Until Death

A continuation…

 

4

8:50 AM

Frank had been hopeful that being briefed on Katheryn Jennings’s disappearance might ease his anxiety, but he was mistaken. He had arrived at the department at ten minutes to nine, joining a steady flow of police personnel into the briefing room where there were five long tables running parallel to each other. Frank chose the third from the front, giving him a direct line of sight to the where Deputy Chief Brian Litchfield would be giving the department the rundown. As the flow of Vander Police Department employees entering the room slowed to a trickle, Frank found himself tapping the table relentlessly. The Deputy Chief, being the finely-tuned machine that he was, arrived exactly at nine o’clock. He started the briefing without delay, and Frank absorbed every word.

“Okay, listen up, cause I’m in no mood to be repeating myself. As you know, we have a missing persons case. Her name is Katheryn Jennings, age twenty-one, attends Vander Community College. Some of you might remember her as the winner of the Miss Vander competition last month,” the Deputy Chief stated. Frank remembered that he had seen her photo from the pageant in the newspaper, which must have been why she had seemed so familiar to him. “Her five minutes of fame could have played a factor in her disappearance.” Frank nodded his head slightly. It didn’t take a genius to realize that connection. It’s not uncommon for stalkers and psychopaths to come out of their dark holes to harass beautiful woman that happen to stumble into the public eye. “Katheryn was last seen in her Bio 201 class at Vander Community College at 8:00 P.M. It’s likely that she was abducted while walking to her apartment in the Valley Vista Apartment Complex. When she had not returned home by late yesterday morning, her roommate, Aubrey De La Rosa, called Katheryn’s parents after failing to reach her several times. The parents called us soon after that.”

Litchfield continued with the briefing, stating that as far as her parents or Aubrey knew, Katheryn hadn’t been seeing anybody romantically and was very dedicated to her schoolwork. She had returned from a two-year trip to Italy about a year ago, where she had been living in Padua with a host family where she helped run events for a local church. Someone in the room scoffed under their breath at this piece of information, and the Deputy Chief shot daggers in return around the room until he was sure it would not happen again, only then did he continue. The trip abroad had been arranged by Sacred Heart Catholic Church, which Katheryn had attended ever since she was an infant. Katheryn had led many charity events and fundraisers for the church when she was in high school, so when she asked if she could be a part of one of the churches in Italy for two years, her parents and Sacred Heart were happy to oblige. Now that she was residing in Vander once again, she had rejoined the Sacred Heart community and attended mass every Sunday. To Frank and everyone else in Vander, Katheryn seemed to be a saint.

“We currently have a BOLO out on Katheryn, and everybody should be on high alert. Patrol guys, if you find anything useful, report into Kotching and Atencio ASAP. Alright, let’s get to work.”

Everybody exited the briefing room, moving on to their regularly scheduled assignments. Frank leaned against the hallway wall, trying to thread together pieces of the case and conjure some sort of lead. He had lost track of time and was staring into the dead space in front of him when Deputy Chief Litchfield approached him. There were no more people bustling out of the room and everyone but Frank had gone about their duties.

“You losing your mind on me, Bailey? You’re staring at the wall like a goddamn vegetable,” Litchfield said. Startled, Frank shook his head slightly before locking eyes with the Deputy Chief.

“Sorry, Litch.”

“Hey, it’s Deputy Chief to you. How many times do I have to say that?” asked Litchfield, a scowl enveloping his face. “How about you get your thumb out of your ass and go do the job I’m paying you to do. How’s that sound?”

“Ten four, Vicejefe,” Frank responded, a slight smirk touching the corners of his mouth. Litchfield furrowed his brow in frustration but remained silent, walking past Frank to attend to more important matters. Frank enjoyed making the Deputy Chief’s blood boil. It was apparent to Frank that Litchfield was only concerned with climbing the department ladder and obtaining the position of Chief to feed his own ego, a quality that Frank found despicable in a law enforcement officer. He made the most of every opportunity to push Litchfield’s buttons.

Frank sauntered down the hallway and out the back door of the department to where his patrol car was parked. As he climbed into the driver’s seat, he thought about Vander Community College and the Valley Vista Apartment Complex. The college was only a stone’s throw from the apartment, with a handful of establishments running down Peyton Street in between. Frank walked the street in his head, looking for any areas where an abduction could have occurred. First he came to a Circle K, which was open twenty-four hours and always well-lit, so the chances that Katheryn could have been taken there were slim. Then he came to a barbershop and a tattoo parlor that resided next to one another, with the tattoo parlor’s parking lot adjacent to it. The parking lot was at the corner of Peyton and Mangold Street and had no lights in its vicinity. Big Dave’s Tire Shop was across Mangold Street and was the last building before Valley Vista Apartments. Frank would bet his whole year’s salary that she was taken at that dark, foreboding parking lot.

He turned the key in the ignition and started the car. He was assigned to patrol Vander’s western block today, so he thought he would go check out the parking lot for himself. If Frank was going to find anything helpful to the case, he believed that it would be at ground zero. He pulled away from the station and made his way to Mangold Street.

When he arrived, he parked in the lot, which was empty except for a lifted black F-150 and sun-worn red Subaru. He paced around the entirety of the lot, looking for broken glass, drops of blood, anything that could point to a sign of a struggle. He knew that the area had likely been combed through already, but it didn’t hurt to have a fresh set of eyes look around. Frank found nothing, not even a broken beer bottle. He leaned against his cruiser, scanning the surrounding area. Frank thought about asking the employees of Viper Tattoo and Big Dave’s if they had seen anything, but decided that it would be overkill. If they had seen anything, they would have spoken to Kotching and Atencio about it, and judging by the lack of leads, Frank thought it was safe to assume that there were no witnesses. Frank breathed a heavy sigh. It seemed he had reached a dead end before he had even started. As he opened the door to the cruiser, he noticed the Fine Stay Motel a block down Mangold Street. The gears in Frank’s brain began to slowly turn. Frank got into the car and drove a block down Mangold, parking in the Fine Stay parking lot. He stepped out of the car to look in the direction of the Viper Tattoo lot and found that he could still see a sliver of it from where he was standing. If the Fine Stay had any sort of camera pointed down Mangold, there was a chance that Katheryn and her abductor would be on the footage.

Frank walked to the office. As he opened the door and approached the counter, the skinny employee with shoulder length, greasy brown hair working behind the desk looked up and stared at Frank with sunken eyes. Frank shot him a polite smile that was returned with the same expressionless gaze.

“Good morning,” Frank said, “I’m Officer Bailey. I was wondering if you could answer a question for me.” The desk clerk shrugged and looked down at his hands, where he was fiddling with a hangnail. “Does this motel have any security cameras that face toward Peyton Street?” The employee looked up with an expression of irritation and perplexity.

“What do we look like, the fuckin’ Ritz? Course we don’t got cameras. We barely got bedsheets, for Christ’s sake. I already told your buddies this anyways, so what’re you bothering me again for?” Frank should have guessed that Kotching and Atencio had already talked to the man. The motel wasn’t directly on Katheryn’s route home, but the detectives were thorough. He also knew that people in this part of town didn’t generally welcome the police snooping around their businesses after they had already spoken to them once, so he decided to cut the conversation short.

“Thank you for your time,” Frank said as he turned and began walking out the door.

“What’s this about, anyway?” the clerk asked as Frank crossed the threshold of the doorway. He turned back to face the man, who seemed slightly uneasy. “I mean, what’s the missing girl gotta do with the motel? Your friends didn’t say.”

“Nothing directly, as far as we know. Just covering our bases.” The desk clerk relaxed, his worries melting away when he realized that the police officer in his office had nothing to do with the motel itself. “If you hear anything, give the department a call, alright?”

“Sure,” the clerk muttered as he went back to wrestling with his hangnail. Frank doubted that the man had heard what Frank said. He made his way back to his patrol car and slumped into the driver’s seat. He had made no progress and the anxious feeling had not subsided, turning into a slight, uncomfortable tightness in his chest. Frank couldn’t pinpoint why the case bothered him so much, which added to the irritation. He took a deep breath, and while thoughts of cigarettes started floating around the back of his mind, a dispatcher’s voice came through the radio.

“Reported fireworks at the abandoned church on Simmons Road,” the voice stated. Fireworks had been illegal in Vander ever since the wildfire the year before, which made Frank’s life a living hell during the fourth of July weekend. He thought it was strange to have people lighting fireworks off at this time of the year, but Vander High students tended to meet up at the abandoned church lot to drink and engage in other illicit activities, so it didn’t come as a complete surprise.

“Officer Seven-one-two responding,” Frank said to the dispatcher. This was an easy way to get his mind off Katheryn Jennings.

“Copy,” Frank heard through the radio as he pulled out of the Fine Stay parking lot and drove south toward Simmons Road. When he arrived at the church, the lot seemed completely desolate. It was right next to a housing community, which is where the call complaining to the station about fireworks probably came from, but it seemed that the pyrotechnic wrongdoers were long gone.

The church had once been a thriving Catholic community called the Holy Apostles. Around the time that Frank joined the police department, the Catholic community deciding on expanding and building a new, larger church called Sacred Heart on the opposite side of town. It was determined that the lot with the old church would be given back to the city of Vander because the Catholic community did not have the attendance or religious personnel to keep both churches running in a city as small as Vander. However, ever since the new church had been built, the old lot had been stuck in legal limbo while companies competed for the land. The ordeal was a complicated mess of red tape, building codes, and unreached deals. The lot devolved into a hangout for teenagers to fight, drink, and exchange bodily fluids with each other. The church itself was tagged relentlessly with graffiti, but the doors were always chained and padlocked and the windows boarded with plywood so that minimal damage could be done.

Frank pulled the cruiser around the building’s right side, parking in the slowly diminishing shade cast by the house of worship. As he put the patrol car in park, Frank noticed a muddy-colored car parked at the rear of the building. He exited his vehicle to investigate further, noting that the car was a Honda Civic and appeared to have been manufactured in the early to mid 1990’s. The sedan didn’t emanate a feeling of abandonment, but upon further examination of the lot and surrounding area, it seemed to Frank as if he was the only creature with a heartbeat for miles. Frank’s initial thought was that the Civic belonged to the firework fiend, who, after seeing the cruiser in the distance, decided to make a break for it and hop the wall into the neighboring community. Running away and ditching their primary means of transportation wouldn’t be the brightest course of action, but Frank had experience dealing with the delinquents of Vander High and had concluded that none of them were going to be the next Albert Einstein. If he had to make an educated guess, Frank would say that the car belonged to Jimmy Sanders or Lucas Younger. They were the type to end up in Dutch for petty crimes like shoplifting, lighting off fireworks, or spray painting a bad word on the high school gym. Frank knew how to lure them out.

“Alright, it’s fine by me if you hide. I’m gonna tow this car here if no one comes out to claim it, though,” Frank shouted to the abandoned lot. The response was absolute silence, not even the chirrup of a bird. “Fine, have it your way.” Frank was surprised. That trick always worked when they busted kids partying and getting drunk around bonfires in the land out beyond the cemetery. He had no intention of going to the trouble of getting the car towed, but decided that searching the plate number and speaking to the troublemaker’s parents might be the next best thing. He pulled out his black pocket notebook and scribbled down the make and model of the car as well as the plate number. As he was returning the notebook to his pocket, he glanced up at the rear of the church.

Above the weather-worn double doors was a bronze depiction of a crucified Jesus. The drooping eyes seemed to be staring into his and gave him a feeling of intense nausea. Frank was not a fan of churches and despised the representations of Jesus on the cross. He thought it morbid to choose a torture device with a malnourished, bleeding, broken man tacked to it as the symbol of one’s religion. Valerie was Catholic and attended mass at Sacred Heart every Sunday, so Frank kept most of his feelings on the subject matter to himself. He was an atheist, but had been raised Catholic by his mother. Frank couldn’t remember many fond memories of his mother, but didn’t care to try. He hadn’t spoken to her in a little over a decade.

The longer he stared into the vacant eyes of the crucified Jesus above the doorway, the more nauseated he felt. The contents of his stomach seemed to solidify into a solid mass of rock and sink within his body. The tightness in his chest turned into a death grip on his heart and his breathing became short and laborious. Frank’s hands became clammy and a dizziness encircled his head, but he could not seem to break the gaze of the bronze man above him.

Suddenly, the dispatcher’s voice sounded from the radio. Hearing the female voice pulled Frank back to reality, allowing him to snap out of the trance. Frank walked swiftly back to his cruiser while the dispatcher spoke.

“We have an accident on the bypass, multiple vehicles involved. Injuries reported.” Frank quickly jumped into the front seat and turned the patrol car on, taking a deep breath and gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Seven-one-two en route,” Frank spoke into his shoulder microphone and peeled out of the church parking lot. It’s a busy morning in Vander, Frank thought. The one thing he knew for sure was that he was going to need a cigarette later. Or ten.

 

 

August 27th

5

9:20 AM

Valerie entered Sacred Heart Catholic Church clad in a modest pink dress with a rose gold necklace that Frank had given her for their third anniversary and a pale pink clutch handbag to match, her nicest Sunday attire. She figured that if there was ever a time to look her best, it would be in God’s house. Valerie dipped her finger in the basin of holy water and made the sign of the cross before walking down the center aisle between the rows of wooden benches. She took a seat in one of the middle rows on the left and kneeled to pray before mass began. Valerie felt like she had a little more than usual to talk to the big guy upstairs about this week.

The first thing that Valerie prayed about was her husband’s peace of mind. She knew that the job of a law enforcement officer was a stressful one, but the last few days had seemed even more emotionally taxing on Frank. She wished that Frank would come with her to Sunday mass, even if his beliefs drastically differed from hers. He had been dead set against church ever since she had known him, but he wouldn’t go into much detail on why. She still made the occasional request for him to join her, though. Valerie thought that maybe Frank would find peace within the church if he just gave it a chance, but every time she brought it up, he would respond with, “You know I don’t buy what they’re selling,” or something to that effect. Her husband was a compassionate man and a great father, but he was not one to open up easily and internalized the majority of his emotions, sometimes leading to a raging sea of conflict in his mind. Valerie believed that being present in the church could calm the tides, but if Frank wouldn’t come, she would pray twice as hard for him.

She also prayed for Cade, that he should maintain good health and grow up full of wonder and excitement. A prayer was issued for Pam Johnson as well, who worked in Human Resources at Southwest Pharmaceuticals with Valerie and had just been diagnosed with breast cancer the previous week. She asked God to help Pam with a swift and painless recovery. Finally, she prayed that her father’s soul rest peacefully in Heaven, just as she did every week, before sitting back on the pew. She leisurely flipped through the psalm book in front of her until mass began.

For most of the mass, the regular routine was followed and the proceedings were pleasantly predictable. Songs were sung in voices desperately attempting to be angelic; bible passages were read aloud. Valerie placed her five-dollar donation in the basket that was passed around and greeted her neighboring churchgoers with “peace be with you.” Father David preached a homily about maintaining strength in one’s faith in the face of adversity while everyone nodded their heads silently. Everything seemed to occur just as it had for countless Sundays, until Father David stood up after communion. He had made sure that everyone had returned to their seats before he spoke.

“Brothers and sisters, as you probably know, a beloved member of our Sacred Heart community is missing. Katheryn Jennings is a beautiful, intelligent young woman and always made faith a priority. Her parents are here with us today. Please bow your heads with me and pray for her safe return.” Before Valerie bowed her head, she looked toward the front row, where she could see Katheryn’s parents. Only the backs of their heads were visible to her, but from the way Katheryn’s mother was constantly bringing a tissue to her face, Valerie assumed that she was crying. The man in the row behind them leaned forward, placing his hands on their shoulders and whispering something to comfort them. Valerie recognized him as one of the lectors who sometimes read the bible passages aloud during mass. She hoped that whatever he was saying was helping ease their suffering, at least momentarily.

Valerie bowed her head and prayed with the rest of the church. She had heard about Katheryn the day before on the news and thought that maybe a portion of what was troubling Frank was due to Katheryn’s disappearance. Cases such as Katheryn’s didn’t happen often in Vander, and she knew it must be stressful for the whole department. She didn’t want to further burden Frank’s mind by bringing it up, so she had kept it to herself.

It had come as a saddening shock when she saw the news report. Valerie did not know Katheryn very well, but had seen her with her family at mass and charity events organized by Sacred Heart. From what Valerie had seen, Katheryn seemed to enjoy organizing events for the church like it was her profession. She had even been helping arrange the 5K Run for Leukemia that Valerie was planning on participating in next Saturday. Valerie prayed hard for her safe return.

When mass ended, Valerie considered given her thoughts and prayers to Katheryn’s parents, but decided against it. They had enough on their minds and were probably being bombarded by countless other people giving them their own thoughts and prayers. When pulling out of the church parking lot, her mind once again turned to her husband. Today was his day off, so she hoped that he was giving his mind a rest, at least for just a little while. She decided that she would suggest watching Young Frankenstein with Frank when she arrived home. Frank was a sucker for Mel Brooks films. She doubted they would be able to watch anything uninterrupted by Cade, but thought that Frank would appreciate the gesture anyway. She switched on the radio, where a Bryan Adams song was just beginning. She turned the volume up and sang along as she cruised the Vander streets and headed back home.

 

 

August 28th

 

6

7:00 PM

        A growing audience packed themselves into their seats at the Vander Performing Arts Center as the night’s performers waited backstage. Among them, tapping her foot nervously, was Jacquelyn Douglas, known as Jackie to her friends and parents. Jackie was fourteen, barely a freshman in High School, and was the youngest of the performers slated for the evening’s show. The entertainment that the attending audience members had come to see was a compilation of musical pieces performed by some of Vander’s most talented musicians. Jackie had been given the opportunity to close the show with a rendition of the first movement of Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and was feeling a cinderblock of pressure resting on her shoulders.

Jackie had been a natural at the piano ever since she sat down at one at age seven. It was as if the ebony and ivory keys spoke to her and guided her elegantly through each piece. Her first instructor had called her a prodigy and had stated that Jackie was the quickest learner she had ever seen. Recently, Jackie had begun to gain the attention of individuals outside of Vander, and even outside the state of Arizona. The Vander Chronicle had recently written an article about her musical prowess, and word had traveled around town. She knew that many of the people filing into the auditorium had only come to see her. Jackie thought that maybe someone from New York could be coming to see her performance, but that could just have been wishful thinking. If she could play the Mozart piece without a hitch, it could prove to be a giant stepping stone on the path of her blossoming musical career.

Jackie heard the bow of a violin as the show began. She did not know how long the violin piece lasted, but soon it was replaced by a cello, and after that Jackie stopped hearing the music completely. She was in her own world, going over each note to the Mozart piece in her head repeatedly. Before she knew it, someone was tapping her on the shoulder and telling her that it was her turn in the spotlight. Jackie walked out to the grand piano on stage on legs that felt as sturdy as a house of cards. Somehow she made it to the seat without her knees buckling underneath her and sat down. The crowd could have been clapping for her or they could have been completely silent, but Jackie couldn’t tell. She couldn’t hear anything except the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. She took a deep breath and glanced down at the keys. Under so much pressure and with so many watchful eyes glued to her, the keys looked more like a monster’s teeth than a means of creation.

As soon as she began to play, the anxiety melted away and she felt the most comfortable she had ever felt in her young life. She was the only person in the auditorium and was playing Mozart for the angels in Heaven. Time ceased to exist and Jackie lived blissfully in each moment from note to note. She didn’t want the piece to end, but when it did, it concluded beautifully, the last notes sounding like the last moments of a life well-lived.

The crowd erupted in applause. Almost in unison, the members of the audience rose to give Jackie a standing ovation. A few people whistled their approval and when she took a bow, the applause grew even louder. Jackie was overwhelmed by the reaction, and felt as if the smile on her face had been permanently set there in stone. She could see old teachers and members of her church cheering her on and her mother was jumping in elation. Hot tears of joy streamed down her cheeks. She was proud. She was triumphant. This was the best moment of her life. Late in the afternoon of August 30th, Jackie disappeared.

 

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Until Death

Today we are doing something different. I will not be posting content of my own, instead I will be sharing a story written by one of my closest friends, Matthew Thrasher. Based off a short story that Matt wrote for his brother in December of last year, “Until Death”  is a product of everything that this website stands for. This is a project that will continue to develop here on this website for the foreseeable future. 

P.S. Mark this one is for you.

 

 

Written by

Matthew Thrasher

 

August 25th

1

 

5:45 PM

Officer Francis Bailey, known to his friends and colleagues as “Frank”, or occasionally “Franny” when they wanted to give him a light ribbing, slouched behind the wheel of his Crown Victoria police cruiser. He had parked at the bottom of a small hill and was now watching light traffic pass east on Frontier Avenue. For the last seven and a half hours or so, Frank’s duty to protect and serve saw him canvasing spots around town with a radar gun, ensuring the safety of the community by pulling over soccer moms that tended to get lead feet. When he joined the force half a decade ago, his mind had been swollen with notions of bringing justice to degenerates, sickos, and thugs. The reality of his current situation was less than satisfying.

Frank heard an engine approaching just over the crest of the hill and aimed the radar gun in that direction. The noise emitted was more like a banshee’s scream than the hum of a motor and Frank prepared himself to see a sports car fly over the hill’s peak a la Dukes of Hazzard. Instead, a pickup truck that looked as if it may have once been forest green but had long since turned the putrid color of mucus crested the hill and lumbered along Frontier Avenue towards Frank’s patrol car. The radar gun’s output read “30” as the glorified hunk of scrap metal lurched its way past. Frank uttered a breathy laugh. He figured that whoever was driving the truck deserved a commendation for getting the thing to run at all, even if they kept it at a cruising speed of five under the speed limit.

He lackadaisically placed the radar gun in the passenger seat and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He was practically praying to receive any type of call from dispatch. Hell, he would happily drive halfway across town just to yell at the stoners from Vander High for loitering in the Carl’s Jr. parking lot if it meant he didn’t have to clock any more meandering commuters meandering. Frank knew full well that he was performing a task that is carried out by stationary cameras in larger cities, and it gave him a feeling of monumental insignificance. He leaned his head on the headrest and gazed vacantly out of the windshield as the radio remained silent. Cars passed in both directions while Frank maintained his near-comatose state. He let his mind wander, and that brought him to his wife Valerie and his son Cade.

Frank and Valerie had celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary in June, the same month that Cade took his first steps. They married right out of college, eager to start their new life with each other. A few months prior to graduation, Valerie’s father had informed her that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Although Frank had expressed his desire to work for the police department in a larger city such as his hometown of Chicago, he agreed when Valerie insisted that they move to Vander to be near her father. He felt as if there were bigger fish to fry than the criminals inhabiting a southeastern Arizona town with a population of fifty-thousand, but he loved Valerie and knew that it was the right decision. He had applied to the police department and passed the tests with flying colors. He attended the Academy and underwent field training, did the whole song and dance just to end up slouched in the driver’s seat of a cruiser daydreaming about the past while on duty.

A black Camaro honked at a sluggish light blue Volkswagen Beetle as it descended Frontier Avenue, snapping Frank back to reality. He watched the Camaro pass the Beetle on the left as both cars drove past, and from his vantage point he couldn’t see either vehicle breaking any traffic laws. He grabbed the radar gun and held it on the dashboard disbelievingly as a brown sedan coasted down the hill. The flashing red numbers read “35”. A gray minivan followed shortly behind it at the leisurely pace of thirty-three miles per hour. Frank thought that people would be in more of a hurry to get home, considering it was almost six o’clock on a Friday evening, but the people of Vander continued to defy his expectations.

He gave up and placed the radar gun on the passenger seat once more. Frank closed his eyes, breathing a heavy sigh. All he could think about at that moment was that he wanted a cigarette. He had quit smoking almost seven years ago (well, mostly quit), and only felt the craving now when he was immensely stressed or unfathomably bored. When he was unable to smother the desire for a “cancer stick”, as Valerie called it, he would indulge in his vice. It was against department policy to smoke on duty or in uniform and Valerie was adamant about Frank living smoke free, so sometimes he had to get creative.

He checked his watch. His shift ended at six, so he would have to make his way back to the station to drop off his bodycam soon. The bodycams had been a fairly recent addition to the department, because in Chief Ellerton’s words, “A department without bodycams is just beggin’ for a lawsuit.” With the boring shift approaching its end, Frank felt that he could survive without a cigarette for the time being. He put the car into drive and pulled out of the cutout onto Frontier Avenue and headed west for the station.

When he arrived, the department seemed much more active than it typically was on a Friday evening. After he returning the bodycam, he made his way to what the Vander Police Department called the “Detective Room.” It was there that he saw nearly every cop in the station streaming in and out of the room. When he had managed his way inside the room, he noticed a large rolling whiteboard had been moved in from the conference room. A photo of a beautiful, blonde young woman was taped in the center, above which the word “Missing” had been written in black dry erase marker. Underneath the photo was the name “Katheryn Jennings”, printed in the same way. Frank was shocked. Vander hadn’t had a serious missing persons case in years, and when missing person reports did surface, they usually turned out to be a teenager who had decided to “run away” and were found shortly after. From the way that everyone at the station was behaving, Frank assumed that this case was not one to be taken lightly. Well, I did want a little more excitement, he thought to himself.

Frank noticed that the people shuffling in and out of the room were bringing stacks of paper and files to Detectives John Kotching and Oscar Atencio. If he wanted the inside scoop, these were the guys to talk to. He walked swiftly to where Detective Kotching was sitting behind his desk.

“What do we got?” Frank asked, nodding toward the file that Kotching was holding. Kotching glanced up just long enough to see who had spoken before burying his head in the folder once more.

“Call just came in a little while ago. Her name is Katheryn Jennings, age twenty-one. She was last seen walking home from her class at the college but never arrived home. We’re looking at possible abduction.” Kotching’s eyes never left the file while he spoke.

“Are there any more details?” Frank frowned.

“You should be briefed on it in the morning. Oscar and I have it handled for now.” While Frank desperately wished that he could pry out more information on the case, he knew that the surly, veteran detective was done speaking to him for the evening. Detective Atencio was hurriedly jotting down notes onto a yellow notepad and glancing between papers scattered about his desk, indicating to Frank that he wouldn’t be any more help than Kotching. Frank walked away from the detective’s desk and stopped just before crossing the threshold of the doorway. He took one last quick glance at the photo of Katheryn on the whiteboard before exiting the room something about it struck him as familiar.

 

While driving away from the station, Frank remembered that he had promised Valerie that he would start repainting the garage this weekend. While he had to work during the day tomorrow and wouldn’t be able to start painting until the evening, picking up the paint now would make his wife happy and show that he was serious about his promise. During the drive to Home Depot, Frank could think of little else than Katheryn Jennings. She may have been abducted while walking home from class. Things like this didn’t happen in Vander. And where had he seen Katheryn before? Why did he recognize her? Frank felt a sweat break out on his forehead and rolled down the window. The cool breeze whipped against his face and he shuttered as a cold chill ran up his spine. This case didn’t sit right with him. He desperately wished that he had more information.

When he arrived at Home Depot, he wandered inside dazed. His mind was working overtime, speculating about who Katheryn was, where she was, and what happened to her. When he found himself in the paint section, it took him several moments to remember the color that Valerie wanted. Realist beige. An employee helped him mix the color properly and while he strode toward the checkout counter with a paint can in each hand, his mind fell back to a familiar thought. I need a cigarette. The urge seemed to become stronger with every step. By the time he was in line, Frank had become antsy and impatient. He stared at the back of the round, bald head of the customer in front of him, trying to telepathically will the man to complete his transaction quicker.

When Frank was finally able to check out, he walked briskly back to his car, tossing the paint into the back seat and pulling the car around to the rear of the home improvement store. He popped the trunk and riffled through an old duffle bag that he always kept in the car just in case a time like this arose. He removed a pack of Marlboro’s and a Bic lighter from the bag. He leaned against the building, making sure that he was out of the general public’s view, and lit the cigarette. He inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in until he could feel his nerves calming, then exhaled. He made sure to blow the smoke in the direction of the wind, so that the smell wouldn’t stick to his clothes. He repeated the process until the cigarette was burnt down to the butt, then dropped it to the ground and stamped on it with his heel. One was all he needed. He made sure the lighter and the Marlboro’s were back in his bag and removed a pack of Dentine Ice gum and a bottle of Tommy Hilfiger cologne. He popped two pieces of the gum in his mouth and sprayed himself with the cologne before replacing the items, closing the trunk and climbing into the driver’s seat. Driving home, he was more relaxed than he had been all day, but Katheryn Jennings was still in the back of his mind.

 

August 26th

2

 

5:05 AM

Valerie woke to Cade’s wails, her eyes snapping open. The sound seemed to propagate throughout the entire house. She flipped on her bedside lamp and rolled over to see if her husband might be willing to volunteer for baby duty this morning. However, Valerie could see that he was still fast asleep by the way in which his eyelids twitched in the lamp’s yellow glow. Great, she thought to herself halfheartedly, he gets to dream and I’m stuck with this. She sat with herself for a moment before willing herself away from the comfort and warmth of her bed sheets and shuffled down the hallway to Cade’s room. He was standing in his crib face scrunched and misty-eyed until she picked him up. Valerie figured that he would be hungry so she carried him to the kitchen.

She took a bottle of formula from the refrigerator and placed it in the bottle warmer that her friend Stephanie had given her for her baby shower. Once the bottle was warm she brought Cade into the living room, sat on the couch, and flipped on the television to find something to watch while Cade drank.

She flipped through a few dozen channels, each sporting their own blasphemous infomercials, until she gave up on the idea of entertainment and simply stared at the TV screen. When he was finished Cade promptly fell back into sleep. Valerie walked with him to his room, his small body pressed to hers. When she finally made it back to her own room she stopped in the doorway. The lamp was still on and Frank had shifted in his sleep so that the yellow light shined on his face. He didn’t seem to mind though. Valerie stood there for a little while yet and watched her husband sleep.

He had smoked yesterday, she was sure of that, but she didn’t know why. She had smelled it on him as soon as he walked in the door and when she had kissed him she felt as though she had licked an ashtray. Valerie knew how Frank thought he was sneaky with the gum he chewed and cologne he sprayed before walking in the house, but it never worked the way he intended it to. She had almost called him out on it this time, but something was wrong. Valerie could tell that something weighed on him. He tried to mask it, to play it off like it was nothing, saying that he was “just a little tired from work,” but she could tell there was something more there. Eight years is a long time, it’s enough time to learn a person’s bluff.

Valerie moved to the bed. She sat at the edge of the mattress and contemplated sleep. It became clear to her that she had no chance of falling back asleep now. Not with the way Cade had woken her up and the way she thought about Frank. Well if I’m going to be up, I might as well make good use of my time. Valerie figured that Cade would sleep soundly for the next two hours or so. If on the off chance that Cade did wake up again and Frank managed to continue his imitation of a corpse, she would be back soon enough.

Dressed and ready to go, Valerie peeked out the bedroom window to get a glimpse of Callaway Creek Mountain. Hints of the coming sunlight poked over the ridge of the mountain, but the sun would not be up for another hour. She stepped away from the window and looked to her phone. Today she was listening to Madonna.

Valerie was glad that she had finally found her running groove again after having Cade. Having been an avid runner who regularly signed up for charity 5K’s and even the occasional half-marathon, the process of getting back up to speed was miserable at first. At first she could only walk around the block, the she could walk for twenty minutes, then she could go on short runs, and finally she was able to run like she had used to. Feeling the morning air was her vice. It soothed her and brought her back to her center. Her thoughts kept turning to Frank though as she ran. Whatever was bothering him, she hoped it wouldn’t bother him for long.

 

3

 

6:00 AM

Frank sprinted through a seemingly endless forest of dark, twisted, towering trees for what felt like an eternity. He stopped and spun in a circle, looking frantically in every direction, trying to get his bearings. The spirit of the forest loomed over him, and Frank knew that at any moment it could crush him like a cockroach. He fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the darkness enveloping him. He grabbed mats of his hair and pull them out in tufts, screaming into the abyss. He felt seconds stretch into eons while he cowered in the dead leaves piled on the forest floor.

Suddenly, he heard a faint voice in the distance. He listened, and waited for minutes, hours, days for the voice to speak again. When he was on the cusp of giving in to absolute insanity, he heard the voice again, and this time could make out a word.

“Franky”

As he was attempting to decipher the significance of the voice, it sounded off once more, this time including his name in a blood-curdling scream. Frank bolted in the direction of the scream, running until his legs felt as if they might snap like toothpicks and his lungs filled with fire, but he never seemed to come any closer to the origin of the voice. When he could run no more, he stopped and found himself facing the largest tree in the forest. He looked partway up the tree and met the gaze of his childhood best friend, Tyler Jacobs.

Tyler was nailed to the tree through his hands and feet, his arms splayed like a prepubescent Christ. Blood oozed from his wounds and trickled down the bark, pooling in a crimson puddle at the base. Part of his torso was missing, looking as if it had been eaten by some wild beast of the forest. His head hung limply on his shoulders; his eyes were gray and cloudy.

“Why, Franky?”

Frank’s vocal chords refused to utter a response. His legs quivered and hot tears began to stream down his cheeks. Tyler asked the question a second time. Staring at the blood moat surrounding the tree, Frank finally found his voice.

“I’m sorry, Tyler.” Frank struggled to hold back a sob but was unsuccessful. Tyler’s gray eyes stared into the depths of his soul.

“All your fault.” Tyler’s eyes turned black and the skin on his face began to melt like candle wax. He opened his mouth and scorpions poured from the orifice as the skin on his face gave way to flesh and bone. The scorpions crawled down the tree and grew in size with every passing second, making their way toward Frank. He turned and ran, all the while trying to scream but finding no voice to scream with. He turned his head back just long enough to see a colossal stinger plunge its way into his back and burst through his chest.

 

Frank awoke gasping for breath in the early hours of Saturday morning. He sat with his legs hanging off the side of the bed, his head rested in the palms of his hands. He could hear the shower running and wondered if he had been making any noises in his sleep that disturbed Valerie. After a few minutes, he could hardly remember the nightmare that had woken him so violently. He thought it had something to do with scorpions. He looked out the window and saw the sun starting its ascent over Callaway Creek Mountain. It was a beautiful scene, but his mind was already too preoccupied to absorb it. A nagging thought refused to be subdued. I need a cigarette. The thought was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, demanding his full attention. He could taste yesterday’s Marlboro on his tongue. Frank shook his head violently, attempting to clear his mind. His morning was off to a less than ideal start.

 

 

It Walks There

Honestly when I started writing this story I had a hard time finding anything to say. I didn’t have all of the usual suspects to work with like a narrative, characters, or even a concept that I wanted to expand on. My only motivation to write anything was to try and get back on the metaphorical Creative Horse and get back at to that Creative Grind. I think it worked…I think. I can’t be totally sure though. I guess we’ll see won’t we. 

P.S. Sometimes you can’t make these things up. Other times you don’t have too. 

 

It walks there between two walls on the carpet. The sound that it makes rolls under the door like vapor. Feeling its way across the impossible mess of childhood, through the countless objects defaced and made smooth by the dark of the night, and into the ear of the boy sleeping closest too the door. This boy does not dream anymore, because the sounds turn them bad. Instead he sleeps in the dark, nestled like a crayfish in its vertical mound burrowing deeper and deeper still until nothing can be heard.

On most nights the mother would pile both him and his brother into her bed. There they would compact into a single mass until the sun came up. However, tonight is like those other nights. The nights where the mother cannot afford to sleep with restless children, so she puts them away at the far end of the hallway.

When she had put them away in their room, the mother had left the bedroom door open. She always did this so that the boys could see the white sheen of her doorframe from their room if they ever woke in the middle of the night and needed to find her. Yet sometime after he had fallen asleep the door had managed to pull itself shut, as most bedroom doors have the tendency to do. Cordoning the children from the night beyond the door and the things that it always brought with it.

He can hear it now,

(The crunch of foot against fiber beyond the door).

 

And he stirs.

The boy ignores the urge to wake by pulling the comforter up and around his head. It is a thoughtless act. He can feel the way it moves inch by inch through the meat of his brain towards the pit in which he hides. It finds him and when he comes to he comes too slowly, pulled up from the pit by the shoulder blades. He is tugged ever so gently to the surface like a small fish on a hook.

At first there is confusion. Small prisms of light bleed through the comforter from the window that runs along the wall behind his bed. The yellow glow of halogen figures its way through the pores of the fabric to speckle his shoulder and his chin. His hot breaths are reflected back into his face by the blanket that rests on it and his knees are nearly pulled to his chest. All that he has to do is remove the blanket from his face to escape the wet heat, but he doesn’t. Instead he pulls his knees to his chest and breathes deep. The boy lies there like that for what can only be a very long time.

He listens to it walk. He listens until he can’t be sure whether he is still hearing it or if it has stopped and its sounds are instead perpetuated through silence. Whatever is beyond the door refuses to tire or slow. There is no change in direction, or distance. It just walks there.  It comes every night. And when the sun rises in the morning and everyone wakes to start their day, they see them there.  Tracks that lead up the hallway and down where each step is perfectly imprinted on the last. Nothing enters or exits that space. It simply walks there. A presence made of nothing certain.

 

 

 

Sic

Hello everyone! I wanted to try something new today so I posted my screenplay for the Francis Ford Coppola Shorts, which will begin filming in a few weeks, below. A few months ago my good friend River Demson called me asking me if I would want to participate in a larger scale film project this summer and if so…he asked if I could write the script for it. I immediately, unreservedly said yes and then it sunk in. The unnerving fact that this is my first REAL production. Then as if I hadn’t been trigger happy to begin with; I made an even bigger split second decision and decided that not only would I be writing the script, but I would be directing it too. 

This means that I am in charge of organizing the people, equipment, film aesthetics, and general direction of the film in terms of tone, color, and content. (That was an incredibly exhausting sentence). All of which is exciting of course, but, for as exciting as it is, it is equal parts terrifying. I don’t know what I’m doing.  At this point I’m just throwing out words, phrases, and ideas that have the tendency to sound like I know what I’m doing. In other words for the last few months I have been faking-it-till-I-be-making-it on an epic scale and I am still far from the finish line. 

So, please enjoy the script. In an age of spoilers, I feel a though it doesn’t really matter too much if any of you know the story before seeing it on a screen. Also it is more about the journey than the destination, or whatever. All that I know is that…writing for short films is really hard and that I am proud of this version of the story. 

 

 

 

Int. JENNIFER’s Residence/ Day

ANDREW HARRIS knocks on the door of a residence. He stands out for a moment, case file in hand. JENNIFER BABBIT opens the door wide and welcoming.

JENNIFER

“Hey, how’s it going?”

ANDREW perks up.

ANDREW

“It’s going.”

JENNIFER steps back to let ANDREW in with a smile.

JENNIFER

“Come in, welcome. You haven’t been here before have you?”

ANDREW enters the house with a cramped expression. He has been a shut in for nearly two months.

ANDREW

“I have not. I haven’t been many places of late.”

JENNIFER laughs generously in response. She leads him through the house and out to the back yard to the pool. There is a table there with a pack of cigarettes and a drink melting in the heat of the day.

JENNIFER

“I hope that you don’t mind sitting out here. I know it’s hot, but my A/C is busted anyway.”

ANDREW nods in understanding.

ANDREW

“No, it’s fine. That is, as long as I one of those.”

JENNIFER looks to ANDREW with acknowledgment.

JENNIFER

“Of course!”

ANDREW sits down in one of the chairs.

JENNIFER

“I’ll be back.”

Ext. Residence/ Patio (Moments Later)

JENNIFER returns with a drink filled with ice. ANDREW takes it gratefully as she hands it to him. JENNIFER sits in the open seat and crosses her legs. Lounging back the two of them enjoy a brief silence. Summer rolls over the both of them in beads of sweat.

JENNIFER

“Mm.”

ANDREW looks to JENNIFER.

JENNIFER

“How are you?”

ANDREW

“Who’s asking? Altman or Babbit?”

JENNIFER

“Me. I’m asking.”

ANDREW grins, takes a drink, and then looks forward again.

ANDREW

“I’m good. Honestly, I am still getting use to being out. Outside. Clean air, bright light, and heat. It’s a trip. Really. What about you?”

JENNIFER

“Altman definitely wants this thing closed and honestly the more that I look at it…the more I want to it closed too. I can’t imagine what it would be like having to sort it all out for…well…a long time. Outside of that I’m great. I got a new car.”

ANDREW smiles.

ANDREW

“Nice!”

JENNIFER

“Oh, yes, it is.”

JENNIFER and ANDREW sit in silence once more. They watch the pool swirl in the summer breeze.

ANDREW

“Can I tell you a story? I’m going to tell you a story.”

JENNIFER looks to ANDREW and nods.

ANDREW

“Our suspect is a twenty one year old male headlong into the last year of his higher education. He has decent GPA, he is generally liked by everyone who meets him, and has no priors. Nothing, his record is so clean you could eat off of it.”

JENNIFER

“Aiden?”

ANDREW nods.

ANDREW

“Four years earlier this very kid manages to separate himself from his small town family. He escapes from the bottomless angst, the religious persecution, and the abrasive mental degradation that he had been subjected to from birth. He pursues a passion in liberal arts. And anyone with half a mind would tell you that he’s good at what he does.”

JENNIFER

“Yeah, he studied…um…literature. Right?”

ANDREW

“Creative writing. He’s a poet.”

JENNIFER glances at ANDREW.

ANDREW

“Being a newfound intellectual, our man is beside himself when a family friend tells him that his own family had taken him out of his great grandmother’s will. Now he knew when he left for college that he was and always would be held at arms length by them. They didn’t approve, but this…was more than vindictive. His grandmother was one of the oldest living people in the United States and arguably one of the oldest living people in the world. Her history was beyond important to him. He is an intellectual now after all.”

JENNIFER moves restlessly. ANDREW sees this.

ANDREW

“He talks, to his family. He tries to any way. However, his dear great grandmother essentially poisons him. She places traps on her property and weaponized our suspects allergies against him, so that he couldn’t approach the property much less put a foot on it. Did you know that?”

JENNIFER’s expression turns to one that suggests horror.

JENNIFER

“No. That wasn’t in the file when we took it to court.”

ANDREW looks to JENNIFER, smug.

ANDREW

“Oh, I know it wasn’t. There also isn’t a word about how he turned to his parents afterward with the hopes to resolve the issue peacefully. Or how he was literally thrown out of the house when he did.”

JENNIFER

“By his parents?”

ANDREW

“It is unclear really. There are too many conflicting reports to get a straight answer. Everyone has got their own true version of the story. But he sees this as undeniable proof that he is not going to be let back into the will and he certainly does not want to be. So, he goes and purchases the services two career criminals. Eden and Copper Faer. He tells them that he wants this one thing from his grandmother’s house. It is so invaluable that he thinks it unlikely to be noticed when his grandmother died.”

JENNIFER shakes her head.

JENNIFER

“Is that when they were attacked? The Faer’s?”

ANDREW nods.

ANDREW

“Right. Now these two worked a strip mall along one of the busiest roads in Tucson Arizona. A lot of their traffic was based in the university. “Hide it, move it, sell it.” Their record was clean. No violence, no unpaid bills; hell even the TPD knew about them, but they were so harmless that they just looked the other way.”

JENNIFER laughs.

JENNIFER

“That’s called a bribe, Andrew.”

ANDREW looks to JENNIFER.

ANDREW

“No, no bribes. That’s how under the radar they were. So, this guy Hans Kim finds them. We don’t know how. And he brutalizes them. See it turns out that the heist went well, but it could have gone better. With all of the traps laid on the property they ran into a few altercations. It was inevitable really.”

JENNIFER thinks out loud.

JENNIFER

“Kkangpae. It came out pretty early that he had ties with some pretty scary gangs in South Korea.”

ANDREW

“His parents did. A German family adopted Hans before he immigrated to the U.S. as a young kid.”

JENNIFER

“Really?”

ANDREW

“Yep. Not long after entering the country he came into contact with the suspects family and the rest is history.”

JENNIFER takes a drink.

ANDREW

“Anyway. Hans shakes these two down and tells them, ‘return what you have stolen or else.’ The Faer’s, being gentle creatures, abide. They track Aiden down and the next thing any of them remember…they wake up three days later on the lawn of the grandmother’s house. Seven people are dead. Two minors are in the back room unconscious from having been violated beyond reasoning. And that’s it.”

JENNIFER and ANDREW sit in silence.

JENNIFER

“It was a coin wasn’t it? What Aiden stole?”

ANDREW

“Yeah, but it was junk. It’s parts gold, but the majority of the coin’s composite is copper-tin, and copper-zinc brass. Nothing special. Not even a pawnshop would take that thing for a noteworthy price.”

JENNIFER snaps her gaze back to ANDREW, mouth agape.

JENNIFER

“That doesn’t make any sense. If it was so useless then why are they all dead or in prison?”

ANDREW takes a drink.

ANDREW

“Well, it looks like the suspect’s family and Hans Kim’s adopted family are one in the same. So, I looked into it and…it’s true. They are all related.”

JENNIFER scoffs in disbelief.

JENNIFER

“No. No, because if that were true then that information would have been presented in court.”

ANDREW

“Jen, that’s my job. I dredge up crazy shit; I take inventory of all possible loose ends, and making a narrative work. And this narrative is real. You know I can’t just bring a cult to court without sufficient evidence.”

JENNIFER

“A what?”

ANDREW

“A cult. You see, the coin was attached to this plaque. The testimonies of Copper and Eden Faer claim that the plaque, which is now missing, had the word Orichalcum printed in white letters. I decided I would Google it…I mean what could possibly go wrong?”

JENNIFER groans.

ANDREW

“You sound like how I’ve felt for the past two months looking through this case. I know how it sounds, Jen. I also know that this coin isn’t valuable by worldly standards.”

JENNIFER

“Worldly standards?”

ANDREW

“Orichalcum is a mythical metal. Historically there are no true examples of it being cultivated in the world, as we know it. However, in the work of the ancient Greeks, Orichalcum was mined in Atlantis before it vanished from the face of the earth.”

JENNIFER

“So what? They collect strange items for the hell of it? That’s not cult behavior.”

ANDREW shrugs with resignation.

ANDREW

“No, you’re right. Except…his family has ties by the generation to a small organization called the Brother’s Orichalcum. And these people are weird as fuck. I dove deep for this one. I mean they go the-whole-nine-yards. Like any cult they have branches, or fingers more like and they check pretty much every box. They believe in magic (spell casting, wards, uh fucking um demons), they have holy gatherings (On both the summer and winter solstice, and the equinox), and sometimes they even organize holy sacrifice.”

JENNIFER mouths the last word quietly.

JENNIFER

“Sacrifice.”

JENNIFER sighs again, this time overwhelmed. They it there for a moment, the sunlight dimming, in silence.

JENNIFER

“Jesus Christ.”

They are quiet for a long moment.

ANDREW

“She had cancer. His great grandmother. The day the heist took place she was away getting her treatment. Aiden did a bad thing, but he wasn’t careless about it. He cared a lot. No one ever looked at him like that. You know?”

Silence.

JENNIFER

“You want me to take this?”

ANDREW

“Yes.”

JENNIFER

“All right.”

JENNIFER pulls out a tape recorder.

JENNIFER

“This is on record. State your name, the date, and only the things you learned about the case that serve as addendum to the original. Ready?”

ANDREW nods and JENNIFER starts recording.

ANDREW

“My name is Andrew Harris. The date today is June 11th 2015 and I am here with my regulator Jennifer Babbit presenting new information concerning the case Borough v. the state of Arizona.”

End. (Cut to Credits)

Q’s

[This story was my attempt to take my interest in writing and have fun with it. It is the longest short story I have ever written. It is also the most fun I have ever had writing. Maybe it is because I have written a shit ton in the last two years, or maybe it is simply because I was just trying to have fun, but the words simply flowed here. Now, I am not saying that this is AMAZING or anything like that. In fact, it would be wonderful if you thought it was mediocre. What I am saying is that there are people here, and even though the story is not a story that is particularly interesting or exciting. It is alive!! Or it is at the very least as alive as I know how to make something.] -Jaime

Q’s

From the interstate comes a rusted Rav 4 bucking amongst the shallow potholes that line the entrance to the Q’s Market parking lot. It grunts to a stop within the white slants of a designated parking spot.

The sun hung high in the way that could only mean that summer was coming early. Waves of heat bounced from the blacktop and stretched the entirety of Q’s Market into impossible shapes. Inside was nothing much. Assorted food items organized themselves in five rows spaced evenly on the linoleum floors that shined with the unnatural intensity of fluorescent light bulbs, which ran the length of the market perpendicular to the shelves themselves. The cashier sat behind the counter backlit by the blue light of a cellphone as two of the market’s only customers sifted the endless options of processed foods that were presented to them.

From the driver’s side drops a man, weak in the knees from a very late night of drinking. His mouth is sour and everything is sharp. He takes tentative steps forward as if to test the strength of the blacktop like it were made up of dubious wooden planks instead of the wholesome aggregate of sand, stone, and cement. Confident that he won’t fall through the surface of the world into nothingness the man swings the door shut. The sudden movement drives a dull pain through his head from the back to the front.

Alan picked through the handful of flavors of M&M’s unsure whether to get the ones with peanuts at the center. Or the ones that boasted the ‘limited time’ flavors that ranged and fillings that ranged from mint to pretzel. Dani seemed to be decidedly uninterested in anything chocolate and painstakingly surveyed her options of Nerds, Mike and Ike’s, and other candies that always seemed to be made up of the same stuff that glue was made up of. Perhaps that was part of the appeal. It was a tough thing, selecting candy and Alan knew it.

Rough hands push the large plate glass double doors open rolling cool air over his face. It feels good. He looks to the cashier in effort to pass an obligatory smile, but the kid could care less. The man frowns, but manages to keep his personal opinions to himself. He travels the spotless linoleum floors tracking the endless rotation of fluorescent light to the Beer Cave at the back of the store. It is then that he realizes that his thoughts about the cashier were not restrained by moral fortitude, but by the sickly sweet bile rising up the back of his throat. If he spoke, he would most definitely vomit.

“Can I get two?” Dani asked, her words stressed with the want of a child. Alan looked to her with a face that was trying to be stern.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He said, “I heard once that…sugar makes kids…bounce off the walls.” Dani’s face slumped in disbelief, yet a smile crept to the corner of her mouth.

“Dad…”

“What?” Alan chided, “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, hun.”

“I won’t. Please?” She pointed to a green box, “I don’t know what these are, but I want to try them.”

“Then get them.”

“But I…” Dani paused abruptly in effort to gather her thoughts. “What if I don’t like them?”

Alan shrugged. His movements were large and comical. The man’s shoulders drew up to his ears and his lips are pursed pressing dimples into his cheeks. Dani sighed, shifting her gaze from her father to the shelf unsure of what to do. Alan laughed, charmed by blatant confusion she bear.

“Yeah, hun. Just don’t tell your mom aright? If you do she’ll put me in time out and she always forgets who she puts in the corner.”

“Yes!” Dani exclaimed pumping her fist in a tight and powerful motion. She grabbed the green box from the shelf before sprinting down the isle towards the installment of industrial grade freezers on the back wall. Alan smiled in her wake, he liked to see her happy. This way too, he could skimp out on the overpriced movie theater candy. It always cost an arm and a leg.

“Really don’t tell her, Dani!”

“I won’t daddy.” Dani swung around the corner at full speed like a racehorse on crack wildly pumping her arms in the way that young children do.

From behind him there is the pitter-patter of feet, so loud and piercing. The man feels the bitterness of reproach begin to rise thick from his stomach. Choose one. Get out, he thinks. Choose one. Harsh white fluorescents beam down. Get out. Today his taste is different, today it is sour.

Dani took the isle at a trot. She stopped at the mid point of the shelf and continued to look through the candy. Together they were perfect reflections of one another moving in absolute synchronization. Dani chose her favorite candy of all, Hot Tamales. Dani grabbed the box and ran back around to the other side of the shelf, this time going up and around the front of the store. All the while the Hot Tamales and the mysterious new candy shook violently in their boxes imitating rain.

He thoughtfully surveys the legions of Pabst Blue Ribbon, Miller Lite, Coors Lite, and Heineken. Then he smells it. Through the fog of intoxication comes the recognition, slow like the pressure one gets in their ears with a descent from a higher elevation. It is the smell of youth sweet and fair. The smell that only a girl can have.

A lump is in his throat, his vision verges on double, and the bile in his throat takes on the substance of glue. It can’t be her. He knows this. He also knows that he is drunk, but not that he is one.

So, he pulls open the freezer (it’s blue jut like the box says, tastes like dirt) and chooses the Pabst Blue Ribbon. It doesn’t matter what he choose, he thinks. What matters is that he leaves this place and that he leaves it soon.

“Stop running you goon. You’ll fall or something. These floors look slippery.” Alan smiled at Dani showing his straight white teeth. “Did you find it? The one you were looking for?”

“Yep!”

“Good, we’re gonna be late.” Dani pointed her index finger, and erected her thumb to form what she had recently learned was a gun. Her eye clamped shut and she giggled as she made a clicking sound with her mouth.

“Let’s blow this joint.”

From his pocket comes exact change for his purchase. The cashier thanks him in the shallow, careless way that all cashiers are taught to do. The man stands rooted to the floor long after the conclusion of his purchase, haggard. He understands this but only marginally as the boil of anxiety has cinched his chest so tight that from him only comes the metallic sheen of sweat and the strength from his knees.

The pair made there way to the register.

“Do you want to pay this time?” Alan asked with disguised hesitation, because he knew that she would, but wished that she wouldn’t. Only big kids paid for their things.

“Yep. Yep.” Dani said. She looked at he father to see if he really meant it. Paying for things is one of her favorite things to do. He meant it.

“Alright,” Alan reaches into his right side butt pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Cash or credit?”

“Cash!”

“Okay, let’s see.” The two stopped for a moment as Alan guestimated the total amount needed to pay for the candy. Confident that he was close he handed Dani five one-dollar bill and a five-dollar bill. Dani took the money excitedly and practically burst in to dance.

“Thanks, daddy!” Alan nodded in response, but she was already gone. He almost laughed at the expression of the cashier who looked weary as she approached skipping.

The parking lot opens up to him as he nearly staggers out of Q’s Market. A feeling flushes its way through his body loosening his bowels as he approaches the Rav 4. He climbs in and flips the engine.

“Hey buddy,” said Alan as he placed the items on the checkout counter. The young man behind the counter nodded curtly.

“Will this be all?” The attendant asked, his words catching just a little.

“Yes sir.”

“Okay, your total will be,” The attendant looked to the display reading the amount, then off past the wall of plate glass windows that housed the dingy double door entrance. Alan followed the young man’s gaze to see a gaunt older man staggering towards his car.

“How much is it?” Dani asked. The attendant snapped back to reality and smiled at her.

“Sorry. Your total is seven dollars and eighty-seven cents.”

Dani smiles and looked down to her pile of dirty green dollar bills. Alan watched ready to step in and help, but he also ready to let her try it herself. She studied the bills carefully.

“Um, I have ten.” Dani said. The attendant smiled.

“Hun, you have five ones and a five dollar bill. Forget the change, how many whole dollars do you have to give him?” Alan asked gently. He could see the cogs turning in her head. Dani looked up to the display.

“Seven.”

“Good, so give him seven of those dollars.” Dani counted seven dollars from the stack and handed them over. “Now, how many cents are in a dollar?”

“Sixty.” She replied immediately.

“Close…” Said the attendant, his patience remarkable. Dani was quiet for a minute.

“One hundred.” She answered.

“There you go!” Dani looked back to the display and looked back to the money.

Hangovers are bad, he thinks as streams of sweat crawl down his face. The man also thinks that today he will die if he doesn’t get away from this tiny store of the interstate.

His mind thunders…

Dani smiled a toothy grin that exposed the pink gum where her teeth were only just growing in. Her teeth had come out later than most of this kids her age. She handed the attendant a one-dollar bill.

“ Thank you,” He replied with a grin of his own. “That was very impressive.” The young man reached over the counter after digging through the change compartment of the cash register. “Your change is thirteen cents.”

Dani opened hand, palm flat out. Her eyes tracked the coins like they were the most beautiful treasure. She looked to her father with her lip sucked in. The cashier dumped the little coins into her hand. Her eyes bubbled with joy.

“Thank you, have a nice day.” Alan said with an appreciative smile.

“Yeah, you too.”

Dani and Alan left the store and entered into the early summer.

You WILL be caught…and they will take you this time…THEY. (Gray cement walls and tiled floors shiny with pubic hair and soap) WILL. (Testosterone, close quarters, sharp edges) TAKE. (Swollen eyes, red irritation and blood, flesh) YOU. (Board games with missing pieces, pockets outturned, the cold smell of body odor, second hand books, and gruel, and hands rough around the edges)…

Follow your nose.

The two climbed into the car. Alan turned on the A/C full blast and checked the time. Dani, who is too young to sit in the front, climbed into the back seat and buckled in. Curious about that man he had seen from the checkout counter. Alan tapped his fingers along the driver’s side door, then walked out into the parking lot. Maybe he needed help, Alan thought. However, by the time Alan went to look the rusted SUV was already gone. Only Alan and Dani remained, parallel to what could only be the cashier’s car, which rippled with gaseous heat waves.

“Daddy we’ve got to go,” yelled Dani from inside the car. She had rolled her window down.  Alan opened her door determined to buckle her himself. He pulled the length of the belt from the wall until it refused to extend any further, Thoughtfully, he led the belt back into its mounting so that the belt sat tight, but not too tight, across her chest.

“Ready?” He asked excitedly. Dani nodded. The next thing she knew they were on the interstate headed into town.

See

Short stories are hard. I said something like this in my post about my short film White Room and I don’t think that I could have said anything more true. For this website I wanted to dabble in all of the mediums of entertainment that I find enjoyable. My first post was about making a film, my second was about writing music for a film, and my latest is about my writing short stories and other forms of fiction. The truth is that I am a sucker for a good story. I really mean that. Stories are my  favorite teachers and I find satisfaction in the fact that they can teach me things about life that others cannot, despite their trying.

Although it may not be the best idea to rely so heavily on the dramatizations of life. I think that everyone has something to say and it is in literature and film that the best things are said.  Case and Point: Battlestar Galactica, Twin Peaks, The Green Mile, and even the Darth Bane trilogy all have impressive commentaries on the things that really matter in life. So, here is something I crafted for you, perhaps you’ll see the metaphor or maybe you’ll see something else. I only hope that you enjoy it as much as I do. 

P.S. Read this one line for line, it is not built for speed.

See:

It is dark. The air is clean and cool. You are alone and around you, far in the distance, are sparkling points of light. Each of which looks as though some unfathomable giant took a great big needle and pierced the black about you like a cloth. Casting narrow shafts of white down from the holes that hang at the edge of the Ether.

Below you is nothingness. You float there in the vast nothingness of night. Its waters lap against your body. Where it embraces you in the most gentle caress at the cheekbones and the bottom of your lip. Far from your thoughts you can feel the dry stretch of your toes, which jut from the waters surface like archipelago. And in your ears you can hear the sounds of the creature that twists its way through the depths below. It is a low and glassy sound that moves through you as it moves through those dark and depthless waters.

On the surface there are no signs of the life that slinks beneath you. Though if it were to rise, to breathe deep the crisp air, then surely there would be a wave, no. A mountain of water, cold and dark, would rush down to meet you. Hungry for your now soggy loosened flesh and starving for the oxygen in your lungs.

So, you tread softly with your weak arms and legs. You tread so softly that you feel as if you will soon be sinking. And yet, it sees you there suspended in that dark and viscous liquid. Made heavy by the panic that arises in your chest.

Then you feel it.

You feel the beast twitch upwards, towards the water’s even surface, and a low groan escapes from deep within your throat. It is an involuntary sound that makes its way into the empty space outside of you.

From the water it comes, sailing its bulk through the air with the crushing distortion of a rogue wave wrapping itself around a lighthouse in an storm. Jaws open and then close around your naked sounds. Worrying their distress with its nodule tongue, the beast tastes them for substance and context, as it descends to the waters still surface.

Then you wait.

You wait for the air to grow damp and the roar of thunder to rip through the dark waters once more. You wait for the grip of that frigid tidal wave to pull you towards its summit. For its dull fingers to lift you into the black sky where you hope that you will be gifted with a solitary moment of relief. A moment where the anxiety that you feel, which is now in your head, will dissipate. You wait, for when that moment will end and all of that cold fluid will devour you and crush your bones with thousands more pounds of barometric pressure than you are able to physically withstand. Your hair will rip from your scalp, your teeth will rupture from their sockets, and your heart will collapse. Anguish escapes you, this time it comes from your stomach, in hitched breaths and animal sounds. Screams…it is a scream that you hear, guttural and violating, until there is nothing left outside of you and everything you hear has turned to white noise.

Yet, there is nothing. No waves, or mountains moved against you.

But see:

Here it comes again.