligrax mumbled. She sometimes has difficulty doing work that needs to be done. Beau though it an odd comment. Lilith didn’t seem to have any difficulty helping out as she was asked. But this was an isolated village and he had no idea about their customs, so he shrugged it off and began to dig into the food that Lilith had brought him. Beau didn’t know if it was just the hunger, or something they did to prepare the food, but it was spectacular. The bowl of stew was savory and warm. The meat in it was tender and flavorful, and the vegetables in it were a perfect compliment to the smoky flavor of the meat. Beau washed it all down with the cool water in the wood cup. “Thank you for that,” Beau sighed contently, “I really needed that.” Aligrax didn’t say anything. He just looked at the fire with kind of a sad look on his face. “Did I do something wrong Aligrax?” “No,” Aligrax exhaled heavily. “I just sometimes wish we didn’t need to keep the town of Bael a secret from everyone else.” “Aligrax,” Beau put his hand on the old man’s shoulder again, “your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone.” Tears escaped Aligrax’s eyes. “I believe you,” he gently wept. “I’m sorry Aligrax, I didn’t mean to cause you any worry.” Beau stood up and put his backpack back on. “You’ve been such a fantastic help, probably saved my life, and I don’t want to cause you any trouble or grief. I’ll head out and make my way home.” Aligrax nodded, and Beau walked off in the direction Aligrax had led him from. Lilith waited for Beau to get a bit off before she approached Aligrax. “He’s a nice boy.” Aligrax said, to no one in particular. “It’s a shame.” Lilith shook as she spoke. “Can’t we make an exception just this one time?” “You know as I, our lord Bael’s laws are absolute. We are to remain isolated, we are to remain invisible, and nobody can know of our existence.” “He ate the entire bowl, didn’t he?” Aligrax tipped his head, affirming her question and a small sob escaped Lilith. “He’ll be dead within an hour.” “At least it will be a clean death.” Aligrax stood up slowly, letting his back bend and stretch as he did so. “We will need to fetch someone to find the body then, in case he makes it beyond the veil and back into his world.” “You should have kept him in the borders of the village. Bael will not be pleased if he learns you risked our exposure.” Aligrax began to shamble off. “He won’t make it that far beyond the veil in an hour. And I’m too old to care much anyways at this point. I am beyond caring whether or not our dark lord Bael will be happy. At this stage of my life it is enough that I complete his orders, and he has not specifically ordered us to not allow our accidental guests outside of the veil, just that they die before they can share the secret of this place.” Aligrax left Lilith and shuffled to his home. Bael’s laws were absolute, but sometimes it was just so hard.