the most scary things

are usually the most ordinary

being left behind

is one of my most treasured monsters

- Eleonore

I stand there for a longer while, my body so stiff and tight that it resembles a bizarre granite sculpture, my eyes staring at the setting sun until the sky outside the window turns completely dark, heavy clouds bringing rain that falls down to the hectic, busy streets, while my mind wanders around two unexpected conversations I had. My eyebrows furrow tightly together at the fact that I could still be stunned by the things happening in my life. It seemed I had seen it all, stepping on the shaky grounds of grief and supernatural elements blending so deeply into my existence. And yet the ordinary events tended to still catch me off guard. I think as Charlie's voice still echoes in my head, his gentle stare on me as he shared the news with me just the day before. I have been so occupied with all the craziness that the mundane facts and situations started to acquire a magical ability to blur out from my mind. I gaze at the street below, my eyes following the reckless people who decided to engage the chill of the evening that has become way too eager to earn the Winter title before the calendar could - and groan slightly as my brain replays the conversations I had never planned to have.

With everything going on, I forgot to tell you before. You will be pleased to hear that Mrs. Wilson is doing better, and her doctor officially signed her out yesterday. With her age and physical state, she will still need help getting around, but I also know the daughter already made arrangements for a part-time home nurse who will be checking up on her, assisting her with anything she needs, and making sure she regularly eats and gets stronger.

I remember blinking several times before I could utter any reasonable response, watching his hands gesture with enthusiasm by the cafeteria table as he reported the hospital newsletter to me.

She left?

My question seemed a bit hollow as something tightened in my chest, invisible weights making me sink deeper into the red plastic chair I was sitting on.

She was signed out because she's doing better.

Charlie corrected me - slowly, patiently, and then frowned, hearing the tones in my voice.

I thought you would be happy for her.

I felt bad for my reaction. I felt bad for still having traces of abandoned issues even after all these years; feeling as if once again I was somehow left behind. It didn't make any sense to react like that, but it was stronger than me. I got so used to Clair being around, safely in the same room and the same bed that her sudden absence caused a small gap in my body, locating itself like several sharp splinters between my ribs, and causing me to shift uncomfortably in the chair. Once again, you got attached, silly girl. I sighed and trambled a bit, frustrated, feeling like a spoiled child - a child who was over-sensitive to the world around her in so, so many ways. I swallowed nervously but managed to put myself together, my embarrassment perspiring through my skin like unwanted sweat.

No, I am happy. Trust me, I am.

Your face seems to contradict your words.

I grimaced slightly, hoping he didn't notice.

Charlie, I'm a complicated paradox, no point in looking too deeply into that pit of despair.

Nora.

Just one word and I heard all the questions he had in his head, and it had nothing to do with my random abilities that appeared whenever they wanted to - besides, my questionable "powers" didn't seem to penetrate his serious-minded, thick skull. Not that it actually worked on command at any time, it was more a case of someone wanting to share thoughts or feelings with me. Well, I didn't think anyone really realized that they left an open door for me; it usually just felt like tuning into a piracy radio station when my antenna hit the right wavelength, most times by pure accident. I remember getting lost in all those speculations until being abruptly brought back when I finally noticed Charlie's stare losing its tolerance for the extended silence.

You just caught me off guard. I expected her to still be in her room, in her bed.

He looked at me as if scanning me from top to bottom, his expression turning surprised at first, and then softening a bit.

It's because she didn't say goodbye.

It wasn't really a question, more of a statement, and my face very quickly turned into unflattering shades of crimson. I didn't say anything in response. What was there really to say?

It's okay to miss someone. But the important thing is that she's doing better and that Connie and Clair's granddaughter could take her home.

I nodded, knowing that he was right.

She left you something before they left.

He said unexpectedly and pulled something from the front pocket of his beige scrubs. He put a small, yellowed envelope with my name elegantly handwritten on it on the table between us. I thought of Clair's shaky hands and felt that her daughter must have written it for her. With some hesitation, I reached for the envelope, sliding it slowly towards me, feeling a certain weight to it that I was not expecting. I eyed Charlie suspiciously for a moment and then sighed, opening the little rectangle, feeling it was time to finally act like an adult. My eyes grew wider as I fished out a delicate round shape; it was gold and marked with tiny vines and roses on the outside, while the inside held a miniature sign on its surface that took up the entire space of the ring. I narrowed my eyebrows and brought the ring closer to my face until the words came into focus. "May we always bloom for each other under the Autumn sun.". I stared in disbelief at the object in my hand, as if it could burn a hole in my skin.

Her wedding ring??

Even though my voice was barely a croaked whisper, it seemed to bounce off all the walls as if I had screamed the question. Charlie pursed his lips as if holding back a grin and then pointed to the envelope. I watched him without understanding what he meant, until he made a circle gesture, prompting me to turn it around. I did what I was told and gazed at an old-fashioned, more messy, and slightly uneven handwriting.

"Too wide now for my bony fingers anyhow. It will have better use on your hand."

I played around with the ring, shifting it in every direction and watching as the light cascaded beautifully against its surface, staring at it with growing disbelief.

I don't understand. Why would she give this to me, Charlie? Even if the ring was too loose for her fingers, and for some bizarre reason she no longer felt the need to wear it it was her daughter that should be wearing it. Or her grandaughter, or anyone from the family... anyone but me.

He looked at me as if searching for something.

But it's you that she wanted to gifted to.

I shook my head repeatedly gazing at the ring. And then my stare shifted to my name on the envelope making me even more confused as a realization hit me over the head.

And Conne accepted the idea. They both did.

Slowly, I looked up at Charlie, and he nodded calmly.

It's what they decided, and that's that. "No returns, I'm afraid." Connie's words, not mine.

He smiled at me gently, and I caved in, slouching against the chair and feeling that there was no more reason to fight against the current. I opened my hand carefully and slid it on the second finger of the left hand; it fitted perfectly. I inhaled deeper, knowing exactly and painfully what the golden band represented, and quickly moved it to my other hand.

Why would she do it, though?

My eyes met Charlie, and he shrugged.

Sometimes, there is no reason to dig too deeply, Nora. Just like you said before.

His eyes stayed on me for a while, and then he reached for my hand and took it, his thumb sliding against the ring.

You opened your heart to her, and so did she. And this is her stating it.

I felt emotions well up in me, feelings like slushing waves moving against my stormy core, my gaze fogging up as tears quickly filled my eyes. I took away my hand from his and stared at the golden band as if it held all the answers I was searching for.

You really think so?

I don't think it. I know it. And because they predicted your responses, Connie left their home phone number. Would you like it?

He unblocked his phone and after a few seconds, showed me the number on the screen. I grabbed his phone without asking and quickly stood up.

I need a moment.

He nodded, not surprised, and returned to his meal, leaving me to my own doings. I walked away to the big windows that occupied the entire south wall of the cafeteria and stared outside at nature's grey, ugly weather manifest while the ringing sounds filled my ears - tapping my foot as the waiting time seemed to outstretch mercilessly.

The current Wilson and O'Reley residence. How can I help?

An amused, young voice answered, and even though I never met her personally, I knew exactly who it was.

Ah yes... yes. Is Connie around? I mean, Mrs. O'Reley. Sorry.

May I ask who this is?

Eleonore. She knows me from the hospital.

Oh, so you're the tribute volunteer who brought my grandmother back to the land of living, huh?

It seems so. Yes.

I said in my standard awkward way, a tone that usually appeared when I didn't have an actual idea what my game plan was. Cheers to being hot-headed and irrational.

Well, in that case, she just might be around for you. We give miracle workers extra points in this family.

She stated in a still amused tone, but I could tell there were additional emotions and unconcealed gratitude in her voice. I could almost feel the warm energy flowing from her and into my body. It was both a comforting and a surreal feeling to experience. After a moment of silence on the line, I heard a muffled cacophony of shouted questions and answers that led to a low clicking sound.

Eleonore, dear. It's good to hear from you.

Connie sounded slightly out of breath as if she was rushing through many flights of stairs and it made me wonder how big their house actually was.

Same here.

I might not have time today for pleasantries as I'm busy in the kitchen, so let's cut to the chase.

A smile formed on my lips as I heard her tones, making me realize how she and her daughter were more alike than they cared to admit.

Yes, ma'am.

I answered shortly with a smile, saluting her in my mind.

I'm guessing it's about the ring and possible arguments about where it belongs. No need, it's right where it's supposed to be. On your surprisingly pale yet very pretty hand. End of discussion.

I figured as much. But Connie... are you sure? I mean, it's an important family heirloom. Wouldn't it be better for one of you?

First of all, I already have my father's ring.

She started, and suddenly, out of nowhere a memory of her in the hospital struck me, an image of her playing around with a delicate golden necklace with a round, thick band and a tiny cross filling my mind.

But...

And eventually, it will be my daughter's as well. There, problem solved. Am I making myself clear enough?

Her tone was strict and not to be disputed with. I took a deeper breath and said with a resigned tone, knowing I would be beaten and disarmed whatever argument I would use.

Crystal.

Good, perfection. Now, I'm guessing that the other reason for your call is that you missed my mother, the terrorist. A retired one, but still active in her position.

Yes, that as well.

Well, I'm happy to report that for a woman her age she is doing a bit better every single day. We still have our ups and downs but she is definitely more vocal about her needs and demands. I think it's what keeps her going: her well-equipped military qualities. Thankfully, you were never fooled by her delicate exterior and know that our family has their personal general to our display. Not that we have any choice in the matter.

Connie's gentle chuckles carried to my ears, and I was stunned at how much she had changed since I met her, never before being a witness to such a flow of words from her.

But she's a good general to be around.

I could feel softness fill me up as the words left my mouth, love, and care moving around under my skin and reaching the deepest part of my being. And I knew that Connie heard it too.

She loves you, Eleonore. I do not doubt it.

I could hear her taking a bigger breath, her strong emotions mixing with mine into one combined organism, making me lean my forehead against the cafeteria window for some support, my fingertips leaving prints on the glass, my hand trembling as the cool surface seemed to penetrate my skin right to the bone.

And you have saved her in more ways than one. You saved our family when we needed it the most.

I didn't do much. I just read to her and... listened to the silent grief when she couldn't find words.

I couldn't tell her that I listened to her mother's memories as if they were scenes in a movie. I couldn't tell her that I took her pain in the best way that I could and cradled it until its weight was smaller, and the edges of her sorrow less sharp before I placed it delicately back into her frail arms, repeating it every time I set by her bedside or held her hand. I didn't even realize I was doing it until the ache I felt from her became less heavy, less suffocating. I think that cradling her sorrow and pain helped me deal a bit with my own, healing things in me that I never dared to touch myself. We helped each other in more ways than I could count. And I knew deep down that she brought me strength too. It never ceased to amaze me how two bruised and broken souls could bring light into each other's lives that they lacked on their own.

That was enough. That was enough for her to come back and let us in again after being closed off for so long. We finally got her back.

Connie said in a hushed, slightly muffled voice, and I felt all the unspoken words and feelings that hid underneath, random tiny flashes of visions filling my mind as if delicate butterflies with golden fluttering wings. Memories. Most of them appeared and quickly vanished before I could even fully register them but one lingered long enough for me to hold it gently in my hands. A little girl with fair hair holding her mother's hand as a tall man came back home from work - the soft light of the golden hour surrounding him in amber hues of the setting sun as he walked towards them... I only saw the outlines of his silhouette but I knew him. I knew them all. At that moment waves of love cascaded down my entire body, circulating in my bloodstream and nestled in my chest, filling it with a kind of warmth that every one of us yearns for. I wrapped my free arm around my waist getting lost in the comfort of the memory, and feeling teardrops fall down my cheeks and mark the cool glass.

I know how much you missed her when she closed up on everyone. And I know that for a while it felt like you lost them both. But you didn't.

I said softly, barely stopping myself from speaking the words that filled my heart, blooming like rich luscious vines between my ribs. She loves you, and so does he, I see it in the way he looked at you when he saw your face every time he came back home. That kind of love, it swells up in you, the kind of love that makes you feel safe, so safe that nothing could ever harm you. I felt the words waiting to flow out of me like a rushing river but I held it all in. Almost.

I feel how much Clair loved your father, and there were times when I felt it so strongly that I could nearly touch the love that came from him even though I never had the privilege to meet him in person. But that love... I feel it around you too as if it never left. As if he's still keeping you safe.

A heavy silence fell down between us and instantly I felt angry with myself for not shutting up in time.

I'm sorry, Connie. I shouldn't have said that. Sometimes I just seem to sense more than I should. I can't explain it. Just ignore me and blame it on temporary insanity.

No...

Connie choked out and I shrunk a bit inside of myself feeling all of her emotions ran over me like stampeding wild horses, dust settling everywhere, covering my hair, my clothes, my lungs. Digging me deep into the ground beneath me.

No... no. Thank you. I don't know how you could have possibly known all of that, FELT all of that but... But thank you, Eleonore. Just... thank you.

She broke off and I could hear her cry, sobbing softly into the receiver, holding back the sound of it as much as she could as if not wanting to worry her daughter or anyone else in the house. I felt the blend of pain and relief cascade out of her, washing over the wounds that were left there after her father was gone. It felt almost as if my words brought him closer to her again, as if at that moment he had joined her for one more warm embrace. And I saw it in my mind. I saw her surrendering into that embrace, I watched her come back home after a very long time. And it wasn't until I felt Charlie's gentle and supporting hand on my shoulder and gazed at my own reflection in the window that I realized it wasn't just Connie's sobs on the other side of the line that I was hearing. No, they were mine as well, streaking down my face in a rushing, overwhelmed way. I didn't turn back to him, just watched his eyes in the glass, as he listened patiently to both my cries and Connie's in my ear, letting us both decompress whatever it was that we had to go through. And we did. Eventually, we said our gentle goodbyes, smiling at the incredible relief that we both felt afterward.

I leaned into Charlie and he let myself sink into him until I found my footing again, until I was once again made of one body and one beating heart, and not two.

_ _ _ _ _

Suddenly, something catches my attention, causing me to return to the present. I stir a bit as the noises of the rain mix with new sounds; a faint vibration of a child's soft snores. I look back at Emily's little body bundled up in a few blankets on a big, comfy sofa, a ridiculous amount of stuffed animals guarding her safety as she sleeps; the blue lights of the TV coloring her delicate, relaxed features. Mmm, babysitting duties while her mother is at a local art gallery, showcasing her newest paintings - rich and wild in color, luscious as one was touching and sinking into a rain forest. Hypnotizing in its power. I was never too aware of how to pursue and take in art in the "right way" but her's spoke to me, it always has and that hasn't changed. My admiration for my best friend and her talents has only grown over the years that I've known her.

I smile and sit down on the sofa next to Emily's petit form, my fingers moving gently through her blond, messy locks that remind me so much of Cara's hair, and gaze at her with wonder. If only I was allowed such rest, such peace - I think and yawn loudly, rubbing my eyes and trying to remember when was the last time I slept more than two hours in a row. The answer doesn't come, too difficult to drag out of the exhausted, dark corners of my mind. Slowly, I shift and roll into a ball next to the little warm body that seemed to always have a soothing effect on me. My own dosage of morphine that did not require stealing or lies. Pure, not yet stained energy that promised to hold back the demons, to restrict the monsters from under the bed even if just for now.

___________________________

This story has proven to be a much longer journey than I have ever anticipated but I still love it every step of the way. Even if often the ride is bumpy and frustrating, it is also extremely rewarding and has let me grow alongside with it. Every time one of my characters evolves and heals, so do I, and I am very grateful for that - even when those characters don't listen to me the way I would like, instead just leave me to follow them and write down their many hilarious, deeply moving and often very bizarre conversations.

So for everyone who still sticks around and checks up on Nora and Charlie, from time to time, THANK YOU, it drives me forward and guides me closer to the finish line, making sure that everything they have to say will be put on paper, and one day will physically earn a place on bookshelves in your homes *the power of manifestation intensifies* :)

I don't suppose I ever actually woke up. The world is harsh, and growing harsher.

I let out a shaky breath, feeling the smoke trace along the roof of my mouth and imagine it rolling over my teeth and into the cold air. For a moment, only a moment, my hands stop shaking.

We left after Felicia shot herself. Her mark is probably still all over the wall in the attic.

It's funny how quickly you adjust to things. I never did. I don't suppose any of us did. But we're still here, so something must have happened. Several of us, anyway.

We lost Mr. Bain some months ago in a shoot-out. Olivia. We left Mrs. Bain behind because she couldn't keep up.

This new world is a harsh and cold one. Always clean up. That's what he told us. Mr. Bain did, after our first fight. Never let the women see them. As if they didn't know. As if they wouldn't see the remnants when they came in behind us. He was an old worlder, where women are sheltered and protected by chivalry and honor. I suspect that world died with him.

"We need to clean up," Rippy states. His voice is devoid of any emotion, as piercing as his killing eyes and the cutting wind. I let out my breath and enjoy feeling it roll out of my mouth. Rippy is of the new world. Women are slower, smaller, and bear just as much of the anvil of life as anyone else. Anything less means death. Apparently, though, he remember's Mr. Bain's words.

I snuff and slip the cigarrete into the tupperware case I store them within and look at the body.

"I suppose we do." Rippy had already dragged anything useful away and takes this moment to cover it in a ragged towel. Blood starts soaking through the thin material immediately.

The body is dead weight between us, limp and jiggly when we drop it in the closet. When we close the door behind us I leave a torn page peeking out from under the door. The women know that means not to enter. Because they know. They see the remnants when they come in behind us. The bottom of the page reads 4.

Victoria got sick about two weeks ago and we all avoided her. At first we hoped it was the radiation but when Jiavanni fell sick as well... They took care of each other as we watched. We didn't have medicine. We barely have food. We brought them what we could but stayed our distance. Yesterday they fell too weak to cry for food; hunger certainly gnawing at their gut. We left them in the night, too.

I go back and switch the page under the door for one that reads 6.

12:55 p.m.

She spent the better part of an hour with Ricky Austin, informing him there may be an attempt on his life.

She found out that he’s married, twin daughters, both twelve, and that his wife, Carol Anne, works at the music shop, ‘Melodies If You Please.’ Neither of them ever were arrested or had so much as a traffic ticket.

Baker informed him there would be a twenty-four surveillance at his home from the time he left for work and from the time he came home. Baker cleared that with one phone call to Captain Todd.

After her interview, she drove to Dianne’s house.

Once she parked the car in the driveway and walked up the front steps to the door, she saw a note attached to it that read: Baker, I’m in the bedroom.

She tried the door. It was unlocked.

Then she thought aloud. “Oh, God! Please, no!”

She ran to the bedroom on the second floor and the first thing she saw were her legs, slightly bent away from each other. Then she saw her right arm bent in close to her chin.

Then she saw the gun resting on her chest.

She quickly rushed inside and looked at Dianne.

No blood.

And breathing.

Baker shook Dianne awake.

Dianne sat up in bed and looked at Baker, her thoughts dulled at first, then she started to cry.

They held onto each other until Dianne’s tears ebbed away.

“I tried, three times. And I made a promise to myself that if I survived, I would do the very best I could with my life without him in it any longer.”

Softly, Baker, holding Dianne’s hands in her own said, “You’ve never, not once in all the time I have known you, have you ever mentioned his name. What was his name.” It came out as a request, not a question.

“I haven’t? Not even once?” Dianne tried to make her smile broader, but it was a struggle.

“His name is Kenneth Allen, but he’ll always be Bear to me. He was a huge man. Almost 380 and 6’10”. Hairy as all get out. That’s why I call him Bear.” She was smiling through the tears that took over again.

All Baker did the rest of the afternoon was listen. She felt deep inside herself, from every word Dianne said; became a reflection of her own life.

Call them kindred-spirits, call them sisters. Call it being a woman and understanding to the root core what losing your soul mate felt like.

1:19 p.m.

Ed heard the call on the radio. Satchell and Devon were enroute.

When he pulled up to the scene, paramedics, the F-Team, and a few other police cars were already there. Satchell was getting information from a distraught, and now widowed wife, Darlene Randall, explaining how she found her husband.

“Satchell?”

“Ed.” He looked at Devon. “Take him inside to the bedroom, Andre.”

Satchell continued his questions, remembering to be subtle in his wording as possible. Mrs. Randall looked as if she might go into shock.

Ed, tagging behind Devon, was following an all too familiar trail.

He stopped at the entrance of the bedroom and stared long and hard.

There he was still. Paramedics were standing off to the side waiting for clearance to remove the body.

Spread eagle on the bed, his throat splayed open. As he came closer, he could see the deep incision like a small X, and the heart removed, and like the last victim, the heart lay on his torso with a piece either torn away or chewed off.

“Just like the last one, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, and this makes it even worse. His death ties into the Meadowood killing somehow. Same M.O.”

“Hey, Ed. What’s doing?”

He turned around.

“Hello, Carl. Same as before, only he’s older.”

“After my team finishes here, I’ll go over everything and see what I can come up with. I see the heart’s either been chewed or torn like the last one. On that last Vic, I did everything I could to bring up something off the markings, maybe this time I can.”

“Appreciate it. Be careful today. Snow is really starting to pile up.”

“Don’t I know it,” replied Carl. “Today would be a good day to stay indoors, mix up a couple of hot totties, set a warm fire, and forget the world out there exists.”

“Nice fantasy. Oh, if you can, try and see if you can get a rundown on that perfumed scent.”

“We’ve tried. It’s sold in just about every store in the country. Nothing special about it, but I’ll have the team run another test on it.”

“Good enough for me. Catch you later, Carl.”

He went back outside and stood on the front porch.

Satchell handed him his notes along with Devon’s. Ed looked them over briefly, then handed them back.

“None of the neighbors heard or saw a thing. Since this happened sometime over the weekend, it could have been someone that knew him, and knew when the neighbors would be away.

“Like maybe at a basketball game.”

“Makes sense. Head on in and file your report. I’m on my way to Findlay’s Garage. I have a few questions for a mechanic there named, Jeffery Collins.”

As Ed drove away, he could see Mrs. Randall, standing by the side of the house in a long black winter coat as the snow clung to it and her hair. She was still crying.

2:55 p.m.

After Ed spoke with Collins, he did all he could do. Just as with Austin, he would apply the same thing with Collins. Surveillance. From time to time, he was home usually until he went to work, then from work to home. Collins couldn’t understand it though.

“Why me? Man, I’m just a mechanic. I ain’t got a ton of bread. I ain’t nobody famous. Why me? I don’t get it.”

When Ed explained what happened years ago, and that his father was involved, and what’s happened since, it started sinking in.

Collins picked up a heavy monkey wrench.

“She gets too close to me, I’ll pop her one alongside her head, is what I’ll do.”

“Mr. Collins, you’ll do no such thing. She may have a gun, sir. We are affording you the best protection we possibly can. Just do your job as you always do, including your personal routine at home, and let us handle the rest.”

What a day, thought Ed. Now that Collins was out of the way, he could concentrate on other things, but as always, the day was far from over.

3:30 p.m.

This time he tried moving a little faster than before.

It was almost like a skip-hop, skip-hop, but he didn’t tell them.

Pretty cool.

What was cooler; he didn’t miss a shot. 60 for 60. The last two in a row were unreal.

Half-court shots.

4:15 p.m.

“Kellie, I have to leave a bit early. There are only four orders to put together. All but one will be picked up by eight this evening. The orders are right by the register.”

“All right, Maureen. I can handle that. Want I should make the bank deposit, too?”

“Yes, if you would, please.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kellie. I’m off to meet a friend. Be careful driving home tonight. They say the roads might ice up.”

“I will, and you be careful, too. Have a fun time. Bye!”

As she walked out the front door into a blanket of heavy snow falling, she slid behind the wheel of her car and thought aloud, “Kellie, if things work right, I’ll have a very good time.”

The Squad Room – 6:12 p.m.

Ed used the Internet and searched out anything on a Justine Grant from twenty-three years ago.

He couldn’t find anything other than Taylor Packard was arrested for the rape and attempted murder of Justine. There weren’t any other names mentioned that were actually involved.

According to statements, Packard was innocent. Grant was paid twenty-five grand to point the finger at Packard. So, if she’s the one committing the killings; tack on giving false testimony somewhere along the line.

We were expecting, hoping, to get something back from the National DMV website as well.

Nothing was showing up. It was as if Justine Grant was nothing more than a ghost. But ghosts can’t kill, right? Right.

Ed spent more time searching through the National Data center for Raped and Exploited Women. It gave a known list of all the names of women from ages ten to seventy-three from that time period, which included nine men brutally beaten and raped by female gang members. Don’t laugh. It happens.

Some names matched pictures. Most didn’t.

Scrolling down, Ed found what he hoped for.

DOB: 06/15/65. WT: 121. HT: 5’5”. Eyes: Green. HAIR COLOR: Mousey Brown.

The information had been recently updated, just not a recent picture.

“’Since 2012, all of Ms. Grant’s attackers have yet been brought to justice. Two have died due to natural causes. We, the staff, and also all the victims of rape and abuse; not only physical, but mentally and emotionally, here at: wonttakeitanylonger.org; understand that after decades of searching, a trail can and often does go cold. We will never stop believing rapists will go unpunished. One day they will get the justice that awaits them.’”

Ed let the words speak loudly in his head. Obviously, somewhere along the line, Justine told someone the truth. But they have no idea justice has finally arrived. Terrible and swift.

Ed highlighted the photo alongside her bio, scrolled down and hit print. It came out as a one-by-one inch shot. Then he went into an artwork program, transferred the picture into the program, resized it enough where it wouldn’t pixel out, and printed two copies. One he would give to a sketch artist to work up a composite for what she may look like today.

The other copy? Come the next meeting in the morning, after checking with his Jan tonight, he would know whether to make more copies for the team or wait.

But tonight, he was done.

7:45 p.m.

Something was wrong. She could feel it.

He was home. Alone like always. Something felt different.

A police car is coming up the street. Keep walking. Wait. The car is stopping next to a dark Chevy.

Dammit! Somehow, they’ve tied it together! But they don’t know. They haven’t figured out it’s me. That’s still my advantage.

But I know Collins work schedule, and Thursday nights, he always works late. I’ll do him there.

What if the cops watch him there?

Then Jeffery Collins may get to live.

I watch the butterflies dance around the oak tree,

Fluttering in and out, with the breath of the breeze.

But if I am silent enough, If the blood stops rushing,

I can feel wind from its wings, like waves in seas.

Let it be silent, in always reminding me,

That the leaves will fall, and I am like the tree.

The flowers are long gone, now I bear fruit.

And as the branches empty, my heart follows suit.

I think back to climbing trees, my knees always scraped

but my hands became strong, holding roses and thorns.

Soon, the butterflies stop dancing, they land one last time,

Falling like leaves, but the tree never mourns.

I suppose it knows, what we would all find out.

That butterflies will be born again, it does not doubt.

But I will sit, in the dead of winter,

And long to feel the tree, this ache much like a splinter.

A dim sun rises, over mountains made of mist,

And we became cold in the rain and dark in our towers.

Until the days become long, they whisper to me,

That the butterflies are dancing again, and I finally have flowers.

"Aren't you going to be late?" I watch Lexi pause packing her backpack to put on lip gloss.

She waves a hand at the table we're standing at--we're advertising the ice skating club--and smacks her lips. "No, I have, like," she checks her watch, "oh crap, I have five minutes to get to class." She grabs her bag. "You'll have to take it from here," she tells me, blowing a kiss.

I make a face at her in response, and she laughs as she dashes across the quad, dodging tables as she goes.

I adjust the flyers on the table in front of me, waiting for the next round of classes to let out and release a new wave of students. There's quite a lot of people here already, seeing as it is the Fall Activities Fest and the weather is nice, but most everyone is attending their own booth. Or they're not interested. Or they're walking by and I haven't said anything.

Moral of the story is I'm not very good at attracting attention. That's Lexi's job.

I pick up one of the ice skates we have on the table. It's for figure skating, and it's Lexi's, so naturally it's coated in glitter. A pile of shimmery dust falls onto the table, and when I set the skate down, I notice it on my hand as well. I try and brush the glitter away, but it just sticks to my palm more.

"So, what club is this?"

I look up and into the face of a boy whose skin is darker than my own. His dreads hang across one of his eyes, and he picks up a flyer off the table, barely looking at me.

"Um, ice skating," I tell him, pointing at Lexis' skates.

He laughs. "Yeah, I thought so." As he meets my eye, though, he tilts his head. "Hey, have we met before?"

I rub my palms together, a nervous laugh coming out of me. I'm staring at a cluster of autumn leaves behind him, getting trampled by a group of freshmen. I think I would've remembered him. "No?"

The freshmen approach, and there's four of them, all blonde girls that probably just came from some sorority table. I can feel the boy's brown eyes watching me as I explain the club to them. He's stepped off to the side, but is listening.

I'm surprised, because most guys won't touch ice skating if it's not hockey. At least, not in a club form.

Two of the girls write down their info on the sign-up sheet, and I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, smiling. Success. Lexi and I promised our club advisor that we'd get a hundred sign ups, which seems very ambitious to me. I think right now we're at thirty.

Make that thirty-two.

The girls drift away, and I look around but the guy from earlier has gone too. I can't say I blame him, looking around at the other tables. Most of the other clubs have cool stuff, like snacks or music or dogs (which is cheating, really) or, in one case, VR headsets. Granted, it is VR club.

The wind blows, and I slap a hand on the fliers before they blow away, but the sign-up sheet, which one of the girls must've pulled out of its clipboard, takes off. I follow it with my eyes as it swirls in the air, a blink of white amongst the orange leaves.

Crap.

I grab Lexi's skate, chuck it on the stack of fliers, and head towards the paper, which just hit someone's ankle but they just kept walking, and now it's under someone's boot, and I almost bump right into someone else, and for a moment I lose sight of it. I stare at the pavement, but it's just crumpled leaves.

"Hey."

It's the same voice, and I startle.

The boy that was at the table before is holding the sign-up sheet, a small smile on his lips. It's enough to make me think he planned this.

"Oh, thanks," I say, but he's not offering me the paper.

He holds it at his side. "It was at Lucky L's, by the way," he says. And those words conjure a flash of images: his dreadlocks, a handful of playing cards, my friend Brie and a bottle of wine.

I press a hand to my eyes, temporarily mortified. Lucky L's, or Lucky Library, is what everybody calls the basement floor of the main student library. It's all archives and study tables and dark corners, and all the upperclassmen have stories of 'getting lucky' down there.

It's a good place to take a break from studying, contrary to other parts of the library, and my friends and I have visited once or twice. Not entirely sober. But we just like to go to chat and play cards.

I don't know why this guy was there that night though.

"I'm sorry, yeah, ok. I remember we played Hearts?"

He nods once. "Do you have a pen?"

Someone bumps my shoulder, and I step backwards to avoid being mulled by a group of Frisbee golf guys. He takes a step towards me in response. "Why?" I ask, a swirl of leaves building around us.

He points at the sign-up sheet, still in his hand. "Your spiel convinced me. I just ran into a friend and was gonna come back to sign up. Until the list found me, anyway."

"Right." I lead him back to the table, where no one is waiting, unsurprisingly. He picks up a pen and scribbles his name, and I try not to seem too obvious as I lean in to see what he writes.

Brad.

I lean back, pretending I never looked. Brad?

When I glance back at him, he's silently laughing. "You should see your face. My name's Amir, actually," he says, filling out a new line on the form.

Embarrassed again, I laugh and chew my thumbnail, a nervous habit I picked up from my mom. "Right. Good."

His eyes flit up at me, that nice warm brown, like the trees. "You shouldn't do that," he says, a faint smile still on his face.

"What?" He's looking at my mouth and my insides all turn upside down so suddenly I think I might need to sit down.

His smile just grows, and he lets the silence linger long enough for me to nervously raise a hand, about to chew my fingernail again.

"Your hands have glitter on them, and it's on your lip," he says, setting the pen down on the table.

I drop my hands and look at them. Shit, I forgot. I rub at my bottom lip with the back of my hand, which is glitter-free. I'm almost afraid to look at him. "Right, thanks. And thanks for signing up," I tell him, wondering where I can go find a mirror.

I notice he hasn't moved. "I hope I'll see you at club..." He sticks his hand out, his eyes flicking between the glitter on my hands and the glitter on my face.

I should be embarrassed still, but I smile and hesitantly reach out my hand. "Shani," I tell him, taking his hand.

He gives me a firm handshake. "I hope I'll see you at club, Shani," he says, then lets go.

I nod. He steps away, shoes crackling on the fall leaves, but looks back at me and waves. His hand shimmers with glitter.

The eye of Sauron.

At least, that's what I thought. What else would come to mind?

In the midst of the dolphins' home, a fiery whirlwind rages, opening a forbidden portal to the depths below. Flames choke the sea, igniting gas bubbles as they rise and burst. The waves writhe and quiver in response, steam hissing and spilling over a brim that does not exist. She cries for help, churning angrily and helplessly in the wake of mankind.

Soon, the tranquil blue is replaced with ashen grey. Yet the smoldering core is still visible, burning brighter than humanity's will to keep our Mother alive.

The juxtaposition of the colors is beautiful in a way. It doesn't matter. She never wanted us to find beauty in this way.

She wished for us to marvel at the design in nautilus shells, and the patterns we saw in flower petals.

She wished for us to look upwards in the Arctic, and exclaim in surprise when we watched the blue-green lights dance across the sky at her will.

She wished for us to scale and praise the intricacy of her snow-capped mountains, her pride and joy.

And she wished for us to reconnect with her one day, our flesh and bone mingling with hers as she enveloped us into her loving embrace.

But now she crumbles, leaves falling like tears from her eyes. She watches the Earth On Fire and wonders, was it ever worth it? Her muscles relax, and her bloodshot eyes close. Our Mother is tired. If we listen, we can hear her heart beat faintly, like the wings of a moth, as she is torn apart limb by limb. Day by day. Action by action.

I guess inaction is more fitting, really. We've all but killed her.

--------

Note: I know it's not completely on theme, but I liked the way it was going and still think it fits the prompt rather well :) Inspired by the Gulf of Mexico gas leak in 2021.

It had only been two weeks since they landed. Two weeks of constant awareness. At least they were all safe within the confines of Star Ride.

Several times, hordes of zombies would pound repeatedly on the capsule’s door either with their fists or with heavy metal objects, but it got them nowhere.

When they went outside in a group of three or more (never just one), at least they had their fire lasers to protect themselves but even that was soon to be put to an end. They were running out of fuel and when they tried getting fuel, they would often have to run back to Star Ride as the deathly dead-walkers would begin to descend on them.

Clint and the others knew without the fire lasers, they were no match when it came down to it. The odds were too great. Seven against hundreds and what felt like thousands would be impossible to win. The idea now was survival. Survival the best way they could.

When all seven left the ISS, they took with them a radio transponder, electronic records of what had transpired, including those logs of the men and women who died as well as assorted video compiled by thirty cameras stationed on the ISS.

These were things Clint knew he had to go through but at the same time he kept putting it off only because he couldn’t bear to read about the deaths of his wife and son. Starvation. That had to be a hell of a way to die where your insides start feeding off yourself.

Clint set up a schedule from dawn to dark where someone would be on the radio to raise someone up anyone that wasn’t a zombie. For that matter, anyone that's still alive.

Clint made certain there were ample batteries for the walkie-talkies so when outside they could maintain constant touch with each other if split into groups of three and four.

It was his turn on the radio and as he continually sent out may day signals, he started watching the tapes. Most of which showed the ISS crew doing their jobs. It also showed his wife, Carla, with a small girl by her side who looked remarkably like Carla. Could it be he had a daughter? A daughter that also died on the ISS. Neither Darryl nor Elana ever mentioned a young child on board. Why is that? When they return to Star Ride it will be one of the first things he questions them about. And why would Carla, or for that matter, Mission Control allow such a thing? Had things been that bad then?

Clint felt a few tears trickle down his face, not just for Carla but also for the daughter he would never come to know. Did Darryl or Elana know her name? He needed to know her name.

Again, he tried transmitting.

“This is Captain Clint Raymond from the United States, transmitting from the Houston’s Mission Control area. We have returned from a mission from outer space. Is there anyone out there? Do you read me? Is there anyone out there?”

Like all the other times, nothing but static could be heard. Giving it a break after several unsuccessful attempts, he started browning the video reels again. After eleven go throughs, the twelfth one caused him to sit back, pause and then scream in a fit of rage. He saw both Carla and his daughter murdered, and it was all on film.

He could make out Dale’s brother Mark, t6he other man he didn’t know, but neither of them were responsible. But the video reel showed a partial segment of two people running the opposite way of where Carla died. Two people that were on the ISS murdered his wife and daughter.

Thinking back on conversations with both Darryl and Elana, and thinking on it now, some of the things they told him, and his crew were starting to not add up. The more he thought, the more his anger was welling inside him. He would have answers before the day was over, although he already suspected what the answers were.

Log: 04/29/2222

What is that saying? When it rains it pours? There was no rain, but the shit did hit the fan.

Clint called us altogether for a meeting shortly after we came back with more food sup0plies, mostly canned goods and bottled water, and coffee. I can’t think straight without coffee.

Truth be told, after Clint showed us the video reel, I felt more like downing a fifth of vodka. It was a cruel thing to see. And Dale had tears in his eyes when he saw his brother.

After we all watched, Clint started questioning Darryl and Elana on the supposed deaths they said everyone succumbed too. Clint wanted to know what had happened to the bodies of Carla and the young girl. He wanted to kno0w where the other bodies went.

It was all coming to a head and the look in Clint’s eyes told us everything. He didn’t buy into their story of malnutrition, and frankly neither did anyone else. Hell, Brad and Jules and I had to restrain Dale. He was all set to lay into Darryl. Maybe we should have let him.

It was Elana who told us what really happened.

“Darryl had this plan and at first, I was against it. But the more he said our chances of survival out there would be greater if we eliminated everyone when each person was alone. As to the weapon, it was small but deadly. It was a Swiss mini-gun, about the size of a fob. It fires tiny 2.34mm shells at 270mph bullets powerful enough to kill at close range but the beauty of it, it makes no real sound.

“At first, I was against the idea but then I started thinking of how much longer we would be up there—trapped, without a way home. Suddenly, the idea of survival at all costs built inside me. But I tell you now, it was Darryl who killed them all. I only got each person away from those on board. Isolated, they were easy targets.

“As for the bodies, they were jettisoned off the ISS and are probably still drifting in space.”

The way she explained everything was such a matter of fact without an ounce of sadness in her voice. I wanted to strangle the bitch myself.

Clint did something I had never seen him do before and that was knock out three of Darryl’s teeth and kick him in the head. No one bothered to stop him but when he had his senses back intact, what he did say made us all stand up and take notice.

“I’m not a judge, but today I am your jury. There are no prisons left more than likely to send you to, but I can send you off Star Ride for good. As of right now, you are to leave here and never come back. Neither you nor Elana are welcomed here.” Turning to Elana he said more than asked, “What was the little girl’s name.”

“Maria.”

It was 2016 hours when we were finished, and at 2019 hours, both Darryl and Elana disembarked off Star Ride and all their pleas fell on deaf ears.

Personally, I hope the zombies get sick eating their bodies. This is Margo Jessup. Signing off.

Written By: Danceinsilence

The world wakes up and goes to sleep depending on where you live. People rise to start their day while others retire after a long grueling day. It is a cycle humanity has lived in for centuries. Some see the day as an opportunity, others a grind to “just get by’.

Unemployment reigned, wars escalated, hunger remained rampant, and disease was never-ending. The world and its inhabitants live in a vicious cycle with no clearcut way out.

*****

There was a time when Chuck Reynolds was just your average guy, living an average life. He was like many people. He would play the lottery every week, never winning, but he kept thinking one day he would be on easy street. He worked at a restaurant as a cook. He had an on and off again girl he would date. He paid his bills on time. There was a time for concern for his health when he contracted Covid, but with time and patience and a few shots, he was back in business again.

Every day, his life plodded along, and Chuck always had a belief his life wouldn’t be near as bad as it had been for others. He had plans. Not big plans, but plans for his future, his retirement one day and living what he would consider to be a good life. An okay life.

But one day, his life and the world he knew—changed.

He had a vacation coming up and decided to take a trip to witness the Aurora Borealis on the southern border as that was the best place to view this marvel. It was one of those places that was on his bucket list.

It was on his third day, or in this case, night, when his life took a turn. Gazing upward at the streaming colors that floated across the night sky, green cascading lights, the deep blues, sparkling baby blues, deep purples, pink and red hues. It was approximately 1:35 in the morning when a shift in colors happened. Very few people were out that early dark morning, but they witnessed a phenomenon unlike anything ever experienced, but most of all, Chuck became the inadvertent cause.

A rift occurred in between the colors and lowered itself over Chuck. This is something that never happened before, and Chuck remained immobilized at the sight and found himself immersed in the rich vibrant colors. Then he felt his body changing, he started to tremble. What had once been a green light—changed. The green became a bright, resonating red.

Normally, according to scientists, solar particles react with oxygen at higher altitudes, generally above 150 miles, meaning they should never reach out where Chuck stood.

But it did and Chuck was turning red. He didn’t feel pain, but he did feel a newfound strength he never had before, but the strength was different than what might be expected. It was a strength of resolve, calming.

What few people that were there, broke out their cell phones to record what was happening. It was a moment that otherwise without proof, would never be believed. As they videoed him into the four-minute mark, that was when they witnessed his disappearance.

Chuck again felt no pain, but what happened to him went beyond incredible. His body began to separate into minute red molecules and was pulled upward in a spiraling, almost circular motion, and beyond into the green hue that stretched across a vast night sky.

Chuck was gone.

And yet, Chuck had knowledge of what was happening to him. He knew he wasn’t dead, and he knew where he was going and why, for a voice no one could hear entered his mind.

“Have no fear. You are safe. Soon, you will be coming home.”

*****

Six months later, Chuck returned from the place he was drawn to—Zylar; a not known planet that lay behind Saturn. A planet filled with the greatest minds people on earth could never fathom.

When he returned, people would stand in awe of his appearance. He was different in his looks. His hair, eyes and skin were a deep red. And when he spoke, he gave the world a message of what to expect in the coming years. He spoke of how to rid the world of disease and hunger, where everyone could live in peace.

He gave instruction to scientists, educators, the medical world, and humanity.

“Follow these instructions and your life will be blessed. Ignore them, and your life becomes forever held in the dark mysteries of the what if. Take advantage of what is offered. You will not get a second chance.”

When Chuck was finished, he disappeared again, never to be seen again.

*****

That was thirty-five years ago. Today, more people visit the Aurora Borealis in hopes of either seeing Chuck again, or, being taken away as Chuck had been. But the green night hues never again produced any red solar particles that reached out for another human being.

What really became of Chuck when he returned to Zylar, no one can say. We would like to think he lives in peace and is happy.

If people knew, they would be envious. Chuck would live forever and never age. He would remain happy with each day that passed and not want for anything. One couldn’t ask for more than that.

Here, on earth, the world took his advice, his knowledge, and put it to good use. Hunger and disease were eradicated, hatred turned to love, and everyone had a place to live and work, but—five years ago, things started changing back to the way they were before Chuck reappeared.

It just shows that people cannot handle a good thing.

I went to a concert

that I wanted to go to

for ten years this week

and

I cut my hair

and

I bought another ticket

to see Allan Rayman

and

I’m going alone

and

I have a tattoo scheduled

for tuesday

and

I tell myself

you wouldn’t even

recognize me anymore