"Yo, Nick."

"What's up?" he called back from outside my office.

"What do you think of my new suit?"

He opened my door and looked me up and down. Trying to suppress a smile, he said, barely holding in his laugh, "Ya look great."

Happy with my life choices, I turned around in the mirror. "You sure it doesn't make my butt look big?"

"That's the least of your worries, my friend."

"I wanted to do something special for the year anniversary of Pen to the Paper, which is coming up pretty soon. Pen to the Paper 13 marks a whole year of Pen to the Paper contests. And, quite frankly, I'm excited to see the crowd and the works it brings in."

"Well, I think you definitely chose the proper outfit. Why 13 though? Shouldn't it be 12?"

"No, the first one was set up wrong. The first proper challenge was Pen to the Paper 2, which I created the same day as the original and is the true first. Or, at the very least, same week."

"Wouldn't 14 be a whole year?"

"That's the start of season 2 of Pen to the Paper. 13 is like December is to January, or the season finale, if you get what I mean. I'll be doing something special for both."

Nick and I talked for a few more minutes. After he left, I changed out of my super-special, super-secret suit and got dressed in my typical Pen to the Paper suit: white jacket, blue pants. I adjusted my grey bow tie, which I finally taught myself how to tie, and wiped some fuzz off of my sky blue shirt. "Spiffy."

Running my hand through my hair, which was too short after telling my barber the wrong number for the clipper size, I ran myself through the list of winners once more.

Nick knocked on the door. "It's time!" he called.

"Thanks, mi amigo."

"Just doing my job."

Not in a rush, as I was finally prepared when it was time for the announcement, I walked towards stage.

Squeak! Squank! Squink! Squonk!

"Weird. I don't remember my shoes being this squeaky," I said into the microphone as I walked towards center stage.

Squeak! Plop!

The crowd gasped in horror as I slipped and fell: then I wasn't anywhere to be seen! From the V.I.P. section, Dance and Chadwick ran up to the stage to investigate. They stared in disbelief at what they found. No holes in the floor, no me, just a bunch of car oil covering the floor.

The audience let out another gasp.

"Look!" someone called.

"Up there!" said another audience member. Slowly, I lowered from the ceiling on a cable.

Chadwick and Dance returned to their seats, slightly angry with me for pulling off such a stunt.

"Is your blood pumping now!? Who's ready for some announcements!" I called.

Cheering, hooting, and hollering erupted from the crowd.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!

"In third place, we have a random rant by OllieOctopus. It was quite the interesting rant, and very much deserving of its third place ranking!

"Now, second and first place were very difficult to choose between. Both were absolutely incredible! And I applaud both of you for writing such masterpieces. With that being said, I must choose who places where.

"So, in second, we have… may I get a drum roll, Nick?"

The curtain behind me dropped to reveal Nick at a drum set.

"In second… we have… Haunting Memories by GLD! Chilling, I must say. Beautiful. And, to quote Helena, 'intriguing.' You did an amazing job, my friend, and I always look forward to seeing from you in these challenges!

"Our first place winner is… Sanjana_S with her work The Power of Greed!!!"

The audience erupted, giving their congrats to the winner.

"It was amazing. Beautiful, well written, and I agree with Dance: the rhyme scheme was great!

"Thank you, every last one of you, for coming out this afternoon! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and I'll see you next month!"

A single drop of rain,

falling, gliding,

twisting, stopping,

turning.

How special;

oh, so fragile.

A single tear,

clinging to the eye,

afraid of leaving,

falling, sliding,

until its salt creases lips.

Bittersweet,

oh, so lonely.

Each different,

with a sadness.

Each touched

by the hand of life,

learning hope.

How curious.

Oh, so quiet.

Samiya! Samiya! Where are you?!

The young woman shot up in her bed, sweat acting as the glue for her hair to stick to her forehead. Her affrighted big, brown eyes flitted from one side to the other of the small studio apartment.

Shadows played in the space, enjoying their freedom to frolic before the sun shone through in all its strength.

She inched backwards, pressing her back against the bed's cold, hard headboard. The covers and blankets were pulled backwards with her, her hands scrunching up the material as she tried to garner some comfort from the ghostly sheets.

She stared in front of her, not noticing her living space anymore; her eyes were replaying those oh-so-familiar scenes which she couldn't place into her past. She didn't know where she saw all the death and destruction. Or...

She shuddered, tears streaking across her cheeks, but no sniffs or sobs heard. She would rather know that she dreamt of what happened instead of what might happen.

Her eyelids shut close, hiding the scared brown pools. Immediately, a face appeared from the black void.

His brown eyes laughed at her, the twinkle unmistakably mischievous.

His mouth was wide and friendly; he was laughing at her. His copper skin glowed in the light of a sunny day, but the heat couldn't scorch away his joy.

She could see only him in the middle of the pitch black background, but she somehow felt the sun falling on her and the breeze blowing past her. It ruffled his black hair; he shoved a hand through the messy strands, and she could suddenly hear herself: "You need to cut it! Hair doesn't get shorter by itself."

"Yes, dear," he mocked with a wink, before laughing and then turning to run. He disappeared into the void, and the sun and breeze left with him.

Her eyes shot open again, and met the same sight as every other morning. A minimalistically-designed studio apartment. She felt caged in, but the sun was only starting to light up the sparse space with golden rays. It was still too early to open her windows and allow in the morning breeze.

She stretched out her legs, grimacing at the stiff muscles. Pulling back her legs to her chest, she rested her chin on her knees. She stared at her toes, allowing her thoughts to run away with her again.

This couldn't be how life was supposed to be...So sheltered and caged in. But, she certainly didn't wish for a life of war and fighting either. She just wished for freedom.

Freedom comes at a price, Samiya. She shook her head, but recognized the words as being uttered by the voice of the stranger from her dreams.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her nose scrunching up as she halted her next flow of tears. "Why do you haunt me?"

A breeze swept over her. Her head shot up, fear clutching her heart in its cold claws. She plunged towards the foot of the bed, tumbling over it to the ground. Pressing her body to the ground, she crawled into the little space she had left for herself, the rest of the space underneath the bed closed up to allow nobody sight of the hiding space.

She shut the small door with her toes, stretching her body to spill into the space to the top of her head. She lay still, her eyes now awake and focused, her ears paying attention to the slightest of sounds. She shivered at the haunting cry of an anguished young man, but she knew that it wasn't really being called from within her apartment.

"Samiya! Samiya! Where are you?!"

At Baker’s Townhouse – 9:30 p.m.

The car slowly made its way down the fairly well-lighted street, looking for a parking space. In doing so, Claire spotted the unmarked car again.

“Dear me. I was afraid of this. Doesn’t matter. A couple well-placed shots will take care of them. They won’t stop me from finally destroying Baker!”

Checking her jacket pockets, her fingers curled over her gun. In her other pocket was her Emerson knife, finely honed, and in that darkest of nights it would cast off a blinding glare.

Leaving her car, her right hand inside the pocket clutching the gun, she walked toward the car, as if she were out for an evening stroll. As she was even with the passenger side door, she faced them, and pulled her gun, firing several times, shattering glass.

The two men didn’t have time to react. The rookie, Eddie Barkley, died instantly. Larry Addams, caught a bullet to the chest, and like Eddie, one to the face.

No one heard the muffled shots.

That’s what they make silent suppressers for.

Just Twenty Minutes Before

It’s time. Time to end it all.

I am so excited, sweet Janis.

I hope you will be when you see me.

Really see me through your dead eyes.

Here I come.

Baker’s Townhouse – 9:45 p.m.

“Thanks for the call, Ed. Yes, I’m fine, really. Everything is dandy. I swear, the phone’s been like Grand Central tonight. First Stevie, then Rodgers, then Captain Todd, and now you. I’ll be in the office, Monday. Yeah, things are nice and quiet here. See you in the light.”

Baker hung up, and just that quickly her phone rang again.

Baker rolled her eyes saying, “Now who’s calling.”

Lifting the phone to her ear, she said, “Baker.”

All she heard were two whispered words and a sigh, then the line went dead.

“sweet Janis.”

9:53 p.m.

Claire walked directly to Baker’s door.

This was the moment she lived for.

Not hesitating, she shot the lock on the door causing it to swing open.

She raced inside just as Baker, hearing the noise, was walking from the kitchen with her cell phone still clutched in her hand from the last call.

“Hello, bitch.”

Baker stopped dead in her tracks. The cell phone slipped from her fingers to the floor unnoticed, with a small thud.

Claire Waynestead stood four feet away pointing a gun right at Baker’s face.

“Let’s you and I not spend much time talking.”

From the pocket where her knife rested, she removed a brand-new package of clothesline, unopened.

“Just turn around and sit in that chair in the kitchen.”

“Claire, you don’t want to do this. If you kill me, you kill a cop. Do you know what that means? It means you’ll be hunted down until you are killed or captured. You will never be able to rest safely in one place ever again.”

“Like I care. Your two cop buddies are already dead, so cop-killing doesn’t matter to me. It’s you that matters. Do you realized you ruined me? You ruined my beautiful body! The scars on my beautiful stomach are your fault, and I’ve come to give you my paybacks. Trust me, bitch, I so want to do this!

“Now sit your ass in that chair before I lose it completely and just shoot you where you stand!”

Claire cocked the hammer back and tightened her finger on the trigger. “I said turn the fuck around and SIT DOWN!”

As Baker did so, she felt a stabbing pain in her skull, then darkness reigned supreme. Ten minutes went by before she regained consciousness.

“I am so going to enjoy this; do you know that? I am going to pop out your eyes first. I want to hear you scream. Then I’m going to slice off your tits. Where you’ll be going, you won’t need them. Then I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. This should be interesting.

“While you were out, I went to my car and came back with this.”

On the counter was a five-pound bag of dry concrete mixture, already opened. Next to Baker’s feet sat a bucket, with the compound already mixed with water and ready for use.

“Claire, you really are insane. You won’t go back to the asylum this time. You’ve just bought yourself the death penalty.”

“Who cares? It won’t be you who makes that happen, now will it!”

She looked at the mixture.

“I’m going to force-feed that down your throat, but not before I peel away a few inches of your face. You will suffer, bitch! It’s a promise.”

10:05 p.m.

Once again, he was back on Baker’s street.

As he parked his car, he smiled, remembering the sudden intake of air Baker made when he whispered her name over the phone.

Leaving his car, he was prepared to kill the two policemen watching her home. As he came upon them, he saw both were slumped over, both shot in the face.

Something was terribly wrong. Someone is out to steal his glory. He rushed to Baker’s door, saw it was wide open. He reached for his Bowie knife, the blade glistening.

He carefully walked inside, and his eyes darted about, first the living room and then the kitchen. It was there he could see sweet Janis’ back, and then, Claire Waynestead.

Claire looked up at him just as she was about to cut out Baker’s eyes before she would ruin her face. Baker was unconscious because she spit on Claire’s face, and Claire hit her with the barrel of her gun.

Claire reached back for her gun she placed on the kitchen counter.

Bowie knife already in his leather=gloved hand, he threw it full force as her hand filled with the gun. The knife struck full-thrust into her forehead to the hilt. Claire managed to fire one shot, but the bullet went wide of him and imbedded in the wall next to the door.

Claire lay face up on the tile floor, eyes staring at nothing. Freddy was about to retrieve his prized possession when he had a better idea. After all, he had over a dozen Bowie knives.

He rummaged around until he could find a pen and piece of paper and scrawled out another note in the same style handwriting no one could pinpoint to his real identity.

sweet Janis,

First, I am not responsible for the two dead officers. That falls on whoever that crazy woman was I killed, for trying to kill you. I couldn’t let her do that; you understand. Killing you is reserved for me alone.

I came here tonight expressly for that reason. But tonight, tonight I let you live; only because saving your life, gratified my desire for someone to die tonight, and oddly as this may be it really wasn’t murder, was it? I saved your life. A reversal of self-defense if you will.

You owe me one. You can keep the Bowie knife as a gift (I have others), but this one was my favorite.

Be well, sweet Janis. I will, I promise, see you again.

P.S. She was about to pluck out your eyes as I came in, so I thought, since I’m here, why not take hers. And hers, I won’t return.

Until next time, sweet Janis.

Freddy

He walked over to where a landline phone hung from the kitchen wall and dialed 911.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“You can trace calls directly to its location from where you are, correct?”

“Yes, sir. What seems to be the problem?”

“I don’t have a problem, but the owner does. Oh, and you may want to send a couple of ambulances, too. It’s a little messy both in and outside the house.”

“Sir, please; can you be a bit more specific?”

Silence.

He let the phone hang from the wall, walked over to Baker, and he tilted her head back and gave her a fleeting kiss on the lips. Then he was out the door and gone.

Ed’s Apartment

Saturday – January 6th – 9:30 a.m.

Baker stepped out of his bathroom and walked gingerly into his small kitchen built for one. Looking around, she didn’t see anything to indicate Ed was an untidy person, which was a relief for her.

After last night, she didn’t need any more surprises.

Ed made sure she was given priority attention at the hospital, and then refused all of her “No’s”, about not spending at least the night at his place. At least until her townhouse was no longer a crime scene, and she had a brand-new door to be installed.

Captain Todd said he would rush things along as much as he could, but he also advised her that it would be in her best interests to move to an undisclosed location where only those people who needed to know, would know where she lived.

But her being her, she refused to move.

Seeing the coffee was made, she set herself up with a cup. Ed was walking into the kitchen to greet her.

“Morning, Baker. Feeling better?”

“Other than twenty stitches in my scalp from Claire banging me in the head; about as good as can be expected. You?”

“Never better now that the boss is living with me.”

“Yeah, well don’t get too comfortable with that thought. It’s only for the weekend.”

Ed put his coffee cup down.

“I thought since you have the weekend off, and so do I, maybe we could do a few things together that doesn’t require a badge and a gun.”

“And what would that be?”

“We could do lunch somewhere, maybe a movie, and the circus is in town. My treat.”

Baker flashed back to the note Ed had gotten in the parking lot. Does he really like me? He is a nice-looking man, and he has the most incredibly piercing blue eyes. But he’s my partner, co-worker for heaven’s sake. It wouldn’t work, not in a billion years.

Sipping her coffee, her head still throbbing from the injury Claire gave her, she winced slightly when her lips parted. Her lip was split open when Claire knocked her unconscious for spitting in her face. She couldn’t remember anything about the eye.

Her mind slipped back into police mode.

“Ed, you don’t suppose he really will try to come back after me, do you? I don’t think it will be easy for him next time to get to me as it was last night.”

“Ja, er, Baker, I wouldn’t worry about him right now. I don’t think he’s going to make any sudden appearances for a while, not after all this. Besides, we don’t need to rehash this right now. Let’s deal with this weekend and just enjoy ourselves.

“Just do me a favor, Baker.”

“What pray tell, would that be?”

“If you decide to say yes, put these sunglasses on.” He slid a pair of his Ray-Ban’s to her. “Don’t take them off, either. I don’t want to have to explain your black eye all day.” He smiled.

Maybe he does like me after all. No push, no shove. Let’s see how things go.

“You’re treat, huh?”

Ed nodded.

“You’re on.”

There's a knock at the door...

I keep my book aside,

the coffee still smells warm...

Passing by the mirror

I look up...

There's a fine crack,

which runs from corner to corner

I shiver, unconsciously...

The fire at the hearth dying,

the knock repeats...

I push open the ebony

There's a dreary winter drizzle

The murkiness clings to me...

The black in the sky dilutes like tea leaves in a boiling pot...

The lightening reflects the streaks of silver standing on my threshold,

She greets me like an old friend, "Hi Sasha"

Uncanny familiarity jolts me out of myself...

Yet, I can't seem to find her in the dusty crevices

I ask her, "Do I know you?"

"I know you, though we last met twenty years ago"

My eyes, bewildered search her face,

Her honey brown orbs suck me in...

The lines more obvious as she crinkles-

It feels like a search for Self...

Another bolt across the sky

And everything freezes...

No sound of the raindrops falling

Or the rustling of the leaves...

The mad rush around or inside, All Still.

Purple ether suspended...

I look at her pale hands...

The swollen purple veins like the banyan roots above ground

She passes me a curious teak box...

A dial on its lid...suffocated time reflects the glint

I see a crack from corner to corner...

Suddenly, the box feels heavier

The rain comes alive...the dial ticks...tocks...

The deafening seconds passing

The woman, nowhere in sight.

The chilled drops on my face shake me up from stupor

Was she even real?

The piercing honey browns burn in my memory...

It can not not be real.

Yes! the evidence, I was holding on to it...

Could it be pirate's gold inside?

Or was it witch wand?

If not, a beating heart?

I unbolt the box with shaking hands...

There lies a fragile discoloured diary.

Old and dreary, like the sky outside

The cover reads 2020...

I hesitate...and flip the first leaf

There it is...which I never asked! The name of the owner-

I blow on the dusty page...the antique smell pulling me in...

It amuses and flusters me, we both share the same name-

There, written in caps S-A-S-H-A

Another leaf, it reads in the middle 'REGRETS'

I close the diary or perhaps my eyes...

As the day clears the next morning...

It's a different world, greener, purer-

There's an enlightened dormancy in the air...

My footsteps pull me to a decaying bookstore...

Even the air around smells time-worn

I look through the glass window...

Struck again by that similar familiarity...

There it lies, the diary with pink camellias...cover reads 2020-

Just bereft that dust and mould.

As I try to look closer, the shine blinds my eyes...

I squint. See...a crack on the window from corner to corner.

I sit in the balcony, watching the goblet dim...

It all turns hazy, as a tear drop falls on the diary-

On the page, it reads 'SASHA', ink still not dry...

Gets adorned with a purple capillary...

My regrets

coating souls

crushing weight

struggling torso

blackened remorse.

Can’t

fling it off.