What if you had a power nobody else had, and everybody wanted?

     Daniel stared off into the night.  Cherie was still driving fast.  Lanie and Elise were asleep and he could barely keep his eyes open himself.

     "So that's the story," he finished.  "Rotating."

     "So it's another place you go to?" Cherie said.

     "I guess.  Melanie had lots of data when I left, she was collating it.  But she was also trying to do other research too, into fermions or something.  Trying to prove that the universe actually exists.  She kept all our stuff out of the way, tried to keep the supervisors thinking that we were doing something else."

     "Fermions."

     "Yeah.  Quantum stuff.  Nothing too cutting edge.  Stuff Melanie could do in her sleep.  She kind of drip-fed it out to her supervisors so that it looked all good.  They'd send her drafts back and tell her to do a whole line of confirming research and more rewrites."

     "Kept her busy, I guess."

     Daniel laughed.  "What she'd do is look at the stuff from the supervisors, then set up a couple of experiments.  Read some more papers, and boy could she read fast.  And still nail all the information.  Once I got her to speed read a ten page article I'd already poured over for hours.  Something in my speciality, cell regeneration.  She skimmed it in a couple of minutes and then I gave her a quiz on it.  She had all the pertinent points."

     "Photographic memory?"  Cherie slowed a little, checking a sign for a ramp.

     "No, just good data retention."

     "Sounds like you were really smitten."

     Daniel didn't say anything.  The ramp blurred past.  He saw lights of a truck stop and some fast food places clustered around the sides.  Some car headlights turning out of the traffic towards the on-ramp.

     "It's okay," she said.  "I don't mind talking about old girlfriends."

     How could she know, Daniel thought, that this particular old girlfriend was who he measured everyone else against?  Cherie was high on the comparison ladder, and had crept up a few rungs this evening, but still no Melanie.  Not quite.

     Cherie shifted lanes to let the car on the ramp have clear space.

     Move on, he thought.  How often had he told himself that?  Get over her, get on with your life.  Melanie was long gone, busy with her research.  Researching how to get to the ninety.  She would leave him out of it, never mention his name.  In fact he had watched her search and replace his name in her database and documents.  "Daniel Davenport" becoming "The subject".  No question that she had been honest with that.  He'd even considered expunging his university record, living under an alias because somewhere, somehow, someone would realise that "The subject" was the same guy she raced out of campus with each weekend.

     "You're quiet," Cherie said.

     "Yeah."

     "First love.  I've been there."

     "Okay, so maybe that's not a two-way street."  It was.  He didn't care if she talked about her past love-life.  Not attached to her enough to care, really.  But if she thought it was, then she wouldn't press him about Melanie.  Melanie.

     Cherie snorted.  "Whatever.  Just tell me how it ended."

     Blue and red flashed through the pickup.

     "Uh-oh," Cherie said.  "We've got company."

     Sutton watched out the window as the New Jersey night blurred under the sweeping chopper.  Everyone else was silent and Seth had fallen asleep.  Fair enough, Sutton thought, he works hard.  Gotta cut him some slack.

     How, he wondered, could there have been so many glitches in the system.

     Garner.

     Set up to fail.

     Trusted people letting him down.  Holes in the system.  Incompetence.

     Planned incompetence.

     He listed in his head the people he knew he could trust.  Seth, of course.  McIntyre, Buttcher, Andrews.  Perhaps three or four others around the globe.  People beyond reproach.  Perhaps they each had two or three they themselves would trust without question, but would that be stretching it too far?  If he assembled a group, it only took one to screw it up.  The others would have to hand pick their own men.

     Sutton's mind raced.  If he could gather them all together within twenty-four hours then the chances were good he could continue to pursue it.

     Where to meet?  It had to be somewhere new, somewhere he'd never used at all.  He would have to strip all his clothes, ditch all the gear.  He would need cash.  Was the Cayman account safe?

     What if they'd implanted a chip on him?

     God, get a grip, man, you're getting paranoid.

     Or was he?  Nothing was beyond Garner.

     Okay, slow down.  Let's see what we find out about the lab raid.  See if we can track down Du Champs, then continue from there.  He would have to separate from this group, get to an automatic cash dispenser and move money around.  Then stick with Seth.

     It would take precision.  Sutton smiled.  His speciality.

     Something in the cockpit pinged and the pilot glanced back into the cabin.  Sutton felt the craft accelerating.

     "What's going on?" he said.  For a moment he imagined Garner had ordered them flown to his private compound for debriefing.  Garner's debriefings sometimes left only corpses.

     "Something's happened in Philly," the pilot shouted.

     Sutton adjusted the headset.

     "What's happened?" Seth said, awake now.

     Sutton listened as the pilot explained about how local surveillance had seen a car burst from an apartment block garage and speed off into traffic.  "There's a car following it, and two trucks, but the trucks were slow off the mark.  Law enforcement has been diverted.  Away."

     "The cops aren't going?"

     Seth wiped his fingers across his tab screen.  "Patrols have been directed away from the chase," he said.

     "Who's doing that?"

     Seth tapped, then looked up.  "Central dispatch.  Their own people."

     Sutton nodded.  Someone was clearly giving instruction to the central dispatch.  "It's her, isn't it?"

     Seth did more searching.  "It was her apartment building, yes."  After a moment's more searching, he added, "The cam's haven't picked up the tags, but it's clearly an Audi."  Seth held the screen up so Sutton could see the grainy nighttime image of a speeding car.

     "And?"

     "Du Champs's car is an Audi."  Seth put the screen down and did some more finger moves.  "Only one other Audi registered to a building occupant.  Fair chance it's her."

     "How far out are we?"

     "Two minutes from city limits," the pilot said.

     "Can we track that car?"

     "Well," Seth said.  "With my level of access to the surveillance datafeeds here it should be straightforward."

     "So long as she stays in the city.  Cameras are pretty sparse outside the CBD."

     "Okay, then.  Pilot, let's make a beeline."  Sutton wished he'd found out the pilot's name, it would make it easier to maintain the appearance of friendliness.

     "Sir," the pilot said.

     Seth kept scrabbling on his screen.  Sutton looked ahead, able to see the blazing high-rises of downtown Philadelphia not far away.  Lights blinked and he could see other air traffic heading for Philadelphia International beyond downtown.  Traffic streamed along what he thought must be the I95 almost directly below.

     "One minute from downtown," the pilot said.

     The ninety-nine floor One Penn Square flared ahead, standing like flaming obelisk.  Sutton liked Philly, had enjoyed some great Turkish at the markets at New Penn's Landing, but didn't anyone turn off their lights when they left for the day?

     Philadelphia might make a good location to gather his new team.  Best place to hide is right in the open.  Once they had Du Champs he would start making more calls.

     "Oh, this is fabulous," Seth said, grinning.  He seemed genuinely happy and Sutton allowed himself to smile inwardly.  It was so rare for Seth to show any emotion.

     "What is?" Sutton said.

     "Whoever it is chasing her," he said, turning the screen to show Sutton a map.  "They've put a tracker on board."

     Sutton could see a clichéd flashing dot moving along one of the streets on the map.  "Oh."

     "We can follow her for as long as we want."

     Then they were sweeping past the shining skyscrapers.

     Melanie kept her foot down, sliding through the intersection onto Passyunik and slowing as she came into traffic.  She darted around a bus and had to yank the wheel to pull back in and avoid oncoming traffic.  She settled in behind a dark pickup.

     Breathe, she thought.  She was shaking, her hands white from gripping the steering wheel.

     The light ahead changed and she slowed, letting the gap grow between her and the pickup.  Chancing it for a moment, she reached down to get the throwaway phone from the passenger footwell.  Sitting back up, the pickup's brake lights were just coming on.  She slowed further.

     "Reg?" she said into the phone.

     "Still here.  What's your status?"

     Jesus, she thought.  What's my status?  I'm a research fellow, that's my status.  Single, no kids, healthy 401k, no medical conditions except mild myopia, no demerits on my driver's licence.

     "Melanie?"

     She realized that it was just her mind taking stock, like a mantra or meditation, trying to reassure her that things were all right.  That she hadn't just launched her car from her building's garage, probably crushing a man.  This happened to Shia La Beouf and Daniel Craig in their movies, not to tenured professors.

     "Melanie!"

     "Yes, I'm here."

     "Are you okay?"

     That was a question she could deal with.  "I'm not hurt," she said.

     "Good.  What's the plan?"

     Plan?  As if anything in the last hour fitted with a plan.  "Where are you?"

     "Just turning onto Passyunik.  I think I'm behind the bus."

     "Yeah, okay."  Think fast, she told herself.  Use your brain, that's what its for.  That's what you've spent your life training; your brain.  "Do you know where the trucks are?"

     "They weren't far behind, but they don't have our acceleration so they're ..."  Reg hesitated.  "Well, duh, they're trucks."

     "What?"  Melanie pulled up alongside the pickup, stopped for the red.  She needed to keep moving.  She checked the rearview.  Where were the trucks now?  Were they using surveillance to track her?

     "Thinking aloud, that's all.  Listen, they won't be able to keep up with us if we scoot."

     Scoot? she thought.  Who is this man?

     "But," Reg went on, "they'll probably have something else on the ground.  Something fast.  If ..."

     "A car."

     "Yeah, okay, that's what I meant."

     "Okay.  I'm going to get onto the freeway and head north.  Follow me, okay?"

     "Sure I-"  The phone squealed in her ear.  A half-second later she heard an impact behind the bus.

     She turned and through the back she saw Reg's car.  It burst out from behind the bus and bounced across the road, clipping the sidewalk.  It rocked up onto two wheels, then banged down again.

     "REG!"

     The car spun into a store front, smashing the front windows.  One of the trucks appeared from behind the bus, heading for Reg's car.

     Melanie was aware of the pickup moving, and the bus.  The light must have changed.

     Reg's car slewed to a stop.

     Melanie threw the Audi into reverse and backed up fast.  The bus blasted its horn.

     But then Reg's car moved.  It leapt forward, just before the truck hit it.

     Reg maneuvered out onto the road.  The truck swerved, but still hit the kerb and crossed the sidewalk, slamming sideways into the store.

     Reg zoomed up beside her.  He slowed, and caught her eye.  He jabbed his finger forwards and sped off.  She saw that his trunk was completely crushed where the truck had rear-ended him.

     Melanie looked behind.  The truck was scraping out of the shop and the other one was just coming through the last intersection.

     She turned, dropped into first and slammed the accelerator down.  The light was already red again, but if the cops were coming, then running a light was going to be way down their list.

     In the rearview, the truck was back on the road, accelerating.

     Melanie quickly caught up to Reg.  If they were going to get away, then they needed to ditch his car.  Who knew how long before it seized up?

     She grabbed the phone again.  Their connection had been cut, so she dialed through.  She put the phone on speaker and tucked it into a slot on the dash.

     She checked the rearview.  The trucks were further behind, but keeping up.  Just another couple of miles to the freeway.  This late at night, even on the ring the 76 should have enough space to be able to move at speed without getting caught in traffic.

     The phone rang and rang, but Reg didn't pick up.  Come on Reg.

     They went through another intersection and Reg just kept moving.  Melanie accelerated a little and pulled up alongside him.  She craned around to look and signal him to use his phone.  His face was ashen and he just stared straight ahead.  Freaked out, she thought.  Who wouldn't be?

     She hit her horn.  Again.  A third time.

     Reg looked over at her with wide unseeing eyes.

     Melanie held her phone up and mouthed "Pick up" at him.

     Reg just looked back at the road.

     Melanie checked the rearview again.  Still the trucks.  About a block back.

     "Hello?" her phone said.

     "Reg?"

     "Mel?"

     "You okay?"

     "What do you think?"

     "Not so much."

     "Not so much," he said.  "Not so much okay."

     "Breathe."

     "Yeah, I know.  Fucking nearly died, not so much okay."

     "I saw," she said.  "We need to ditch your car, I think."

     "My car."

     Shock, she thought.  "Are you hurt?"

     "Fucking nearly died."

     "Pull up ahead," she said.  "You can get in with me."

     "They totaled my car."

     "Yeah, sorry about that."

     "How is it your fault?"

     "Well, you're helping me here.  Pull over and then we can get out of here in my car."

     "How far to the freeway?"

     Melanie looked up.  Saw the freeway 1/2 mile sign.  "Next block," she said.

     "Good."  Reg accelerated.

     "Reg!"

     He didn't reply.  He ran the red, then kept picking up speed.

     "Reg.  Slow down.  Your car is smashed up."

     He changed lanes, getting ready to move onto the ramp.  Melanie took another glance in the mirror, realizing that other traffic was shifting out of the way of the fast moving trucks.

     Reg swung onto the ramp and she was forced to follow.  The trucks were just moments behind.

     They flew past the 'two vehicles per green' lights and into more traffic.  How could the freeway be so busy so late, Melanie wondered?  Philadelphia's traffic problems always slipping into next year's budget.

     Reg had found a gap and was weaving himself through traffic.  Melanie saw the trucks speed up onto the lanes, still angling for them.  They weren't concerned with weaving, they just kept their speed up.  They were gaining.

     "Reg," she yelled again.

     He turned his car across lanes and slowed behind a limo.  "It's no use," his voice said from her phone.

     "Take the next ramp off," she said.  "Stay calm and we'll switch you over."

     One of the trucks filled her rearview and she realized that the other one had got a little ahead of her.  It was lined up behind Reg.  How had they cleared traffic so fast?  She accelerated, slipping between cars along the lane divider line.  Horns blared at her.

     "Reg, watch out."

     But it was too late.  Reg couldn't get out from behind the limo and the truck smacked into him from behind again.

     Reg's car clipped the limo and spun.  He hit the guardrail, then bounced back against the truck.  The truck turned, crushing the car against the Armco.  Reg's car rode up.  It hit the support post for the exit sign and flipped right over the edge, disappearing from the freeway.

     Daniel felt the car accelerate and he reached out touch Cherie's shoulder.  "Take it easy," he said.  "Don't let's make a scene."

     "Attract attention," she said, easing up on the gas.

     "Huh?"

     She glanced over at him and grinned.  "Where is your head at?  Make a scene?  We're on the freeway, how are we going to make a scene?"

     "You know what I meant."

     "It's too late anyway.  It's us they want."

     Daniel glanced back over his shoulder, across the tray.  The cop was nestled in behind them.  He saw the pulse laser scan their tags.  "Uh-oh," he said.

     "Damn," Cherie said.  "I knew I meant to do something.  I was going to hack the registration to some chick in Queens."

     "Queens."

     Lanie sat up and stretched.  "What's going on?"

     "Nothing, honey," Daniel said.  "Go back to-"

     The cop's voice blared from the cruiser's megaphone.  "Pull it over lady."

     "Guess I'd better," Cherie said.

     Elise was stirring too, and, of course, Lanie hadn't settled back down.  She was staring out the back window.

     They slowed and Cherie edged them into the shoulder.

     "Daniel?" Elise said.  "What's happening?"

     "I guess we got busted."

     "It'll be all right," she said.

     He couldn't imagine how.

     The cruiser stopped behind them, lights still blazing.  For a long moment nothing happened.

     The distorted voice from the megaphone came through again.  "Please turn off the engine, ma'am."

     Cherie turned the key and the vehicle shuddered, then went still.

     Traffic sped by on the freeway, then the cop's door opened and he stepped onto the tarmac.  He seemed over-dressed for a cop, Daniel thought.  Big dark coat.  Perhaps that was a new issue, though it didn't seem cold.

     "Something's wrong," Lanie said.

     The man was nearly at the tailgate.  He was wearing a dark cloth hat like a longshoreman.

     "It's okay, Sweetie," Elise said.

     The man put his hand on the tray side and slid along as he walked.

     "Lanie's right," Daniel said.

     The man was at the back window.

     "He's no cop," Daniel said.

     Cherie flicked the ignition.  Daniel and Lanie were thrown back against the seat as Cherie plunged the accelerator.

     The man took a couple of steps after them, then stopped.  Daniel watched as he raised something, aiming for them.

     "Gun," Daniel yelled.  He grabbed Lanie's head and pulled her down.

     There was a loud double snapping sound.  Daniel felt glass falling on his back.  The tires squealed and the truck shuddered.

     "Is this thing four wheel drive?" Cherie yelled.

     "How should I know?"  Daniel chanced a look up at the rear window.  There was a circular hole the size of a dime, with a tracery of cracks leading away from it.

     "We'll find out then."

     The truck thumped, rose up and then shuddered.  Elise screamed.

     "Hope you're all belted in," Cherie yelled.

     Daniel noticed that there was another hole in the cabin roof, where the projectile had exited.

     The vehicle shuddered again, tipping up.

     "What the hell are you doing?" Daniel yelled.

     "Let," Cherie fought the wheel, "me concentrate."

     Daniel took a breath and sat up a little.  He looked at his niece.  "You okay Lanes?"

     "Me?  Sure."  She adjusted her seatbelt to tighten it a little.  Smart kid, Daniel thought.

     "Elise?"

     "What?  What?"

     Daniel saw his sister's fingers clutching the side of her seat.  Her head was rigid, facing straight ahead.

     "Fence," Cherie said.

     The pickup's front cracked and a wire sprang up across the hood.  The wire caught on the base of the windscreen.  One of the wipers ripped out and bounced away.  Then the wire broke.  The vehicle jumped ahead, still bumping over rough ground.

     Daniel looked behind.  He could see the lights of the traffic on the freeway, but the red and blue from the car that had pulled them over had vanished.

     Cherie had slowed, but they kept bumping along.  "It's a field," she said.  "Alfalfa or something.  Just seedlings, like they've just been planted.  The ground's rough like it was only just ploughed up."

     "What the hell?" Daniel said.  "We were getting shot at and you're telling us about horticulture."  As he said it he realized it was a coping thing.  Automatic.  She needed to ground herself in something ordinary after, well, after a trauma.  "Sorry," he said.

     "Sure, whatever.  It might just as well be barley.  Wheat, corn.  Who cares?  At least we seem to have eluded pursuit for the moment."

     "Who was that man?" Lanie said.

     Daniel thought for a moment.  He really needed his desk, to sit down with a big blotter and map it out so he could keep it all straight in his head.  Was that guy with the same people who'd kidnapped Lanie and Elise?  Not very much of anything was making very much sense at all.  "You know," he said.  "We're going to have to take a little time to figure that out."

     "I think I can see an access road up ahead," Cherie said.

     Daniel wondered if it was smart to keep driving with the headlamps on.  Wouldn't that just give them away?

     As if reading his mind, Cherie turned the lights out.  She glanced over at him.  "We were looking like a beacon," she said.

     "Yeah."

     Daniel reached out for Elise, touched her upper arm.  "Elise?"

     Elise exhaled in a rush.  "What a night," she said.

     "Normal weekend for us," Cherie said.  "Nothing to worry about."

     Elise laughed, but the laugh broke down into a coughing fit.  After a moment she sat back and started breathing easier.  Daniel rubbed her arm.

     "Okay," Cherie said.  "We need to get ourselves a hookup so I can get this vehicle off the databases."

     "This is your plan?"

     "Yup."  She kept maneuvering them across the field.  There were a couple of bumps and suddenly the ride got smoother.

     "Naf.  We are going to the cops."  Daniel realized that she'd found the farm track.  Ultimately, he knew, that would have to lead to blacktop.

     "You mean those guys?"  Cherie pointed ahead.

     Perhaps a mile away he could see the lights of traffic on a road.  Probably just a county backroad.  But a pack of perhaps three cruisers moving fast with lights flashing.  And then, beyond and above, he saw a chopper with a floodlight, scanning the ground.  Heading their way.

Eleven years ago

     It was a small dias, two feet across and a half-foot high, set in the middle of the laboratory where they'd cleared some of the benches.  Daniel stood on the dias, waiting.  A long snaking cable led from the base, across the lab floor to the computer bunker.  He was surrounded by rows of detectors on racks and microphone stands pillaged from the cash-strapped music department.

     Behind the bunker's glass Melanie held up her hand.  Daniel was alone in the lab, but some extras had filtered into the bunker, lined up and hiding in the shadows against the back wall, slightly blue from the glow of Melanie's monitors.

     Melanie made a show of stretching out five fingers, then tucking in her thumb as if he couldn't see the red glowing countdown timer.

     "All set?" she said through the comms.

     "Yeah, sure.  Whatever."

     3, the display showed.

     The academics shuffled.  Daniel thought he recognised Professor Garner and Dr Marrullier.

     2

     "Okay Daniel," Melanie said, her hand making a peace sign.

     1

     "Okay," he said.

     0

     Daniel turned, focusing on shifting through the rotation.  He felt the twisting through his muscles and dropped to the ground.  He saw that it was night.  Perhaps, he thought, there was a shift in time.  Starfields glowed through the trees, similar to home.  The big dipper not quite a pot.  He wondered if he should bring a star chart next time.  He clicked off some photos, hoping the CCD on the lab's camera was good enough to pick up stars.

     Nearby something howled.  Perhaps a wolf or coyote.  Daniel pressed the light on his watch.  He'd only been her for a little over a minute.

     He could feel something close by.  Not the canine, something else.

     Something watching intently.

     Daniel looked around in the dim starlight, expecting to see a silhouette, some big animal like a bear or a moose, a little startled perhaps by his arrival.

     Nothing.

     But the sensation remained.  In the distance he could hear answering howls.  He checked the watch.  Three minutes.  Four to go.

     Still that sense of being watched.  He took a couple of steps towards the stream he knew would be there.  The University had piped it and laid playing fields over the top, but he'd seen the contours of an old map, found the outlet so he knew.  He had a few more minutes before he had to return so he had time.  The spot had been marked on his first visit so he could find his way back, even in the dark.  He wasn't going far.

     After twenty steps, the presence was still there, following, watching.  Daniel stopped and scanned around again.  There, between two trees, some shadow that didn't fit.  Daniel tried to focus on it, but it was blurred and indistinct.  He took a step towards it and the shadow flitted away, vanishing into the trees, leaving just the dimly glistening leaves.

     Why didn't he bring a flashlight, he wondered.  He'd never arrived at night before so it was unexpected, but really, he thought, he should see about bringing some kind of survival kit every time.  A light, matches, protein snacks, mylar blanket.  Just a little backpack of supplies.

     He stepped back to the spot, feeling a little unnerved.

     It was time to go back.  He took a couple more photos, then as he was about to rotate, he saw it again.  The shape.  It was clearer, the outline a little more distinct, as if it was a figure.  It was like a bulky upright ape.  Daniel lifted the camera and snapped a shot.  The thing vanished again and Daniel rotated ...

     ... to come back to the lab, faces at the window.  Daniel sighed and stepped off the platform.

     Greg came out of the control bunker and took the telemetry gadget off him.  "Okay trip?" Greg said.

     "Sure year," Daniel lied.  "I'll need a flashlight, though."

     The academics had backed away and were filing out the door from the bunker to the corridor.  Melanie came through and took his hand as Greg began the business of processing the data.

     "What was that about?" Daniel said.

     "What?  Are you okay?"

     He handed her the camera.  "Marullier and the others.  I thought you said this was closed research."

     "They're paying for it, remember?"

     "I said before we even started that I wasn't going to be a sideshow."

     "It's no.  They're researchers too."  She waved the camera at the computer to transfer the files.

     "Administrators."  Daniel breathed, trying to stay calm.  He called up a counting exercise from the last meditation retreat they'd been on, but it didn't work.

     "It's near grant time," Melanie said.  "We're using a lot of gear."

     "Borrowed gear, mostly.  That you're own camera."

     Greg glanced up at him.

     Melanie looked at the floor and sighed.

     Daniel glanced at Greg, then back at her.  "What?"

     "I've applied for more money."

     "So?"  And then he realised.  "You put my name on the form, didn't you?"

     "I-"

     "We agreed."  He was shouting now.  "The subject, you said.  I would only ever be referred to as the subject."  Daniel turned for the door.  He needed to ride, to redline the bike at 190 to calm down.

     "They wouldn't accept it," she said.  "They needed a name."

     "And you couldn't talk to me first?"  Daniel hesitated at the door, vaguely cognizant in his rage that what he did now would echo on through their relationship.  He was furious.  He felt side-lined, no longer a collaborator or even a participant; not even a bystander.  He was just another piece of equipment, vital to the experiments, but the experiment was king, he was nothing.

     "Daniel," she said.

     He pushed the door open and strode off down the corridor.  She didn't even follow

     Sutton watched, pressed up against the window.  They were low, coming in through the city.  He could have looked directly into offices if they'd been moving slow enough for them to be anything other than a blur.  They had slowed, he knew, still moving fast, but amongst the buildings the doubtless talented pilot was still circumspect.

     "It's mayhem," Seth said.  Seth had a wry grin, sitting with the screen on his lap.  He described the scene to Sutton, then held the screen up so Sutton could see the grainy nighttime images of the old Fiat getting shunted onto the sidewalk.

     "How close are we now?" Sutton said.

     "A couple of miles out," the pilot called.

     "They're heading to the freeway," Seth said.

     Sutton nodded as his phone rang.  He'd never liked the in-ear bundles favoured these days, so he had to pull the card from his pocket to answer.  The screen showed it was MacFarlane.  Sutton swiped the screen to connect, then held it to his ear.  "Yes," he said.

     "I've got a half-dozen men," MacFarlane said.  "We're in Nebraska airspace now.  We'll be with you in ninety-five minutes."

     "That's good to hear Mr MacFarlane.  And your daughter's keeping well too?"

     "Thank you for the transfer.  It will be another million on completion."

     Sutton blanched.  Apparently loyalty still came at a price.  "I'm sorry to hear that.  Perhaps some time in a Swiss spa will do her some good."

     "Blah, blah, Sutton.  I still need to cover costs.  I love this rocket Huey, but she's god-awful on fuel."

     "Flies like a whisper," Sutton said.  "And radar invisible."

     "I owe you.  We all do.  But-"

     "It's fine," Sutton said.  He could feel Seth's eyes boring into him.  "The money is there now."  It was Garner's money anyway.

     MacFarlane paused a moment, and Sutton could hear distant talking, as if MacFarlane had his thumb over the phone's mic.  Sutton smiled.  The man could disassemble an M22 rifle in eighteen seconds, but couldn't manage a mute button.

     "So it is," MacFarlane said.  "That's good faith."

     "We'll cover all your costs," Sutton said.  He noticed that they were away from the high-rises of downtown Philadelphia.

     "Maybe a percentage of what you're up to?"

     Sutton smiled.  "I guess we could-"

     "HOLD ON!" the pilot yelled as the chopper bucked.  "We've got incoming."

     The chopper slewed to the left like a toboggan hitting a rock.  Sutton's head smacked the plexi-glass window.  Seth's tablet flew through the cabin, barely missing Sutton's face.  The computer struck the door frame and split open.  A cascade of shattered components showered through the air.  The engines whined and Sutton saw a bright flare from the outside.  The engine clunked, then began whining again.  Sutton was shoved into his seat by the acceleration.  The door popped open and the loose parts of Seth's smashed tablet were sucked out.

     Another bright flare and smoke began pouring from the bulkhead behind Sutton.  The whole craft shuddered.  The pitch of the engine changed.

     "Hold on," the pilot yelled.  "We're going into autorotate.  I'm gonna try to set her down."

     Cherie felt Daniel's hand on her arm.

     "Turn around," he said.  "Let's get back on the freeway."

     "You think it'll be easier over there?"

     "I-"

     "Sarcasm," she said.  "Sheesh.  We have the upper hand here."  She peered ahead.  The farm lane led out to the road.  She doused the lights, but knew there was a pack of vehicles parked and waiting.  In the rearview she saw him fingering the hole in the cabin roof.  She glanced back at him. 

     "Can you explain that to me," he said, "slowly, because I don't see any indication of us having the upper hand anywhere here."

     "Well," she hesitated.

     "What are we going to do?" Lanie said.  "We're in big trouble, right?"

     "We're going to get you safe," Daniel said.

     Cherie looked ahead again.  They were less than a half mile from the road.  She could see the outlines of the vehicles there, though the flashing lights were inactive now.  She slowed, reviewing to herself the process and what had happened.  The guy who'd stopped them on the freeway hadn't been a cop.  The FBI had been raiding the compound, but there was something else going on.  Why would the cult kidnap Lanie and Elise when there was a blockade underway?  Why kidnap them at all?  It had to be tied into Daniel in some way.  Right now, there was no way to tell who to trust, but, she was sure, it wasn't going to be anyone in any of the vehicles up ahead.

     They had to disable the tracking somehow and she had to hook into her networks to find the deeper layers of all this.  She had friends she could call on.

     What was certain, right now was they couldn't face the waiting cars.  She stopped.

     "What are you doing?" Daniel said.

     "It will be a trap."

     "Well, duh."

     "We need to hole up and talk about all this.  Figure it out."

     "Back on the freeway?"

     Cherie shook her head.  "If they could get people to this road here, then the freeway's going to be just as bad.  They can get to us anywhere."

     "Jesus," Elise said.  "Will you stop all this bullshit and just go to the cops."

     Daniel rubbed her arm.  "I don't think we can trust them, either."

     Elise flared at him.  "So now the cops are corrupt too?"

     "No," Cherie said.  "Just someone giving them orders.  If someone is in the system telling them to arrest us, then they'll just follow orders.  It's the where those orders are coming down from that we've got to worry about."

     "A conspiracy?" Elise said.  "Is that seriously what you think this is?"

     "I don't know," Cherie said.  She noticed that the cars ahead were moving now, heading onto the farm lane towards them.

     "What we do know," Daniel said, "is that someone disguised as a cop was shooting at us."

     "We've got to go," Cherie said.

     "What's that sound?" Lanie said.

     Cherie listened, hearing the familiar thumping beat of a heavy helicopter.  She'd forgotten, they'd seen it in the distance as they were crossing the field.  It had had searchlights, but then she'd lost track of it, forgotten.  She looked around frantically, wondering where it was.

     The cars were now on the farm lane, heading right for them, some of them spreading out as if forming a cordon.

     "It's right there," Daniel said.

     Cherie looked back at him, then out the back window.  The chopper was perhaps two hundred yards away, hovering and running quiet and dark.  If they tried to back away to the freeway their path was blocked.  She was sure that it was armed.

     "What do we do?" she said.

     "I've got an idea," Daniel said.  He leaned over Lanie and opened the door.  "Wind down your window," he said to Cherie.

     "Danny?" Lanie said.

     "It's okay," he said as he scuttled across her.  "It'll be all right."

     Then he was outside and closing the door behind him.  Cherie thumbed the window down.  "What are you doing?"  She imagined him thinking he could run off to distract their pursuers.  "We need to stick together, we still don't even know what they want."

     "I've got some ideas," he said.

     "About?"

     "Later.  Right now we have to get out of here."

     Cherie looked left and right.  "Sure, but there's nowhere to go."

     "That's why I need you to do what I say.  Turn the wheel hard over left and put the transmission in reverse."

     "What?"  She was starting to get an idea about what he meant to do.  "I thought-"

     "We only have a moment.  Start the engine again."

     The approaching cars turned on their headlights as one.

     "But what if-"

     "We have to do something."

     "What are you doing?" Elise said.

     "Trust me," Daniel said.

     Cherie turned the ignition key.  She heard the helicopter moving closer.

     "You can't do it," she said.  "Remember how exhausted you got?  You haven't even recovered from bringing them through."

     "Daniel?" Elise said.

     "Hard over?" Daniel said.  "Then just back up slowly.  All we need is a quarter turn."

     "It's hard over," she said.  Pray, she thought.  She pushed the gear lever to R.  "I'll-"

     "Please step away from the vehicle," someone shouted from one of the cars.  The helicopter's searchlight reignited.  "You are surrounded.  Surrender now."

     "You sure?" Cherie said, holding her foot on the brake.

     "Absolutely."

     Cherie eased her foot off the brake and the pickup began edging backwards.

     "Please shut off your engine and step out of the vehicle.  We will shoot."

     "Okay?" Cherie said, watching the concentration on Daniel's face as he clutched the door.

     "Little faster."

     She stroked the accelerator and felt the night fading ...

     ... into daylight.  They were in a meadow, with trees around the periphery.  She could see what looked like turkeys, seven or eight of them clucking through the long grass.  Lanie was getting out of the back.

     Daniel was gone.  She grabbed the window and looked out to see him lying on the ground.  Lanie screamed.

Top of Page

IT’S BETTER TO RULE…

By Loralie Hall

5000 BC

Heat. It beat on his skin, searing the pale flesh. Something told him it had been doing that for several days. He opened and closed his mouth, spitting nothing when another layer of dust coated his tongue and wondering how much longer he could survive in the desert without water. His eyes flickered, the sun vanishing behind his lids then appearing again. Another flicker and everything went black. He sank into the blanket of darkness, welcoming it.

     “Hello.”

     He ignored the soft voice tickling his senses, wanting to stay in the safety of unconsciousness.

     “Are you all right?”

     Cool fingertips brushed his forehead, and something wet seeped into his cracked lips. He forced his eyes open again, brows furrowing when he tried to focus on the woman kneeling next to him. Her dark hair fell in curtains around her face as she leaned over, red gaze scanning his face.

     “Good, you’re still alive.” A smile crossed her lips, the bright red a stark contrast to skin too pale for the violent sun of the region. “You’re not really dressed to be wandering out here.”

     Water trickled down his throat when she tilted her flask toward his mouth. He coughed and sat up, unprepared for even that small an amount of liquid. A hand rubbed his back until the hacking subsided, and he turned a curious gaze on the woman. The question rose without thought, years of seduction driving the instinct. “Are you an angel?”

     Her crystalline laugh echoed off the sand, joy flashing in her eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of her full lips and she tilted her head to the side. “Funny you should ask that. I’ve been watching you, Lucifer.”

     Reason was drifting back, the stranger’s cool touch chasing away the trauma of the last few days. Her pale skin, the straps holding her top in place, the wrap of fabric that barely covered her ass and left her long legs exposed -- none of it indicated someone who had been following him on his desert sojourn. “Watching me?”

     She nodded, tucking her legs to the side. “Since before they kicked you out of your village. What I don’t understand is if you could talk your way into that many beds, how come you couldn’t talk your way out of exile?”

     He studied his guardian angel, a barrage of questions begging to be asked. Taking her flask and letting more water slide down his throat, he answered hers and picked one of his own. “Life got boring. Who are you?”

     “Jehovah named me Uriel, but you can call me Elle.”

     He couldn’t let the jest go unchallenged. “You’re not really an angel.”

     A frown creased her brow and she stood. Her head tilted back -- black locks brushing her skin -- and her feet lifted off the ground. The black feathers growing from her back became a stunning set of wings. She hovered in the air, looking down at his astonishment. “I am too. If you’d like, I can show you heaven.”

     The question pushed Lucifer’s awe aside, triggering other memories. “You know that’s what they told me right before they chased me out of town, right?”

     “But I mean literally. No death or anything like that.”

     He opened and shut his mouth, searching for a retort. None surfaced.

     The silence didn’t seem to bother her. She continued without prompting. “I told you I’ve been watching you for a while; you’ve got an amazing charisma. Here’s the thing: singing His praises on high is getting old, and I want out.”

     Wings or not, he was still having a hard time believing she was what she claimed. “You want out of heaven.”

     “Yup.” Her hair flew up in an arc when she nodded. She lowered herself back to the ground, wings folding to her back. “But I want to start my own place. I’ve got the plans, I just need some backup support.”

     His attempt to make sense of her logic failed. “I’m not much of a cheering squad.”

     “No, but you’re a brilliant orator.” If she sensed his confusion it didn’t seem to bother her.

     The entire conversation was making Lucifer’s head spin. Some random woman was asking him to help her overthrow heaven? Heat induced hallucination, that had to be it. If that was the case, he wondered if his fantasy would be any good in the sack. The only way to find out would be to go with the flow. “Okay…and?”

     “I need you to convince some of the other angels to come with me.”

     “Why don’t you do it?” He wondered why his fantasy was being so obtuse.

     “Because…” Elle trailed off, lips pursed. Her chest rose and fell with her sigh. “Because they think I’m a bitch. No one likes an aggressive woman in the workplace, regardless of what they say, so no one respects me.”

     Yup, she had to be a hallucination. No real woman he’d met offered such a compelling challenge. “I’ve always had a thing for a woman who could take control. Count me in.”

***

Modern Day

     Cody stepped from the elevator. Thoughts of meetings and development deadlines drifted away, making room for speculation about the weekend ahead of him. He pushed through the wooden doors separating the lobby from the secure parts of the building, nodding a greeting toward the security desk.

His sunglasses appeared in his hand and he slid them into place. Ignoring the sign that asked him to please use the revolving door, he made his way to the side exit instead. Sunlight assaulted him when he emerged, but with his eyes already shielded he only blinked for a second. Ideas threaded in and out as he made his way across the parking lot. Maybe he would hit up the family-style-restaurant-masquerading-as-a-bar and see if they had any new cute waitresses. Or he could lock himself in his apartment for the next day or so and help the omegas-who-wished-they-were-alphas examine their own psyches in whatever online community caught his eye.

His steel-blue eyes narrowed and all of his maybes vanished when his Subaru came into view. The brunette perched on the hood would have brought a smile to his face under normal circumstances. With hair that brushed her bare shoulders and a black skirt riding up just enough to hint at what awaited underneath, she screamed challenge. The black stilettos digging into the red paint on his baby though, brought all fantasy to a halt.

     A scowl slid onto his face as he approached, and he didn’t try to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Off the car, Lady. Or I’m calling the cops.”

     Her lower lip stuck out in a pout, calling attention to the contrast of red lips against pale skin. She obliged, leaping without visible effort and landing on her feet in front of him. “Sorry.”

     “Whatever.” He pushed past and clicked off the car alarm. He made a mental note to get the sensitivity of the device tested since she hadn’t set it off.

     “Wait, I need to talk to you.” Her command lacked force.

     “No, you probably don’t.” Shaking his head, Cody slid into the car. He started the engine and cranked the radio, drowning out any further protest. Peeling out of the parking lot, he watched the flabbergasted woman grow smaller and then vanish in his rear view mirror.

     Images of her still flashed in his mind. The curve of her hips, the way she balanced on the slope of his car without sliding off, and the spaghetti straps holding her mesh top in place. He let out a long breath and decided to go with the pseudo-bar option. After an encounter like that he needed an outlet for his fantasy. A quick stop at home to change and he could head out again.

     Fifteen minutes later he pulled up in front of his apartment. A sigh escaped as he approached the front door, the word ‘stalker’ repeating in his head. “What?”

     The girl from the parking lot stood in his path, pout already in place. “I told you I need to talk to you.”

     “And I told you you don’t.” He stepped around the obstacle and unlocked his front door, pushing it shut once he was inside.

     It stopped against her hand and she followed him. “Would you just listen for a minute?”

     Irritation crawled over his skin and he spun to face the intruder. “I meant what I said about calling the cops.”

     Red flashed through her eyes and a breeze tickled the room, ruffling curtains and ferns. The hesitation vanished from her voice, a throaty growl replacing it. “You’re so very much like your father.”

     “My what?” Discussing his lineage was high on his list of things he hated.

     Her pout melted into a smile, white teeth glistening against the stark red of her mouth. Black wings grew from her back, feathers brushing her skin and spreading to a span as wide as she was tall. Her feet lifted off the ground and she locked her gaze on him. “Your father.”

     “Goddamnit, he’s sent another one of you after me?” Cody sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. The demons had been appearing since he was twelve; frequently with six month late birthday presents and apologies for missing his little league games. It had been a couple of years though, and he’d hoped the visits were done.

     The wind stopped and the woman folded her wings back as her feet touched down. Her chin quivered, the corners of her eyes drooping. “Another one?”

     He settled onto his worn sofa, sinking into beige plush, and patted the cushion next to him. “Lucifer did tell you, didn’t he?”

     “No.” Her thumb flew to her mouth, nail catching between her teeth. She sat next to him, tucking her legs to the side. “He implied I was the first.”

     His gaze traveled up her legs and he said a silent prayer for her skirt to slip higher. Innuendo teased his senses, asking if he could give her some other first to make her journey worth her time. He rested a hand on her knee, enjoying her cool flesh beneath his warm palm. “What’s your name?”

     “Elle.”

     He couldn’t help the question that rose to his lips, even though he knew it might ruin his chances. “Not really much of a demon name, is it?”

     She shook her head, black locks flying back and forth in a halo. “It’s short for Uriel, but I like Elle better.”

     “And Boss-man lets you get away with that?” He had yet to meet his father, but the stories the others told implied there was little room for deviation in hell, even with something as simple as a name. The irony made Cody giggle whenever he thought about it.

     “Boss-man?” Her brow furrowed. “Oh, Lucifer, right. He didn’t order my creation, I fell. So he’s good and swell with me going by something other than my given name.”

     Fell? He didn’t get those very often. He risked sliding his hand further up her leg, lying without hesitation. “So you’re an angel? In that case, you are the first. He’s only ever sent sludge after me before.”

     A smile tugged at her face, the news seeming to lighten her mood. “Well, I’m not one any more.”

     Something caught his eye; a mark on her back peeking above the top of her shirt. He raised his fingers to the sigil, tracing what he could see of it. He’d never met a fallen angel before who still bore their creator’s signature. “You still wear your name though.”

     She shivered and pulled away with a giggle. “I know. Weird, huh?”

     He moved his hand to her bare arm, trailing his nails down her skin. “No one before you has made a convincing case for me to give a damn about my lineage. If you used to be an agent of Jehovah maybe you know better tricks?”

     Her tone shifted. “I can almost guarantee it, but I didn’t learn them from my time in heaven.”

     Something about it sent an unpleasant chill up his spine but her expression never changed so he pushed it aside. He leaned closer, lips brushing her shoulder. “You’re going to use some of that on me, right?”

     Elle’s crystalline giggle danced off the walls. “You’re horrible.”

     He recognized the body language. Despite her weak protest she had shifted closer. His mouth moved higher, warm breath brushing her jaw when he whispered, “What did you expect? I’m the son of the devil.”

     A whimper rose in her chest, tingling on his lips when he kissed the base of her throat. She leaned into him and he let a smile escape while his face was hidden from view. It looked like he wouldn’t need the bar after all. His fingers moved along her skin, sliding under one of the straps holding her top in place.

     “Nice try.” Elle’s throaty whisper landed in front of his efforts. She placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, watching him with wide eyes. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“But…” Cody sat up but didn’t pull away. “You’re a fallen angel.”

Her pout returned. “Just because I’m not a host of heaven any more doesn’t make me a whore.”

Irritation returned and he decided this one would be seeing the door almost as quickly as his father’s other agents had. “I wasn’t going to pay you for it, Sweetheart.”

“But I’m saving myself.”

“For that special someone?” He was starting to feel like he was back in high school. Which meant two minutes and he’d know if the innocence was just an act or not.

“For you.” She watched him through thick lashes.

He fell back against the couch, annoyed with the circular conversation. Maybe the conquest wasn’t worth the effort. Then again, he did like a challenge and it had been a while since one presented itself. “I was the one offering.”

“Oh, I know.” Her bottom lip caught between her teeth and she scooted forward on the couch. “Let’s go out, your treat.”

He didn’t move. Irritation drove his response but something told him that wouldn’t hurt his chances. “If I have to buy you dinner first, that goes back to the whole whore thing.”

“Does it?” She stood, wings fading from sight. “What makes you think I’m not offering something better in return?”

His response – something about arrogance – died on his lips when he studied her. Her clothing, her mannerisms, and her consistent tiny pout all indicated flirting, but he realized there was something under it all. Something in her eyes said she knew exactly what she was doing. “Dinner, huh? You tell me where.”

A smile tugged at her lips. She leaned forward and rested her hands on his knees, offering a fantastic view down the front of her shirt. “Now I think we’re on the same page.”

His eyes traced the curve of her breasts and traveled up a long, pale neck until they rested on her face. “That has yet to be determined, but I suspect we’re getting there.”

***

     Cody answered his front door, blinking not at the sunlight that struck his face, but the woman in front of him. Purple splotches scorched her cheeks and she didn’t meet his gaze. He ran a finger up her unmarred neck and hooked it under her chin, making sure his question sounded sympathetic. “What happened to you?”

She had yet to make good on her promise of something new and intriguing, but she had put out the night before. Which was how he knew the bruises were fake and he was about to be witness to some entertaining theatrics.

     Elle’s chin quivered under his touch and tears pooled in her eyes, exaggerating the swelling under the left one. “Nothing.”

     A whisper of sympathy crept through him and he shoved it aside. He wasn’t falling for the act, but she didn’t need to know that yet. “Nothing? You’re a wreck.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, letting her face hide in his chest. His chin rested on the top of her head and he trailed his fingers through her black locks. It was time to find out what she was up to. “Who did this to you?”

     She shook her head. “No one. It doesn’t matter.”

     “It does matter.” He brushed her hair aside, studying the pale flesh of her long neck again. “Tell me, please?”

     A shudder wracked her body and she sniffled. “Lucifer. He found out about what we did last night, and-” Her sob interrupted her explanation. “He wasn’t happy.”

     He pinched the bridge of his nose, glad she was too engrossed in her acting to see the gesture. The sympathy remained in his voice. “Lucifer? Really?”

     She took a deep breath and pulled back enough to look at him. Tears traced the bruises. “Yes.”

     Fingers still intertwined in her hair, he ran a thumb along her neck. “The hickeys gave it away, didn’t they?”

     Her bottom lip caught in her teeth and she nodded.

     “The ones that vanished, healed, whatever, about ten minutes after I gave them to you?” He was done playing her game; he knew what she wanted.

     The edges of her bruises faded from purple to neon yellow, but her grief remained intact. “You saw that, huh?”

     “And then you went back to the man you swear is nothing more than a mortal living up eternity in hell. The man you insisted last night that I could kill if I wanted because it’s my mother who’s the demon and that makes me more powerful than him. And he managed to cover your face in bruises?”

     Her sulk melted into a smirk, wounds vanishing. “It could have happened.”

     Rolling his eyes, he dropped the comforting grip and turned away. He assumed she would follow and the sound of the door latching shut confirmed it. Grabbing his smokes from the glass coffee table he headed for the balcony. “Look, Elle…that is your name, right?”

     “Yup. I didn’t lie to you last night.”

     He pushed the sliding glass open and stepped into the mid-morning breeze. Placing the smoke to his lips, he snapped. Flame flickered between his thumb and forefinger and he held it to the cigarette, puffing until it was lit. “Right. You’ve got this backwards, you know. Most people lie to get laid, not after.”

     She stepped out across from him. Leaning against the wood railing, her pout returned. “I’m wounded that you’d compare me to most people.”

     “I doubt that.” Inhaling, he let the nicotine course through his veins. “Anyway, one night of sex, regardless of whether or not I enjoyed it, is not enough to send me to the battlefield to defend your honor. Especially if it puts me in the unfortunate position of being the next ruler of hell. Sorry to disappoint you, Sweetheart.”

     Elle placed her hands on the balcony behind her and jumped, her butt resting on the railing. Her feet kicked back and forth, skirt shifting a few millimeters with each swing of her legs. “On the contrary.” Her lips parted, tongue tracing her top teeth. “You’re exactly what I hoped you’d be.”

     Cody paused at the unexpected answer. “Come again?”

     “I’ve been keeping an eye on you since Luci handed you over to some random woman after you were born. You’re an ass, you know that?”

     While he did, he didn’t like hearing someone else say it. “Your point is?”

     “I’m getting there.” She kicked out a foot and held it in the air, twisting her leg and letting the sunlight glint off her shoe.

     He waited, taking another drag off his smoke. The urge to sneak a look up her skirt vanished as the seconds ticked by. “Well?”

     “You’ve got all the charisma of your father, and none of the desire to use it. Well, except when it comes to getting laid.”

     “And…?”

***

     Lucifer propped himself up on his elbow, finger following Elle’s curves. His eyes traced the pale flesh, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. He couldn’t explain why she still fascinated him after so many centuries, but he suspected it was because she always kept him guessing. “How did things go with my progeny?”

     A smile played on her lips, the red stark against her skin. “Eh, so so. He’s not as good a lay as you.”

     The compliment warmed him. He brushed a lock of black off her forehead. “Did you try and convince him to overthrow me and hand you my throne?”

     "Carpe diem, my friend. You're the one who taught me that, remember?" She trailed a finger down his arm, sending chills up his spine. “I wouldn’t have to keep playing this game if you hadn’t overstepped your bounds to begin with.”

     “Did it go any better than it has with any of the others? Did you even tell him about the others?”

     “Of course not.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “He thinks he’s your only son.”

     It wasn’t technically a lie; she had killed all the others. He realized she had answered his second question but not his first. He pushed again. “And he still turned you down?”

     “Nope.” A male voice interrupted.

     Lucifer’s head swiveled, startled to see Cody standing in the doorway of the bedroom, gun in his right hand. It was an odd feeling to see his own flesh and blood, well, in the flesh as an adult. The threat of death overrode any sentimentality attached to the situation, though.

     Morbid fascination kept Lucifer from moving when the firearm leveled at his head. The gunshot caused a ringing in his ears, silencing it less than a second later when the bullet entered his skull at full velocity.

     Elle pushed the body aside and climbed out of bed. She grabbed a robe from the floor, satin shimmering in the lamp-light when she pulled it on. Gaze turning toward Cody, her smile grew. “For a minute there I thought you might not show up.”

     “I told you I would.”

     “I’ve got to know, what made you decide to do it?”

     He tossed the pistol on the bed, watching it bounce once before he spoke. “You said you’ve been watching me for a while now, right?”

     She nodded.

     “Then you know a large percentage of my life has been nothing but debauchery.  Especially that weekend in Thailand.” He paused, eyes staring at something not in the room and a faint smile on his lips.

Shaking his head, he locked his gaze on her again. “I just figured maybe it was time I did something good. You know, balance out the karma or something. And what’s more good than offing the devil?”

     She tilted her head to the side, studying his face. “That’s…almost noble of you.”

     He laughed and shook his head. “I’m yanking your chain, Sweetheart. I just want you all to leave me the hell alone. You stop sending the hosts of hell after me with crappy fruit baskets and I’ll know I made the right choice. I hope being royalty is everything you dreamed of. I’m going to the bar.”

Top of Page

Pipes and Bones

by Sean Monaghan

Paul tapped the white, vitreous pillar, listening for an echo.  Nothing from within, only the ambient sound of the big room Gaby was showing him. 

     "We already tested the pillar," Gaby said.  "Density measurements, chemistry from samples."

     "So why did you bring me down here?"  He kept moving around the pillar.  "Is this a hatch?"  He ran his finger along the manhole-sized oval groove in the surface.

     "You wanted the tour."

     "I'm new.  You must get sick of all the newbies asking to see everything."

     "I just bring them all here."

     He turned and saw her grinning.  "And why?"

     "Because," her grin faded, "This is as far as we got in our exploration before you all showed up and we turned into tour guides."

     "Ah, yes, Joe ... Skinny Joe said you just wanted to do science."

     Gaby snorted.  "No surprise there."

     Paul turned back to the pillar.

     "Anyway," Gaby said.  "It's ironic.  We'd been here for nearly a year, just logging and cataloguing the structure before anything happened."

     "I know.  Everything was static."  Paul examined the oval groove.  If I was an alien architect, he thought, why would I make a groove like this?  It was as if it had been cut into the surface with a router, as if the original builders had intended to join a crossbeam on here.

     "Then we get the breach, alien flora contact, robots yet, and you people swarm out here."

     "And nothing's happened since."  He put his index fingers together at the top of the groove and moved his hands apart, tracing around it.

     "Yeah, and we don't like to fool with stuff too much in case something does.  Happen, I mean.  You saw the report.  Skinny Joe nearly got trapped."

     He remembered the reading about Daron he'd done.  At the fringes of traveled-space, a planet covered pole to pole in a deep artificial structure, only partially explored, with no atmosphere except within the structure.  Seemingly quiescent and abandoned until a couple of months ago when the three original researchers, had stumbled on some kind of flora, and robots.  The robots had sealed off the plant and nothing had happened since.  Except for heightened interest and nineteen new scientists, including him, shipping out to expand the exploration.

     Paul could feel warmth under his fingers.  "Has anyone done this before?"

     "What?"

     "What I'm doing with my-"

     The oval burst away from him, disappearing into the pillar.  Air raced in, sucking him after it.  Paul got his hands on the edges of the opening, but the decompression suction dragged him in.  He slammed into a mass of conduits and cables and shot downwards.

#

The blast of air knocked Gaby to the floor.  "Paul," she shouted, her words carried away in the rush.  She slid along the floor, towards to the pillar's base.

     "Gaby," Kirsten said on comms.  "You okay?  We're reading decompression."

     The air was subsiding.  "For now," she said.  "The oval in the pillar opened.  Paul got sucked in."

     "Paul?"

     "Dr Broomfeld."  The movement had dropped to a light breeze now.  Gaby stood up and looked inside the hole.  "It's not a pillar," she said.  "It's a pipe, a conduit.  It's full of black cables and tubes.  Paul's in there somewhere."

     "Open to space?"

     "It's stopped.  Equalized, so it's cut off."

     "Can you see him?"

     Gaby reached in, pushing the tubing aside, trying to see up or down.  No sign of him.

#

Paul kept slipping.  The tubes were nestled and twisted, but their surfaces were slick.  He fell quickly, like being in a waterslide.  He tried to grab hold of thinner pipes to slow his fall, but couldn't get a grip on them.

     How deep did the structure go? he tried to recall.  There had been a measurement of over eight thousand meters he remembered.  Would this conduit go that deep?

#

Gaby raced back to the Jeep moved it close in to the pillar.  She grabbed the winch cable.  Dragging it to the opening, she played it out a little.

     Kirsten and Skinny Joe and two of the new arrivals pulled up in another Jeep.

     "Situation?" Kirsten said, leaping out.  "Have you got a ping on him?"

     "Nothing?"

     Skinny Joe pulled out his pen and expanded it.  "He's three hundred meters down."

     "Radio contact?"

     "I tried," Gaby said.  She touched her comms again and called for him.

     "Paul?" Kirsten said into her own mic.

     "Three forty," Skinny Joe said.

#

Paul tried to reach his mic as he slid down, but the slippery tubes still dragged his arms up.  He could feel the pipes loosening, as if thinning out.  For a moment he imagined himself released and falling another seven thousand meters past the structure's corridors and girders.  At least he would be exploring.  And he knew that his pack systems and pen would be recording everything, passing telemetry and information back to the main cubix.  Whatever happened there would be useful data.

     He felt the pipes pushing him, angling away.  His slope was changing and he was slowing.  Eighty degrees, he estimated, then seventy.  Sixty.

#

"Who's going down after him?" Kirsten said.

     "That's me," Skinny Joe said, still looking at his penscreen.

     "No, me." Gaby picked up the harness.  "He's my responsibility."

     Skinny Joe raised an eyebrow at her.  "Okay.  He's come to a stop at four hundred and sixty meters."

     "All right," Kirsten said.  "Strap in and we'll lower you."

#

Paul untangled himself from the mass of tubes.  It was dark, but he was able to stagger to his feet.  He'd twisted his ankle and it sent sharp jabs up his leg.  He turned on his shoulder flashlight and looked around.

     The bundled black pipes spread out around him, splaying off like a dendritic river system on a map of a volcanic cone.  The body of them came together near where he'd come to rest, rising like a tree trunk, up beyond the reach of his small light.

     He swung the light around more.  No walls.  No ceiling.  It was a vast room.  A chamber, like in some cave system.

     "Paul?" his radio said.  Kirsten

     "I'm here," he said into his mic.  "Did you know about this artificial cavern?"

#

"What's that he said?" Gaby asked, backing into the pillar on the end of the climbing rope they'd attached to the winch cable.

     "A cavern?" Skinny Joe said.  "Get him to measure it with his pen.  Make sure he photographs it."

     Kirsten frowned at him, then spoke into her mic.  "Paul.  Are you hurt?"

     "Ankle's a little busted up."

     "Stay put."

     "Photos," Skinny Joe said.

     "Are you bleeding?" Kirsten said into the mic.  She shooed Skinny Joe off with a wave of her hand.

     "I... oh, yeah," Paul said.

#

Paul hobbled a little, moving away from the cluster of vertical pipes.  His ankle was painful but if he hopped every second step he could make some progress.  He needed to see more of this.  The bleeding wasn't so bad really, just some scrapes up his calf.  When Gaby got down to him, she'd have a full kit and be able to patch him up.  In the meantime he had a responsibility to gather as much information as he could.  Who knew when they'd come back down this way.

     Taking out his pen, he activated the camera and slid open the screen.  It had a good CCD and would be able to see further than his small light could.

     "Paul," Kirsten said through the speaker.  "Skinny Joe says you're on the move."

     "Just looking around."

     "You're hurt.  Stay put.  Gaby will be down to you soon."

     Paul sighed.  His ankle burned.  "Okay," he said.

     He swung around, watching the screen.  There, the trunk of tubes, he'd traveled further than he'd thought.  Nothing beyond it.  Even the camera couldn't see the walls.  Or the ceiling.  He kept turning, hopping on his good foot, pointing along the floor.

     The pipes spread out, exposing more of the white material that made up so much of Daron's explored regions.  He didn't remember anything about black pipes.  A new discovery, worth cataloguing.  The alien creators using different methods.  The explorers had covered such a tiny fraction, discoveries like this would come fast.  At least he'd made this discovery, could get his name on a paper.

     A shape on the screen.

     A blip, something pointing up from the pipes.  A hundred meters away.  White, like stalks.

#

"He's moving again," Skinny Joe said, watching his screen.

     "Paul," Kirsten said.  "I'll have you shipped home the moment we have you back up here if you don't just plain stay put."

     "I can see-"

     "This is not up for discussion.  You are isolated and injured in an unexplored part of the structure.  Our simple policy is travel in pairs.  Ever since-"

     "I know the 'ever since', but Skinny Joe was okay then."

     "Only because I hauled him through the gap.  Who knows what is waiting for you down there?"

     "I can see something of interest down here.  Doesn't the science come first?"

     "Lives come first."

     "He's still moving," Skinny Joe said.

     "Show me his feed." Kirsten said.  "No, no, not his locator.  Show me what he's filming.  You are filming right, Paul?"

     "Everything."

     Kirsten looked at the images coming in via the cubix, the blank sharp uprights.  "Is that damage to the structure?"

     "Looks like a steel trap," Skinny Joe said.

     The feed went blank.

#

"Crap," Paul said, stumbling as he tried to stand on his bad foot, distracted.  His pen tumbled away, the screen zipping in as it went into safety mode, it's outer elastic shell expanding with gas to protect it from the impact.

     "Paul?" his radio said.

     He winced, reaching for the mic.

     "I think I'm at the bottom," Gaby said.  "The pipes are angling out."

     "Yeah," Paul said.  "Angling.  That's the bottom." He could see the spikes in his light now.  Only fifty meters away.

     "What happened?" Kirsten said.

     "Slipped over is all.  I think I've busted up my ankle more though."

     "He's like another Skinny Joe," Gaby said.  "Getting all obsessed about-"

     "Hey," Skinny Joe said.

     "Cut the chatter," Kirsten said.  "Gaby, are you at the bottom?"

     "Yes."

#

Gaby stopped and stared around.  Paul had been right.  A vast cavern.  She ignited the big spots on her emergency backpack and light flared through the space.

     High above she saw the ceiling, barely illuminated, three hundred meters above.  It had coiling arches which seemed to support it, bending and arcing in almost abstract ways.  The pillar she'd slid down continued until about fifty meters above the floor, where the pipes began to splay out.

     "I see you," Paul called.

     She turned, the lights automatically dimming as they detected him, protecting his eyes.  "Okay, I'm on my way."

#

Paul lay watching her approach.  He'd seen the ceiling in her lights.  Extraordinary, he thought to himself.  Why make your structure curl like that?  Surely there was no strength of materials to be gained that way.

     He'd picked up his pen and taken some shots of the sight before she'd moved the lights away.  Already he was seeing marvels he'd waited a lifetime for on just his first day here.  Maybe his last day too, if Kirsten sent him home.

     Gaby approached and sloughed off the big pack.

     "How did you make it down the pipes with that thing on?  You never would have fitted."

     "Slid it down ahead of me at the end of the rope.  Didn't you read your emergency manual?"

     "There's an emergency manual?"

     "Sheesh.  Okay, let me see this ankle.  Oh-ho, nasty."

     "What?  It's just twisted."

     "Yeah, twisted and cut.  A bad cut."  She wrenched open the first aid kit and slapped his leg with wipes.

     "Ow."

     "Yeah well, they always say it gets worse before it gets better."

     "You're only doing it because I'm your responsibility."

     Gaby kept cleaning him up.

     "Did you see the stalks?" he said.  "What are they?"

     "Too busy finding you.  Okay."  She put closures on, then fitted an inflatable cast over the ankle and boot.  "Don't put too much weight on it.  I'll help you back to the pipe."

     Paul got to his feet, tested the bad one.  "Okay, that's good, thanks."

     Gaby swung the pack on again.  "Lean on me and we'll get ... hey.  Where are you going?"

     "We're here.  We need to see this."

     Gaby looked around.  The stalks were maybe forty or fifty meters away.  "Kirsten?" she said into the mic.

     "I'm shipping him back.  Just get him up here."

     Paul kept hobbling, and Gaby came over.  She grabbed his arm, swinging it over her shoulder.  "You hear that?" she said.

     "Kirsten?  Sure I heard."

     "Is it worth it?  You said, you've waited so long to get out here.  You'd risk it for a look at ... what?'

     "It's not worth it without risk.  I'd rather go home knowing I'd investigated the best I could than be up there in the blank corridors simply mapping rooms and intersections."

     "Who knows what we might find, though?"

     "But," he said, "we've found something."  He stopped and bent down, holding his pen up to the stalks and pile.  "Are you seeing this Kirsten?"

     "Yes," she said.

     "And?"

     "Okay.  You're on the knife edge ..."

     "But you can't send home someone who found the first bones here, right?"  It was tall, and long-armed.  Definitely a biped.  Perhaps even the remains of those who'd built this place.

     Kirsten stayed silent.

Top of Page

The Pill of Perpetuity

By Matthew Dexter

Working with alcoholics doesn’t really suit me, I prefer to work alone. Whiskey burns, but chasing it with Dr. Pepper on ice, everything feels better. Now you can just call me The Wizard--or Wizzy for short. All I do is sit, drink, draw up plans for the future--every morning watching pedestrians go to work in their metal coffins, I smoke Parliament Lights--waiting for the day when I release my patent to the world, usher in the future of commercial space travel: personal hovercrafts; defy gravity while raking in the billions. Everything is within reach, but the CIA doesn’t want us to know the extent of our secret blessings.

PH.D. in Aeronautical Science from Stanford hanging crooked over my desk, my name in cursive letters reminds me of all the goddamn tempests I’ve weathered since Dr. Phil came into my life: watching my second college roommate get nominated for a Nobel Prize; my ex-wife promoted to an invaluable position in the National Aeronautics and Space Administration just to have Obama end the shuttle missions; my son accepted early admission into Princeton only to take his life two years later. Found him hanging from the rope meant to tie his sailboat to the dock. Poor dude couldn't comprehend the calculus required to earn his degree. But his knots were perfect.

I watch the Mexican man mowing our lawn: eyes dark, heavy, covered with asymmetrical lines from a life with little consolations and no sympathy. Dead leaves on the front yard; shape a pyramid. He always asks me about Egypt and ancient civilizations, as if being a doctor means I’m supposed to understand the mysteries of the universe. I don't. I’m merely the Mayan spaceman. All I know is that my favorite ash tray is a seashell from Ecuador, my daughter’s body is frozen in time in a secret dungeon laboratory beneath the basement, and I can never become complacent--not if I want to change everything.

Einstein’s Theory of Relativity is only the beginning. A flawed formula which doesn't take into account the ineffable, existential wisdom of incomprehensible technology given to me by promiscous extraterrestrials after my abduction to the mother ship. This strange, sodomitic encounter made my math skills superior to Stephen Hawking’s. It also turned me into a raging alcoholic and burnt my fingernails black while  shrinking my penis to the size of a pea, permanently; tiny turtle hiding in his shell while I watch the grass grow and wait for Jose to cut it down, fresh clippings flowing through my window with the warm breeze of eternity.

Hope is my addiction. Once I complete the prototype I’ll defy gravity, fraction time itslef, functioning on rocket fuel and wild turkey. This way we can live forever. They’ll find my daughter when they tear the house apart. They will notice her ovaries missing. I will be holding them as I travel down worm holes, black holes, dimensions we have no idea existed; until the gifted green man grabbed my genitals and made me swallow the pill of perpetuity.

Wallow in the modern ages on earth as the doomed world and human species slowly decays before your eyes; for I will be in the stars, the sun, the moons, the ethereal elements of ether and all inexaustible meters in-between what we call Heaven and Hell.

Southern Comfort floods both lungs and stomach with warmth, smoke drifts out the window as the gardener turns off the Grasshopper lawn mower, sits forward on his beaded mobile throne, looks up at my open window in the attic. I know he can't see me through the shadows and the fractured glint of glass on the pane, but he squints and seems to understand the agony and fact that here exists some strange creature that never leaves his home. A mouse in his hole, I float between clouds lost in my mind, sipping life, putting the final pieces together.

For breakfast I ate some green fungus growing on one of the cream roles. Moldy rot gnawing at my stomach, too late to vomit. Tasted funny. Different. Hated those damn puffs but was certain these tasted particularly rotten. Don't know why I bought the two fuckers in the bakery, but too late to worry about it. No longer hungry. Was trying to take care of my stomach; two pills before every meal…but things change while you're busy making other plans.

The gardener walking toward the house, black garbage bag loaded with leaves slung around his shoulder like an ostrich.

“You up there Señor Martini?”

He’s always ostracizing me, that wonderful bastard. He got away with it, tossed the leaves into a Hefty bag and began climbing the ivy-infested trellace. He was drunk as usual. But damn could Jose cut a nice lawn; make those bushes all shapely the way

the wife used to appreciate.   

“What’s going on up there? Eh? Ole ole borracho.”

Opening the window I can see bald spot on brown head dancing, hoping he isn't going to fall. Wipe my arm pits and wait as he ascends the demented staircase to Heaven. The gardener looks up as if preparing for a speech:

“I knew when I planted this ivy it would take off, but never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined it all growing so fast.”

He swings his head around in a semi-circle, admiring the view; three decades of dedicated labor--green fields painted on purple calluses.

“Now this is crazy buddy,” I say, his head so close I can hear him grunting as he shuffles up the last few fragil steps where the ivy has not yet taken over.

“I'm coming in Señor Martini,” he explains, hands on the ledge, dirty fingernails curled around the edge turning pink and white with pressure.

Throwing an embroidered satin cloth over the most secret of aviating apparatuses in the corner, closing trap door behind the cobwebbed bookshelf full of fashionably classic second edition novels, with a sadistic shake of my hips (makes me feel sexy when I move the junk in my truck; sometimes I pretend I'm Shakira at the World Cup). Calvin and Hobbes mug of Columbian coffee simmering on the antique desk I keep in the center of the room; makes me feel like a ship captain cooking up the perfect storm while the tempest swarms below.     

“You high sir?”

“Are you Jose?”

Started using crystal meth a couple years ago after I realized how easy it was to bake in my bathtub. Fraud did a shit-load of cocaine for a decade so what’s the problem with an esteemed scientist experimenting with substances? I’m not building the Atom Bomb or anything.

“Sir, when is the last time you've slept?” he asks, stepping into the room as I blow a line on my desk while watching cumulonimbus clouds drift across the Indian neighbors’ brick chimney.

“Lighting rods are my horizon Jose,” I explain, offering a line of glass.

He picks up the hundred dollar bill, sticks it in his nostril, blows the powder into membranes; perfect form as always.

“Damn,” he says, a catacysmic current of gushing inertia, staring at the oval skylight on the roof: three naked angels that sometimes come down to talk and masterbate when I'm working out especially complex equations.     

Carlos takes off his shorts, underpants and all, sits Indian-style on the Persian rug and begins to pleasure himself to the sounds of my breathing. His beer gut is hanging below his pubic region, and I wonder why gardeners sometimes forget about the most intimate spaces; shaving the grass everywhere else but their own bodies. He lobbies me with big brown eyes, pulls me forward with sadistic winks. Eyelashes like a God, I comply and we make love beneath the angels, mastering angles only a porn store would explore, pants around my ankles, I dance with the angels and our fivesome is alive with majesty and the smell of freshly-cut grass.

When we're finished I roll over and strike a yoga pose, throw the tighty-whities at his face. Sometimes I bunch them up into a tight ball and pitch it like Dwight Gooden at his nose. He calls me Daryl Strawberry when my face turns crimson just before climax, when my nostrils expand and contract, and I swing the bat above my head and swagger with my waist with reckless abandon, above all understanding that I’m about to hit a home run.

“I love you,” he says.

Return to my ship, pants around my ankles I work with complicated equations and

calculations, the erection dangling like an umbilical cord. We've given birth to many an ingenious idea through this process. Nothing like a warm burst of inertia and semen to get the inspirational juices flowing.

“What’s going on?” I ask, opening up the hole in my penis to allow the semen to free itself instead of drying inside of me and making it difficult to piss this delicious instant coffee and whiskey in a few minutes. Sometimes I urinate in the sink because I’m too lazy to walk downstairs to the bathroom. I’ve taken to wearing adult diapers so defecation does not hinder my inspiration. Progress must continue. No rain delays if you want to change the world.

His face turning purple, eyes glazed over like frosted donuts, don't know what to do. Nothing in my PH.D program has prepared me for a naked Mexican gardener shaking in my attic. Foaming, he tells me something incoherent and I fear it’s time to open the trap door. Stab an adrenaline shot through his jugular vein, he comes to, defecating the floorboards and praying to Jesus Christ.

“Bless you señor,” he says, coughing up a lung.

“Bless you for the orgasms, and the clean lawn.”

Goddamn knock on the door makes the flame from five Bunsen burner’s melt the acid, whiskey, and coffee in my stomach. There’s nothing I can do. Stupid neighbors with average bell-shaped intelligence always butting their feeble heads into my business.  

“Santa Barbara Police--open up please,” they say.

Sirens approaching. All signs point to a bloody massacre. Shut the trap door and shit my pants. Grab the nine millimeter pistol from the bottom desk drawer and snort another line; a nerdy middle-aged version of Tony Montana.

“Police--open up!”

I cock the weapon as they break down the front door, look into the barrel as they climb the staircase.

“Anybody here? Make yourself known--”

“Or we'll shoot.”

Sounds like two young officers, but sirens are growing louder as the Doppler effect rains down upon our neighborhood. Push my gardener up the staircase, gripping his naked butt cheeks to make sure he moves fast. He asks for his pants, “At least tighty-whities?” he begs.  

I push his ass onto the roof like a mule through a mountain crevasse. “They won't mess with us once we get airborne,” I say.

“But my truck,” he says.

“Forgetaboutit…there’s no gravity where we're going.”

His eyes light up, pupils bulging like flying saucers, as he notices the hot air balloon breathing fire and rising toward the cumulonimbus clouds.

“Jump in,” I say. 

“Those clouds are shaped like dragons,” he says.

“You're high.”

The basket feels like home, larger than most, loaded with all the essential elements, equipment needed for that final experiment, the one where gravity is defied. All will be ready by the time we run out of oxygen. We have NASA space suits and scuba tanks…just in case. I attach a rope to the last of the essential equipment, smash it through the skylight, raining angles in strange angles upon my ship, kiss my daughter goodbye as we rise into the low-level stratus clouds.  

The squad cars look like ants as I pull up my pants and button them around my belly, blow a line of speed off the hovercraft and pull the whiskey from the liquor cabinet next to the portable Mr. Coffee machine. Check the generator and everything is fine.

“Should we put this parachute on?” he asks.

“No need,” I say. “We're not coming down again.”

    A few curious birds watch as we rise like a gardener’s erection, and the moon is so full, so bright it’s glowing, we swallow it together, endeavor to enter an atmosphere where tighty-whities are optional, gravity and light speed is only a limit on earth. Engulfed by clouds the sun is warm, inviting, breeze is cool, turbulence is mild, and I can smell fresh grass clippings in my nostrils.   

Top of Page

The Ring

By Catherine Carlson

              If I hadn’t gone into that antique shop, my whole life may have been different. I wasn’t really looking for anything special, but I found more than I bargained for.

          The truth was that I went into the shop and didn’t pass it by. I love shuffling through bits and pieces of other people’s lives, hoping to find something interesting. I found old scarves, pots and pans, old toys, clothes, lots of clothes and lots of books. But nothing really caught my eye. I really don’t have to spend a long time in a place like that to know when to leave. If I don’t find anything in the first few minutes, I usually never do. If only I  had just kept on walking eyes ahead out the door, instead of casting a last look at the jewelry case. I had completely forgotten the jewelry.

          I walked back to the counter and the glass window that encased all the old pieces of other’s lives. There were pins, necklaces rings, bracelets, and I was sure most of the sparkly pieces were glass. But some of them were pretty and I wondered about the past connected to each one. One ring caught my eye immediately. It lay on a velvet bed in the top row. The ring wasn’t very pretty or very expensive, but there was something unusual about it that struck me like a slap in the face. It was sterling silver with three large dark green stones with scrollwork on the sides. For a minute, all I saw was the dark green magnified to fill my head until my mind swirled with a girl in a bloodstained dress gliding through the darkness.

           “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  This from the clerk who when I came to, stared wide-eyed at me.

           I grabbed the counter for support and silently thanked her for chasing the vision away.

          “I’m ok. Just a little dizzy. Need to get some lunch I guess.”

         I don’t think she believed me, but at that point, I didn’t care. I just was glad I was back and very worried about what had happened.

            But I did remember that I wanted to see that ring. Even though that’s when my ‘spell’ had begun I didn’t connect the two, not then anyway.

          “May I see that ring?” As I pointed to it, a dark expression began in the clerk’s eyes and dripped down to the rest of her features. She set her mouth in a thin, grim line, pursed a little in the corners.

          “Are you sure this is the one you want?” She gazed intently into my eyes as I assured her it was. She then dropped it into my palm without a word.

                    “Are these stones emeralds or zircons?”

                  “I’m sure I don’t know,” she answered curtly.

          I walked over to the window and held the rather chunky ring up to the sunlight. It was really a rather ugly ring. I wondered why it had such a pull on me. But then I thought I could always resell it or even give it away if I didn’t like it. I really couldn’t picture myself wearing it very much anyway, since I had a lot better looking rings than that one at home.

          “How much is it?”

          “Thirty dollars.” The woman avoided looking at me and seemed frightened. I didn’t know what to make of her, but I knew I wanted the ring. It gave off a dark aura that I couldn’t resist.

          As she rang up the sale on the register, I asked her how old it was. I could tell she didn’t want to talk about the ring at all, but felt obligated to warn me. I only wished I’d listened to her then before everything happened.

          “I purchased it at an estate sale. I’ve sold everything from that sale except this ring. It’s evil. I was told before I bought it that this ring is cursed. Of course, I don’t believe in curses as a rule, but I have had trouble selling it. When I’m here alone in the shop, I hear things, strange things that seem to come from the ring. I must warn you, please, you can have anything else in the shop for the same price, but don’t take that ring. I was just about to throw it away before you came in. It belongs in the dumpster with the garbage. No one should get near that thing.”

          I didn’t believe in curses, witchcraft, voodoo or ghosts, and I told her so. I told her I didn’t want anything else in the case. She plucked out the ring but wasn’t happy about it. I gave her my name, address, and phone number so she could check up on me. Guess she felt guilty for selling it to me, but she was just doing her job and I was determined to get that ring. If it was anyone’s fault, it was mine.

                                                            * * *

          I’m thankful that I remember all this. It took a long time for my memory to return. Even now it isn’t complete, but in time, the doctors said I should remember the rest of my life.  I’m not really sure I want to remember, but I know it’s better to remember even if it hurts.

                                                            * * *

          It all began four days after I purchased the ring. I heard a little voice in my head that said “Don’t take this ring off, except to bathe and before washing your hands. You must wear it at all other times.  I don’t want her to lay her bloody hands on me again. Please follow these instructions.”

          At night I dreamed about taking the ring off, but the pathetic pleading voice warning me to leave it on always woke me up. Night after night I dreamed about it and day after day I became obsessed with taking the thing off my finger when I wasn’t bathing or washing my hands. That’s all I could think about. The thought would worm itself into my brain at the oddest times, in church, while I was eating, watching TV, reading. It took root in my mind and I couldn’t get rid of it.  Then One day I took it off and that was when my nightmares began,

                                                              ** *

          I stood in front of the mirror gazing at my bare finger and felt a sense of empowerment and relief. It was off. The damned thing was finally off and I was fine. Nothing happened. Holding my hand up to the mirror, I saw the line that the ring had made on my finger, a thin light line encircling it. I lifted my eyes to the mirror and a wavy image greeted me. My blond hair had turned an auburn shade, and I wore a white bloodstained dress. Grabbing the ring from the table, I shoved it back on my finger. The eerie reflection had disappeared and I was alone once more with my familiar image.

          Another dream haunted me and still does to this day. There was a cabin and I lived there by myself. A dead man lay in the bed with me. The man was headless and gore oozed out of the stump that had once been his head. Beside him was a dark haired girl in a bloody dress. A chunky green ring adorned her right hand and pentagram necklace encircled her neck on a golden chain.  At this point, I always screamed, woke up and looked at the ring on my finger. It glowed a reddish green color.

          The dreams continued and when I didn’t dream, I heard voices in my head telling me things I didn’t want to hear. A woman screaming and crying, a thud as something jarred the wall. The walls were thin and one night called the police. Of course when they got there, I told them about the noises and the ring. They didn’t believe me. It might have been because blood dripped from my hand to the floor and allover my nightgown. Bloody handprints even covered the walls of the bedroom. I don’t know how they got there, but it had to have been me, since I lived alone.

           They took me to the hospital after the emt’s came and bandaged up my hand. That’s where I am now. It really isn’t so bad. I have peace and quiet and fairly good food. Now the voices are quiet. Sometimes I still feel the pain in my hand where my finger had been before the girl in the bloody dress told me she wanted her ring back.

                                                        * * *

          It turned out that the girl was a descendent of the lady who had the estate sale, a very old relative. She lived in the 1700’s and was into witchcraft. She killed her husband as an offering to the Dark One.

          The sales clerk had been curious and done some research after I bought the ring and relayed it to me after I had recuperated.

          At times I forget and look down at the stump that used to be my finger, expecting to see the rest of it  Then a phantom pain shoots up my hand that brings tears to my eyes. . But I can’t blame anyone but myself.  Sometimes the past should be left alone or it may come back and haunt you for the rest of your days.

Top of Page

The Dating Etiquette of Snails

By Ben Macnair 

‘He used to turn me on, but now he just turns my stomach’.

I hear her, she has been speaking like this for more than 15 minutes. There have been another three calls that my colleagues have taken. All sound so much better than mine. It is a Wednesday night, 8.30pm. It is not a busy time for desperate people, like a Friday night, or a Sunday evening would be. That is when people say they need the most help. At Samaritans we are the friendly voice that listens. We listen, we don’t judge, we don’t hector. The voice people turn to when they feel desperate, or lonely. Not usually suicidal, but at times when they need a sympathetic voice, or someone to tell them where to turn to next.

I know the voice, that is the worst of it. She and her husband live down the road. They are the Street’s soap opera. Always shouting and slamming doors. It has been like this for years, but she has only been phoning on a Wednesday night for the past three months. Obviously, she does not know it is me. We don’t have anything in common, except for the Snails that live in the gardens, and never seem to go, in spite of the traps that are put out for them. I know more than is necessary, but she seems to need an outlet for her complaints, as he does not listen, is not the man she married, is too busy with work to notice their home. She even tells me about the affair she was contemplating, but then says she loves him too much to do anything about it.

If anyone else had accepted her call, I would have been none the wiser, but that is the way of these things. A million things line up to one certainty.

I wish I did not know this. There are a couple of other people who I am expecting calls from tonight, and if they don’t phone you don’t know what is happening. Either they could have out-grown you, found some sort of perspective, or taken the difficult way out. We touch so many lives in these four walls, the six of us, but it is like Jury duty. We cannot speak about it, to anyone. So, people unload their little bag of troubles on us, and then we have a little more to carry with us every day.

We just have to hope that are doing some good here.

She hangs up suddenly, does not even say goodbye. The line just goes dead. She is always doing that, so I think nothing more of it.

One of the calls I was expecting comes through. He had just been made redundant, but now had a new job, and a girl he met is going with him to the cinema. He thanks me for listening, and invites me out for a pint. I politely decline, we have to keep our anonymity here. The other call I was expecting does not come. I hope it is a good sign, but I suspect it might not be, and we will never know either way. We just have to hope we are doing some good here.

I am meant to finish at 10.00pm, but I wait around a bit longer. The phones are not busy, and in the current climate, we have to expect them to be. It is a sign of the times that we get busy when Society goes to the wall. We don’t even have leaders who can help these days.

I get home just past 11.00pm that night. The street is cordoned of, and I see police cars, and an ambulance. The Husband is there, and I see he is covered in blood. I think it is her blood, but I can’t be sure.   He sees me, and the neighbours. He is subdued, and shaking. He is covered in a blanket, as the ambulance men wheel her out on their trolley. She is awake, but seems weakened.

The Police man tells me she had attempted Suicide, but how her husband had stopped her, and called the Ambulance. He says that they believe his story, but they will still be carrying out an investigation, just to make sure she isn’t in any real trouble with him.

The Police Man said they had been having problems. He said someone else was involved. Someone she spoke to, said she was helping her through it.

We just have to hope that are doing some good here.

-Ends-

Top of Page

Naito

By Rinas

“Can you fight, Master Naito?” asked a robot to an old man lying in bed, his eyes driven but his face fading, weakening.

“…I…can…fight…” he said, voice weakening. “I…must…save…the Queen…”

“But Master,” said a black haired young knight, “You can hardly move right now! If you try to fight again—” Naito grabbed his hand.

“Parnell…I…for…years…must…always…protect…Queen…” Naito’s voice declined. Naito’s hand rested on Parnell’s hand.

“Is it time?” asked the robot, holding a red orb. Parnell nodded. The robot placed the orb near Naito’s heart. Once it latched onto his chest, energy swirled, changing Naito’s body completely.

“Parnell!” yelled Naito, skin encompassed in black fur, clad in blue armor, wielding a blue, symbol embroidered sword in his claw, “We ride to the Castle!”

***

“Get out of our way!” yelled Naito, slashing through enemy soldiers with sword and claw. “Parnell, pick up the pace!”

“Yes, Master!” yelled Parnell, stabbing a nearby soldier when he staggered: three leviathan creatures, composed entirely of skulls, stood at the gate. “S-Skulls!”

Naito raised his sword. Three large blades fell from the sky and onto the ground next to the Skulls. A fire encircled the skulls, their bones melting quickly. Naito and Parnell walked into the castle.

“Naito,” echoed a dark voice, “Trying to play hero one last time?” A figure clad in black armor stood, standing at the throne with the Queen right behind him, bound in chains.

“…The Black Knight,” said a terrified Parnell.

“If you want the Queen to live, you’ll have to get past me.”

“M-Master Nai—” Naito tossed his cape at Parnell.

“This is my fight,” he declared. “You must be the one to carry the Queen back home!” He charged at the Black Knight, engaging sword with sword. As the knights moved about Parnell couldn’t keep up with the frantic sword clashes, his eyes moving one way towards another. After Naito and The Black Knight both jumped back, they both charged each other and collided.

A wave of energy burst in the castle, knocking Parnell back.

When he rose and opened his eyes, he gasped: a glowing sword pierced the stomach of Master Naito.

“You fought well Naito,” said the Black Knight.

“I…fought…well…because of…my Queen!” Naito slashed through the Black Knight’s armor. The black armored figure’s body dissolved as it fell to the ground, leaving a blue orb. Naito turned towards Parnell. “Parnell…always…fight…for the Queen…” His body turned to dust, the red orb submerged in sand. Fighting back tears, Parnell walked towards the throne to recover the Queen. She opened her eyes.

“…P…Parn…ell?”

“My Queen,” He kneeled.

“…He…He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“Yes…but I promise you my Queen,” He stared into the queen’s eyes, “I will serve to protect you, until death comes forth!” He then walked towards the orb and grabbed it, and held it close to his chest.

Hollow Roar

by Ron Koppelberger

    The disaster had been reported in clear concise tone of fear. The Revolutionary Democrat had a photograph of a cloud that had specks of crimson in it and the well-bred Republican gazette showed a genuflecting pedestrian outlined by a twilight argument of darkness and scarlet cumulous clouds, a butterfly was visible in the corner of the photograph contrary to the horror of the moment. The headline read, “Beauty Before the Darkness.”, the caption beneath the photo read, “ Subservient to the unknown.” The aspirations of human endeavor, even wanton desires, had become a faded memory in the face of the phenomenon.

    There were explanations offered and proposed but the complexity, the purity of the now sovereign cloud burst was still a mystery in the shroud of a mystery.

    Wuhan Luke hid in the thick concrete shelter of his basement. He had moved his Igloo cooler and several cases of Victoria Springs water into his basement. A breath of life, an ordered quarrel of noise and news reports poured from his all weather radio in a barrage of static. Wuhan sat down on the variegated cotton comforter and leaned against the basements gray block wall. In wandering contemplation of his mortality, he prayed for a miracle.

    Was this the end? Was this the end of mankind and life on earth? He prayed and listened with a hopeful expectation. God’s slight of hand brought twilight spears of sunshine in crazy quilt patterns through his basement windows. He was exercising his cramped fingers, he had been clutching a fold of the quilted cotton blanket unconsciously for the last several hours. Wuhan Prayed again in balanced benediction, “ Our father who art in heaven…..”, he began. As he prayed a hollow roar filled the basement and the air outside of the tiny clapboard house. It sounded like the ocean and a speeding fright train in cacophonous harmony. A flash of light filled the skies and poured in flowing rivers of affirmation through the basement windows. The August eyes of hastened force and currents of unwavering rebirth championed the earth and Wuhan cried thinking the worst.

    Eventually, the hollow roar abated and Wuhan ventured upstairs to the chance and the fate that had overwhelmed the planet. Wuhan opened his front door and looked into the glowing golden brilliance of an almost ethereal sunshine. The roses he had planted were in bloom and the grass was a rich emerald hue. A gentle symphony of beauty filled the once baron desert that had bordered the edge of his property. In the distance he saw fields of wheat and saffron in bloom, glorious and blessed a miracle had occurred.

Top of Page

Unbidden Love

By Ron Koppelberger

    The talisman was a marriage of gyrating beads and straight crow feathers bound by a worn leather tether and a small gilded chain. Rani Gean rolled the blue and ebony beads between her fingertips. The love of her life, Bobby Breck, he’d be hers, all in all by night shadow and lovers embrace; the fetish would assure his love, his tender kisses, his gentle hand in hers forever and forever.

    Rani had fantasized about Bobby all through high school and when graduation day had come she’d been in a mild panic. What of our future Bobby she had thought. He was completely oblivious of her obsession with him, in fact he couldn’t even tell his friends what she had looked like. After it was finished , after the culmination of her wont, her insane need, he’d only say, “ She was all dark, eyes of deep hollow craziness, she was jus a damn fruit basket!” he told his football buddies.

    Rani had stood in cap and gown near the front of the gymnasium waiting for bobby to walk across the platform and accept his diploma. She had it all planned out, she’d climb onstage and embrace him, express her love and her desire to be his wife. He had to be with her, he had to, he was her love, her breath and the sustenance in her life she thought as she pictured him as her husband.

    The principle had called Bobbies name and just as he walked across the stage, at midpoint in the most important moment of his young life, she leapt. He staggered back as she embraced him and forced her tongue into his mouth. He had pushed her back, his arms outstretched,

“I love you Bobby, we’re gonna be together Bobby… forever my love!” The gym coach and the principle pulled her away from him. She scratched and bit and in the end they had her removed.

    Bobby had accepted his diploma with the gymnasium in an uproar. The principle had given him a consoling look as he congratulated him and patted him on the back; seconds later the gym coach with scarlet runnels from the fight across her checks, ushered Bobby out of the gymnasium.

    He had believed she was crazy, yet he was compelled, They would be together, it was madness but he knew, he loved her without reason, her rash affections, her dark eyes, all he could think about was her.

    Bobby shuffled closer to her house, slowly with conscious determination, keep walking he thought, just keep walking Bobby boy, she’ll be waiting. Her dark eyes called to him and he knew nothing else but the seductive currents of her attentions.

    Rani had gone to the witch, she lived near the edge of Gibbet Marsh; she had said, “Take the fetish, take the charm and he’ll be yours forever!” The witch had charged her five thousand dollars worth of her collage fund for the charm, but it would be worth it she thought as she waited patiently for her love.

    Bobby had gotten drunk after graduation, drunk as a skunk and he always drove too fast; a Stingray, his dad’s, “CRRRRRRRRAAAAAASSSSSSHHHHHH!” he mumbled as he placed his hand on the front door to Rani’s house. The maneuver was difficult, he tried to turn the knob, the blood made the brass handle slick and he couldn’t get his damn hand to work.

    The car had careened into a tree, his dad would be pissed but he didn’t care he needed her dark eyes , the passion he felt for her was unequaled by anything he’d ever experienced.

    Rani hoped and prayed as she turned the charm in her hands, she could hear him fumbling with the front door. The witch had been right. He was hers now. Rani ran to the door and pulled it open. Her screams echoed for blocks, Bobby stood there at a crazy angle, blood pouring from his crushed head, he had flown through the Stingray’s windshield head first into a tree. He didn’t think she would mind, “IIIIIIIIIaaaagagagagagagha LLLLOOoooooooooovvvveeee YYYYUOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU,” he gurgled through his broken teeth.

    The witch chuckled to herself her dark eyes glowing with fire and glee as she contemplated the twilight and the dawn of another day. “Young love,” she whispered, “…….knows the boundary of life and death sometimes.” She thought of her own lot, her isolation and solitary swamp life. Shaking her head she dismissed the brief notion of romance; she knew better.

Top of Page

Vege-Might

By Ben Macnair

I could learn to love the Lentil.

I could learn to cherish the Chick Pea.

I could become passionate about the Pepper.

I could really know my onions,

and know that I won’t get my pudding,

until I eat my Greens.

The carrot is no longer simply rabbit food,

whilst Brocolli could really be a force for good.

I could learn to like couscous,

but I don’t think I will be amorous about the Aubergine,

that is taking things a bit too far.

I could be on speaking terms with vegetarians,

and learn what their terms mean,

even if they go past the main course,

and dig straight into their greens.

I used to be a Vege-Won’t,

but now I am a Vege-might.

Top of Page

Ponders the Blade

By William Conway

As the swordsman ponders the blade,

The notched thing that brags of many battles,

It is as a companion of yore:

The two have shared blood and steel,

Weeping of tragedies together.

The weight of times makes their joined burden lighter.

The notched thing that brags of many battles,

This sword has boasted its final tale.

The two have shared blood and steel,

But this will number as the last of either.

The weight of times makes their joined burden lighter,

Yet even a joined burden can grow too heavy.

This sword has boasted its final tale:

A fallen brother for a fallen brother,

But this will number as the last of either.

No more allies will this swordsman see fall.

Yet even a joined burden can grow too heavy,

Not with trust or love, but with duty.

A fallen brother for a fallen brother.

The notched surface recedes into the grave earth.

No more allies will this swordsman see fall.

One joins with another, unified

Not with trust or love, but with duty:

This be the final rest of more than just steel and flesh.

The notched surface recedes into the grave earth.

Weeping of tragedies together,

One joins with another, unified.

It is as a companion of yore.

This be the final rest of more than just steel and flesh,

As the swordsman ponders the blade.

Top of Page

The Crafstman

By Ben Macnair

I remember watching him slowly choosing the wood,

bending it to fit the bowl,

shaving it for the best fit.

Entertaining silence as he worked,

letting the work do the talking for him,

taking his secrets with him,

imparting them as a gift to anyone who listened.

He was of a different time,

when craft and a good job counted more than

instant gratification, and a steady profit.

His tools were sharpened,

every tool in its right place,

and although there were complaints

about varnish stains,

and sawdust,

it showed he was working,

and working made him happy.

He worked with wood,

and I work with words,

but the techniques are the same.

Honing the raw materials to create something new.

Something of a lasting value.

Shaping the words for the best fit,

never wanting to do a second rate job,

knowing the value of time, of craft.

Making each movement as simple and affecting as can be,

shaping a legacy of material that will be cherished, and kept

long after we have slipped this mortal coil.

Top of Page

Top of Page