Chapter 16: You Never Knocked Me Down

“But why are you meeting Jude at the farmhouse this morning?” Every morning and I mean that literally, Lucas would start the day with a protein shake then head to Jude’s place for a workout.

“He asked me to. Said he has something to tell me.” Lucas was tying his

sneakers. I on the other hand was still in my pajamas.

“What does he want to tell you?” I was in no hurry to get dressed yet.

“I don’t know.” What gets me is Lucas doesn’t even sound curious. He’s always just so accepting of Jude and everything he does. Lucas was always easy going but he seems more so since the incident.

“Why can’t he tell you at his place? Why go all the way to the farmhouse?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the farmhouse.” Now he was combing his hair.

“Are you going back to his place to work out after?” I was sitting in the middle of the bed watching Lucas get ready.

“I don’t know. I’m dressing for it anyway.”

I knew I was going to be anxious all day waiting to hear from Lucas. It will be near impossible to concentrate on anything. I just can’t figure what he’s going to tell Lucas. At the back of my mind, an idea has planted itself. Something I would never say to Lucas kept swirling around my brain as I went about the business of showering and dressing. I wonder if Jude is leaving.

He never opened to Lucas about his life after leaving Cape May when he was seventeen. Marco tried to find Jude but not so much as a rumor surfaced. It was as if Jude just disappeared into a puff of smoke.

It’s true that my relationship with Jude has improved since Lucas went missing. I didn’t expect Jude to be someone I could count on or even someone I would want to count on, but he was. I saw a side of him I hadn’t seen before. It was a side I didn’t think existed. Finally, I saw what Lucas saw.

Still, that doesn’t mean Jude was forth coming with me about his past. Jude values his privacy. I respect that. I don’t ask him anything. His life is his to share if he chooses and with whom he chooses. Think about it. I know he was a Marine Sniper, locked up for assault and lived on the streets. The man himself told none of those things to me.

I’ve had the impression that he moves around a lot. He doesn’t seem to form emotional attachments to people or places. I don’t think Lucas ever expected Jude to come back or he would have told me about him. Funny, Jude leaving was what I wanted ever since he arrived. Now, I’m not sure how I feel about it. I would be sad to see him go.

Lucas pulled into the long, winding dirt drive and made his way to the farmhouse. Jude’s truck was there. Closing the door on the Jag, there was a loud scraping sound behind him. A couch came through the doorway. A large, dirty, dusty, musty couch of an undetermined color was mostly on the porch. Suddenly, the couch jumped forward landing vicariously with a leg on the top step. Jude came striding through the doorway after it.

“There you are.” Jude had a cobweb in his hair and dirt down the right leg of his jeans. “You’re just in time to help me heave this monstrosity.”

Just then Lucas noticed the large dumpster to the left of the house. An educated guess made that the target for the couch. If Lucas didn’t know he was coming here to work. He did now. The work out wouldn’t be later. It started without him.

As he spoke, Jude removed a pair of work gloves from the back pocket of his jeans and put them on. Lucas just kept staring at the glove with the black leather fingers sewed to the brown suede palm and thumb. Thick tan leather was used to sew the pieces together. The glove on the left hand was made entirely of the same tan suede.

The glove was unique. Who repairs a glove that way? Lucas’ mind’s eye went back to when he first saw that glove. Lucas was standing near Jude’s truck. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the driver’s door.

Jude’s effort to move the couch off the porch was met with resistance. The old boards of the porch were splintered and uneven. It didn’t budge. Jude looked over the top of the piece of furniture at Lucas. He was still leaning against the door of Jude’s truck with his arms crossed. Clearly, he wasn’t moving any time soon.

“Are you going to help me with this?” Jude started to bend down for another go anticipating help from the other end.

“Why did you pull me out?”

“What do you mean?” Jude was still trying to move the couch.

“You know what I mean.” There was steel in his voice. He stood ramrod straight with his hands opening and closing into fists, just waiting. Lucas remained silent. It wasn’t obvious if Jude would answer or not. One thing Lucas knew definitively about Jude was that he only spoke when he wanted to and when he was finished there was no coaxing more out of him. He waited. He was in no hurry. The longer the silence was drawn out, the more doubtful Lucas was of a response.

“It was something my mother said.” Jude was looking down, fixing his glove. No longer bent over, Lucas could see his face. It revealed nothing of what he was feeling or thinking.

“You mother?” Not an answer Lucas expected.

“It was the letter you found last time we were here. I finally read it.”

Lucas hadn’t thought twice about the envelope after handing it to Jude. Now, it came back to him how it was secreted in a hidden drawer of a jewelry box with everything except the words “in the event of my death” scrawled on the envelope.

“What did your mother say?” Lucas was standing at the bottom of the steps now with his hands in his pants pockets. Jude wasn’t going to get that thing to budge without help so Lucas wasn’t worried about being run over.

“Does it matter?” Jude was trying to rock the couch now.

“It matters to me.” This cat and mouse game was frustrating. It took every ounce of calm he was not feeling to stand still when he wanted to kick the couch off the porch so it would no longer have any attention. He wanted to scream ‘answer me, damn you!’ Doing so would ensure no response was forthcoming.

“Well, I guess I have your mother to thank.” There was a smile on Lucas’ face. The couch flew through the air barely missing him landing with a thud next to his foot kicking up dirt, making Lucas cough. Never underestimate Jude. That is one mistake Lucas will never repeat.

“My mother is dead.” The look in his face was one Lucas had never seen before. His tone mirrored that look. Lucas stopped smiling.

“I know. I’m sorry” was his sheepish reply.

“Of course, you know! YOU WERE THERE!”

Lucas took a step back. Actually, it was three or four steps. The venom in the words hit him like a punch to the gut. If there was any doubt in his mind that Jude was the man in black chasing him through the woods, shooting arrows at him and leading him to a deep well to be left for dead, his words dispelled any doubts.

The strength of contempt in his voice scared Lucas. For the first time in his life, Lucas was afraid of Jude. Pure hatred bore into him from two black orbs. Acrimony dripped from his words. Lucas’ heart was beating a mile a minute. His hands involuntarily balled into fists. His body was ready for fight or flight.

Before he knew what was happening, Jude was on top of him. Leaping from the porch, he landed on Lucas propelling his body ten feet back into the dirt. Jude pummeled Lucas in the ribs, first a left, then a right followed by another left. The blows just kept coming.

Lucas punched Jude in the face and head. The beating to his body continued through his assault. Finally, a right uppercut to the chin rocked Jude just enough for Lucas to push him off and reverse positions. Now, on top of Jude, Lucas released the beast within onto his assailant.

A blow to the side of his head momentarily stunned Lucas. Raising his right hand to his temple, he felt blood mixed with dirt and pieces of bark. He recovered his composure in time to see Jude standing over him, raising the thick branch for another blow to his head.

Rolling out of the way, Lucas gained his feet and grabbed a branch of his own, ready to do battle.

“The front porch has a board that squeaks. We always knew whenever someone was there before the doorbell ever rang. I ran to see who was outside and your bike was heading down the drive. That stupid flag from the firehouse on the back of your bike was waving. I know it was you. You just left me there!” He took a step towards Lucas. “I needed your help!”

“I went for help. I went to get my dad. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“But you didn’t go for help, did you? Help never came. By the time the police arrived it was too late!”

Jude was holding the knife in his hand. Threatening his father and hoping it was enough to stop him. It wasn’t. He stuck his father in his arm with the knife, just enough to draw blood. This just infuriated him more. Grabbing the knife with his right hand and gripping his son with his left, he took the knife and cut his face. He threw the knife and the boy to the ground and turned his back, dismissing them both. Jude felt the blood pouring down the side of his face. When his father’s fist started on his mother’s face again, Jude picked up the knife. Without hesitating, he drove it into his father’s body.

“I’m sorry. I went to the firehouse when I got there, they said my dad was in the hospital. He was in an accident. I rode my bike home to go to the hospital with my mom. When we got there, I remembered and told my mom what was happening at your place. I’m sorry I forgot. I wanted to get help, really, I did.” Lucas felt like that twelve-year-old boy again.

Sure, sometimes he thought about that day and wondered if things would have turned out differently if he ran into the firehouse yelling that they needed to send help. He would never know. It’s easy to look back and say if only…. then write a happy ending. Realistically, getting help sooner might not have changed a thing. There was no point in dwelling on the past. It couldn’t accomplish anything but make him feel worse than he already does.

The past is an anchor. It pulls a person down, holds him back and keeps him from moving forward.

“Your being sorry doesn’t mean anything!”

“I was just a kid.” His face looked as sheepish as his words sounded.

“I WAS JUST A KID. Maybe together we could have stopped my dad from hitting my mom. How was a thirteen-year-old boy supposed to stop a grown man fueled by alcohol and self-pity? Maybe I wouldn’t have had to kill him to stop him! Maybe, he wouldn’t have left me with this! His hand ran the length of the scar on his face, “as a permanent reminder of that day every time I look in the mirror! “Jude was walking circles in front of Lucas. He had jumped off the porch when he started accusing him. “Maybe she wouldn’t have had to die.”

Lucas had no idea Jude carried all this around with him after all this time. He never spoke of his parents or that day again as far as Lucas knew. His father tried to talk to the boy after they moved in with his family, but he remained silent. A counselor even tried to help him, but he never responded. Patiently he sat and listened to every word that was said to him and when the hour was up, he got up and left as unspoken as when he arrived. Lucas assumed he lay to rest those demons, in his own way, a long time ago.

The only other family Jude had was an uncle. He refused to give the boy a home after learning he killed his brother. Marco knew the situation. He knew the Perry’s. Everybody liked Tessa. Hell, it wasn’t a secret that Vincent beat his wife. It reached the point that he was drunk most of the time. After drinking all day, he became mean. Worried for the boy’s future; Marco gave him a home and a family.

It was a shame what happened to Vincent and Tessa but at least the boy could still have a future. Tessa did everything so her boy could have a good life. She always told him he could be anything he wanted when he grew up. She encouraged him to dream big. She didn’t sacrifice for herself. She sacrificed for him. Marco didn’t want her sacrifice to be in vain.

Lucas knew what happened that night. His father told him. Vincent Perry was in his usual drunken state after working the farm all day and went inside for dinner. Nobody knows what it was that set him off this night. Jude was never asked. He had been through so much already and did it really matter? Tessa never fought back. She raised her hands or arms to fend off his blows. Jude usually cried himself to sleep. His bond with his mother was close and unbreakable. They adored each other. They protected one another. Jude finally stood up to his father. He stepped between them and tried to stop his father. To move Jude out of his way he slapped him hard in the face. It was enough to send the boy reeling out of his path and to the ground. His mother told him not to raise his hand to her son and she slapped Vincent across the face.

This ignited his anger and he beat her with an intensity never shown before. Jude was scared for her life. He tried to pull his father off his mother. An arm came out and pushed the boy back. What else could the boy do? Hearing the front porch creaking board for a moment he was thankful that there would be help. It wouldn’t be up to him to end this. He felt defeated when he saw that flag on the back of the bike go out of view.

He did the only thing he could do. He ran to the kitchen and picked up a knife. Killing his father was not even in his thoughts. Stopping him was his main objective. Threatening him was the goal. The boy was prepared to hurt him just enough to make him stop, if it came to that. Unfortunately killing him was the only thing that made him stop hitting his wife.

She tried to hide the bruises and cuts from Jude. She knew the boy heard the blows even if he didn’t see them. The evidence of the blows didn’t need to be seen. Usually, her face was spared. Not this time. Jude never saw his mother in such a state. He held her bloody, broken body close and cried as only a boy losing his mother does.

“I don’t know what to say.” And he didn’t. It was a terrible thing that happened. It should never have happened. Lucas didn’t know what he would have done in the same situation. “All this time I never knew you felt this way. I didn’t know you carried this around with you all these years. You never said anything before now. I thought you made your peace with what happened a long time ago and was just living life.”

“Living life? No, I haven’t been living life. Do you know what it means to lose peace of mind?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t expect one. He didn’t want one. “It means every single day you wake up and you want to run as fast and as far as you can to get away from the one person you can’t stand. But it doesn’t matter how fast or how far you run you can’t get away because you’re always there and you can’t stand the person you’ve become. Losing peace of mind means you’re not living life. You’re just existing.”

Jude felt like he had to go through everything he did to finally understand what his mother meant when she said, “Don’t let my death define your life”. Her words alone were not enough. The journey had to be traveled to reach this moment of clarity here and now. The journey without her words would not have brought him to this point. He needed both.

His mother would never defend herself when her husband hit her. She would put up her hands and arms to deflect the blows, but she never fought back. That used to frustrate the young boy with his room down the hall from theirs until he cried himself to sleep. With the lights out and the covers pulled over his head, he could still hear the blows land. His mother was crying and pleading with her husband to stop hitting her. Why wouldn’t she fight back? The boy would ask the darkness where no answer was ever found. His balled-up fists would squeeze the comforter tighter as they beat on his mattress.

She would never fight back, not to protect herself. She fought back to protect the boy. The only time she raised her hand in anger to her husband was after he slapped the side of Jude’s head with his opened hand. Jude had been begging his father to stop hurting his mother.

She wouldn’t fight back to protect herself, but she wouldn’t let anyone strike her boy, not even the boy’s father. That would be the last time he ever beat his wife. That was the worst beating she ever took. That was the beating that took her life.

Throughout the years, that one-day played repeatedly in Jude’s mind. He couldn’t put it to rest if he tried.

Maybe a woman has a code to live by as well. Love unconditionally. Accept people at face value. Don’t raise your hand in anger against someone you respect. Stand by your decisions. Never back down. Choose your fate.

When Jude was eight, his teacher called his mother and told her Jude was in a fight with another boy at school. When his mother sat him down, he told her the boy called him a dirt farmer and laughed at him. The rest of the kids at recess laughed with him. Jude thought the boy was his friend! He punched him in the mouth.

His mother listened to his story and said he should never raise his hands in violence against someone respected. He immediately dismissed his mother’s words. Clearly, she didn’t understand the situation.

All those nights when the boy balled his hands into fists as he sat in his bed beating against his blankets, he kept asking himself again and again, why won’t she fight back? Why would she let someone hurt her over and over?

Now, the man understood. She loved her husband. She never lost respect for him. The violence wasn’t his nature. It was the alcohol taking control. She was standing by him trying to help him, even when he couldn’t help himself. He lost his self-respect somewhere along the way and was never able to reclaim it. His wife never lost respect for him. It was her unending hope that he would see that and start to be the man he was meant to be again.

The title is "Tomorrow Never Comes".

The genre is suspense.

The age range of the reader is 18 to 80.

The word count is 62564.

The author's name is Tari Conti.

This project is a good fit because it's not just a suspense story asking what happened to Lucas. It's about the relationship between brothers and answers the question 'what does it take for a man to find peace of mind.'

The hook is "What happened to Lucas? Where is he?

The synopsis: Lucas finishes his shift at the fire house and calls his wife, Destry that he's on his way home. He should arrive before she picks up a pizza and returns but he's not there. He doesn't come home that night or the next.

My target audience is anyone who craves a story that speaks to him or her and makes him think.

My biography: I live in New Jersey with my canary Elvis.

My platform: I can reach my audience through Linked IN, Prose and American Writers and Artists Institute.

My education: I have a bachelor's degree.

Experience: I have been writing for ten years but more so since joining Prose. I have three or four stories that I haven't finished yet.

I write narratives. Sometimes, in the first person, sometimes with framing.

My hobbies include hiking, reading, writing, drawing, watching movies and listening to music.

My hometown is Absecon, New Jersey.

"It's true, I haven't seen Marco since we were in college, but I've always known where he was. I've kept tabs on his whereabouts all this time. He bought THE BLACK SWAN quite a few years ago."

"THE BLACK SWAN?" Her incomprehension was evident.

"That's the boat he took you sailing on?"

"You knew about that? How did you know? Were you two in touch all this time? Is this some trick or something both of you are in on together?" Lola was sitting up now. Her head no longer rested on her husband's chest.

"I knew he had the boat, and I knew he bought the lighthouse. When I returned and you weren't around it didn't take a genius to figure out he invited you sailing as a ruse to get you to the lighthouse."

Mario sounded and by all appearances was calm. Never even looking back once to see if they were being followed. His calm was permeating to Lola and she felt safe. The night was dark with only a sliver of a moon but Leo steered with the skill of a man used to being on the water.

"What do you mean, 'you always knew where he was?' If you didn't have any contact with him, how could you? Did you hire someone to find him?"

"I didn't need to. It was quite easy, really. You see, I look like him and sound like him so it's easy to convince anybody I am him and I can find out whatever I want to know about him."

Lola was stunned. It made sense though. She was speechless.

"That was why I was initially hesitant about buying the property here. I know I said it was because of the run-down condition of the house. Actually, it was because I knew the proximity to Marco. It didn't feel comfortable, but you had your heart set on this place and there was no reason to think we would cross paths with Marco. He never needed to know we were this close. We're almost there." He held her close, putting her head against his chest and snuggling close with her under the blanket.

"We'll find a room to spend the night and fly home in the morning. There's no reason to think he will discover you missing before morning. With a big enough head start, he won't find us. Sure, he found this place but it's in his backyard. That doesn't mean he knows where we live. We didn't talk about where we're from with anyone here."

In the back of his mind, he must have thought there was a chance Marco would find him and something like this would happen. Lola could never get him to admit why he was so close mouthed about where they were from.

The sky outside my window is grey. I like that. It fits my mood. My legs are crossed at the ankles and resting on the corner of my desk as I sit in my office contemplating the day.

Currently, I’m admiring the shine on my brown wingtips satisfied with the decision to stop in the lobby before taking the elevator. The time and money were well spent.

I sipped the whiskey staring at the amber liquid in my glass. It was the color of her eyes. Damn! Why did that woman have to walk through my door! Slamming the glass on the desk harder than I intended caused the whiskey to splash onto my hand. I shook it off then started to pace.

She was the only class in this brick and mortar twelve story dump, and she knew it.

“Are you Mr. Nash?” She stood inside my doorway looking like she stepped out of the society pages. I would’ve told her I was Mr. Nash, if I wasn’t just to hear that sensuous voice talking to me.

“I’m Nick.” I pulled out the chair facing my desk. As she sat, the blue silk hemrevealed one perfectly curved ankle. Sitting on the corner of my desk, I listened to her story.

“I need your help.” I couldn’t help but notice she didn’t offer her name.

“Tell me about it.”

That was ten days ago. Why couldn’t she be looking for a lost diamond necklace, something easy. Something I could manage. She’s not the type of woman a man would let down.

I sat down banging my fist into the desktop. I’m not letting her down!

“I want you to find out who killed my niece.” She looked at me expectantly, confidently.

My face never reveals what I’m thinking, but this time, I think it failed me. I didn’t expect this.

“Why me? Why not the police?”

“We’ve been to the police.” After the way she strode into in my office and took a seat, I didn’t expect to see the softer, vulnerable side to her.

“We? Where is your husband?” Chump! I chided myself for holding my breath waiting for her answer.

“My father. I’m not married. My father is the one hiring you. I’m the one you’ll report to.”

“Where is your father? Why isn’t he here?” Moving to my chair, I sat behind the desk with pen and notebook to appear to be taking notes.

“He’s sick.” Looking down at her hands, I still saw the sadness in her eyes.

“Tell me what happened to your niece.” Best to get right to the nitty gritty details.

“She was the second victim of the Ballet Shoe Killer. The police have no leads. There have been seven more victims after Ashley. My father is afraid the killer will never be found, and Ashley will never be more than one of his victims.”

“I won’t let that happen.” Now, All I have to do is find a serial killer that has eluded the police for ten months.

The first thing I did after she left my officer was head to the local precinct. They always loved to see me. Who wouldn’t welcome a gumshoe wandering into their house to say they couldn’t do the job, so I’m stepping in?

Sgt. Winters was at his usual post at the desk when I walked in. This has been his desk for the past five years. He looks after his officers like a big brother. “Hey, Mikey. Is Joe back there?” My head nodded towards the detective’s squad room.

“Yeah, he’s here. What brings you here? A new case?”

“A doll came into my office about her niece.”

Amelia Huntington wasn’t exaggerating when she said the police had nothing. No leads. No suspects. Nothing.

Nine beautiful young women in their twenties were killed in their homes in busy neighborhoods. Each was stabbed numerous times in the abdomen with a long blade. Each had her throat cut. Each had all her toes cut off and each foot squeezed into a ballet slipper.

From what the police can tell, none of the victims knew one another or had a common link.

This is 2030, for Pete’s sake. They have the most advanced technology at their fingertips. This isn’t like the olden days when police had to dust for fingerprints. Identifying a suspect was easy. Any camera lenses the suspect passes through will identify the person, his complete history and DNA.

Back in my office, I poured more whiskey. Ten days ago, I had nothing but now I’ve got something. I just need to figure out what it means. I’m good at what I do because I’m not afraid to pound the pavement, bang on doors or bust some heads, if that’s what it takes.

Fortunately, this time, that’s not what it took. Not yet anyway.

Looking at the crime scene photos, I picked up on something Joe confirmed the police hadn’t noticed. There was a teacup and spoon in each dish rack. The autopsy confirmed that the stomach contents ruled out the victims using the teacups.

What was the killer drinking and why? Figure this out and the whole case unravels at my feet.

I admit I got lucky. It wasn’t brilliant sleuthing that got me the answers. It was being in the right place at the right time.

When I strode into police headquarters like I owned I joint, Sgt. Winters wasn’t at his post. Probably going for his tenth cup of coffee.

My visit just happened to be the day, his hand was driving Joe crazy. It was itching something fierce. “It’s the darndest thing. I haven’t been any where but home, my office and nine crime scenes but somewhere I got poison ivy.

That had to be it! The killer was drinking poison ivy tea! It had to be! If Joe touched a teacup that was washed in a hurry. There can’t be many people drinking poison ivy tea. The tea is blocking the killers DNA from being detected.

After visiting The Leafy Tea House, I found out it’s the urushiol oil in the crushed stems and leaves that are responsible for the allergic reactions people have to the plant. That was most poison ivy teas are mild and don’t use crushed stems.

I couldn’t figure out how the killer found out poison ivy tea would block his DNA. There were no studies on it. The people in the crime lab didn’t even know aboutit.

I got lucky when I wandered into Giovanni’s restaurant. I hadn’t realized I hadn’t eaten until the scent of garlic lured me in. The inside had red and white checked tablecloths that matched the curtains. There was Italian music playing inside and each table had a bulbous wind bottle swathed in straw with a candle in its mouth.

After I ordered fettuccini in a Bolognese sauce, I drank my chianti thinking of poison ivy tea. Whiskey was my drink of choice except when I ate Italian food, then wine was my choice. I was savoring a second glass after a satisfying meal.

“Cheryl, I’m telling you, it really works.” The conversation was two tables away from mine, but the brunette was sharing her revelation with everyone in the restaurant. “Just look at me. I’ve lost fifteen pounds in one week by drinking green tea. I wasn’t trying to. It just happened!” My office ordered its usual diet soda supply, but the delivery guy brought cases of green tea dropping them off before anyone noticed. So, I’ve been drinking it instead. I’m telling you; I’m never drinking diet cola again.”

Gulping the half, a glass of one in one swallow, I paid my tab then beat a path to my office.

Once behind my desk, I poured some whiskey. That was it. The killer was drinking the tea for another reason then found out it blocked his DNA. Why would he drink poison ivy tea?

Checking the database of people allergic to poison ivy proved useless. There were too many names.

Wait. He’s not going to drink it if he’s allergic to poison ivy. Why would someone drink poison ivy tea? What did that pretty girl in the flowing pink dress inside The Leafy Tea House say? Poison Ivy has been used as an anti-inflammatory. Why use poison ivy when there are other natural remedies without the adverse effects that could be serious? Why risk it?

I felt the answer was staring me in the face, but I wasn’t seeing it. I poured another drink. What am I missing?

The phone woke me. It was her. “Hello.” I wanted to start the day with that silky voice in my ear.

“Mr. Nash, did I wake you? I’m sorry for the early hour.”

“Miss Huntington. That’s okay. I had to get up anyway. What time is it?”

“It’s six in the morning. The family doctor just gathered everyone together and said we should say our final fair wells to my father. Do you have anything I can tell him? He’s in pain but he’s holding on. He doesn’t want to leave this world with Ashley ’s fate undecided.”

“I’m close. I’ll have something for you before the day is over. I promise.”

“Damn! Why did I tell her that. Now, I have to finish this thing in less than twenty-four hours.”

First, I needed a shower. I looked around my office as I stretched and rubbed my neck. Not the first time I slept in my office. Wouldn’t be the last time either. I’ll have to tell my secretary to get a sofa in here. That’s right, I don’t have a secretary. Guess, I’ll have to get that sofa myself.

Have a shower, hot coffee and pancakes, I was back in the office.

I bet our killer was a sickly kid allergic to everything, couldn’t go out and play with other kids. He probably had allergies to dust, dog and cat hair, peanuts, milk and poison ivy. I needed to cross reference data bases of people with severe allergies and people buying poison ivy tea.

That was a bust. I need to weed this guy out. How? This guy is too careful, he’s not going to buy poison ivy tea and have it sitting around his kitchen for the police to find. He’s growing poison ivy or better yet, lives near woods where he has easy access to the plants. Now, I’m getting somewhere.

Walking into the precinct at lunch time, Sgt. Winters was absent from his post. Must be another coffee run.

Joe was at his desk, and I told him everything. I ran through the teacup in the crime scene photos, poison ivy tea and my visit to the Leafy Tea House, the databases of allergies, everything I now know.

“That’s great detective work Nick. I wish you would have shared the teacup angle with me. Sure, I saw a teacup at each crime scene, but it didn’t seem out of place.I didn’t think twice about it. Two heads are better than one, we could’ve run this thing down together.”

“We still can. I don’t know who the killer is. I promised my client I’d have a name for her before night was over.”

“Why would you do that? Who’s your client anyway?”

“I told you, the family of one of the victims.”

“Hey, what’s going on around here? It’s quiet. Winters wasn’t at his usual post when I entered.”

“There was a shooting involving a cop. Don’t worry, it wasn’t serious.” This was in response to my rising with an anxious look on my face. “All available officers are looking for the shooter. If I Winters, he’s on the scene checking on his officer. I tell you; everyone was happy how he embraced the position. Each and every officer is like family to him.

Most people thought he would leave the force or transfer somewhere else rather than be stuck at a desk. He was one of those that joined the force to be in the thick of the action. Nobody expected a happy ending for him after what happened to him.”

“What happened to him?” The distraction of conversation away from the case was good. It helped me come back fresher with new ideas. I needed this right now.

“You don’t know? After he made Sergeant, the house through a celebration for him at O’Malley’s Pub. Well, he was walking home himself that night sometime after one A.M. A street punk tried to rob him, wanted his wallet, watch, the whole nine yards. Winters fought back. Two of his gang members were in the shadows waiting for this. They beat him good and just to make sure he couldn’t follow them, they cut his Achilles tendon. After that, working on the street wasn’t an option. Nobody expected him to take it. He fought it at first. He fought for six months. Then, he must have realized he’s still cop and still fighting the good fight. He settled into the position enthusiastically. ”I told you, he’s out somewhere probably checking on his guy and coordinating officers in the street. Why? What’s up”

“Did you know his allergies as a child were so severe, he had to home schooled?”

“No, I didn’t know. So, what?”

“So, he didn’t settle into the position in the front of the house and thrive. He’s the Ballet Shoe Killer! He wanted to prove to everyone that if he can’t be a detective, he can stump the detectives and leave them with egg on their faces and go down in history with an unsolved serial killer.”

There was a lot of commotion in the hallway. A detective stuck his head in the door, “Joe, did you hear, Winters is dead.”

“Dead.” After my revelation, we both stood and exclaimed together.

“What are you talking about? What happened?”

“He was on the street looking for the guy that shot Monroe. He found him but his draw wasn’t fast enough. Don’t worry, they got Monroe. He’s not shooting anybody else where he’s going.”

Stunned, we looked at each other. I didn’t see this ending when I started this case. I wasn’t sure to feel relieved it was over and the killer was identified, relieved the killings are over or angry and sad that a good cop went down that way.

I didn’t have time to sort out my emotions. There was a certain doll waiting for my call and I wasn’t letting her down.

“Where is he now?” I was on my feet and ready to move.

Suzanna took another gulp of wine. She swirled the ruby red liquid in her glass then sat back in the big leather chair. Sitting alone in the attic, she was drunk.

Coming to this cabin in the woods was her idea. She was worried. Everything was falling apart.

The first night here, they left the cooler of food sitting outside all night. A bear helped himself to their food. Greg left four hours ago to buy more food. Sam went after the bear. It bit her in the stomach. Danny raised that Shepard from a pup now she was bleeding out on the table. He's a mess and won't leave her side.

She filled her glass again. What if Danny figures out her real identity? Surprised he didn't recognize her when Greg introduced his best friend to his new girlfriend, she's been holding her breath waiting for Danny to realize she is his ex-girlfriend, the girlfriend that stole money causing his family to lose their restaurant and home. Danny held the key to her identity. Despite cutting and bleaching her hair, inserting colored contact lenses, losing thirty pounds and changing her name, sooner or later, she will say or do something, and he will make the connection to the woman who ruined him.

Excited to pick up her custom Harley, she called the dealership. When the voice on the other end told her she would always be noticed on her new ride, she knew she would never pick it up. She didn't want attention. She buried the money at this cabin.

Guilt from destroying the family didn't occur until she was dating Greg, a good and kind man. Coming here was strictly so Danny could find the money. Why continue with the original plan? If he finds the money, Danny is going to know her real name.

This weekend is going to hell!

Undecided what to do, she took another look. It was as incredible as she thought. What to do!? Amelia crossed her arms as she paced back and forth looking at the floor in her path.

Determined to make a decision she stopped in her path and looked at the dress. When doing so, her first thought is always how gorgeous it looks. The bright candy red color makes her smile. The soft velvet ribbons keeping the dress from being strapless caressed her skin. There was an all over red-on-red design completely covering the fabric with the subtle drape at the neck hugging her curves and falling well below the knees.

This is the most beautiful dress ever created not because she thinks so but because everyone else does.

Backing up to sit in the chair, she beheld the soft fabric hanging flat against the cold, hard surface of the mirror.

She remembered the first time she wore it. There was a reception for a new exhibit at the art museum. A handsome man in an Italian suit, tailor made, approached her asking about the designer. "Let me guess, Vera Wang" were the first words he spoke to her, before even introducing himself.

"Excuse me?" Amelia looked at him with innocent eyes. No one would mistake her for the Vera Wang.

"The designer," his eyes moved over her from head to foot, "I must know who it is. It's Vera Wang, am I right?" The look of anticipation was all over his face.

"No. It's an Amelia Hart."

"Amelia Hart? I don't know Amelia Hart?" Anticipation turned to a frown. Disappointment played across his face, his eyes and his voice.

She held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Amelia Hart."

At once, his expression changed to delight. Both his hands grasped hers and shook it with pleasure. "It's my pleasure to meet you. I must know who you design for. Do you have your own house? No, of course not or I would have heard your name before tonight." He still hadn't introduced him as he talked effervescently.

"I don't design for anyone. I mean, I'm not a designer." That wasn't true really. The red dress was her only inspiration that made it from the page to the hanger.

That was when everything started. Nothing in her life was the same after that night, after slipping on the red dress.

Michael put up the money for her to open a dress shop. It didn't take long to learn the fan of her dress was named Michael. The shop would be an exclusive boutique. There would only be three or four made of each garment she designed. Michael wanted her to recreate the red dress and hang it in the window. `

Amelia didn't doubt for a second that doing so would bring in clientele, but she held fast, there would be only one of the red dress.

She was wearing the dress the day she met Paul. They met in an antique shop when they simultaneously moved to pick up the same clock. They laughed about it and he invited her to lunch. It didn't take long to discover he was her soul mate.

Amelia was wearing it again when she found her dream house. On her way to a wedding, she stopped in the middle of the road when she saw the for-sale sign. The house took her breath away.

Again, she had the dress on when she met a designer at an auction and was invited to study with in him France, at his expense.

Each day was a dream come to, because she had the dress on.

Her boutique will probably have to close. None of her other designs were magical like the red dress and sales were never what was anticipated.

Paul broke her heart. She hasn't been on a date since he ended their relationship.

Her dream home turned into a money pit. What appeared as minor cosmetic changes turned into extensive renovations. The Victorian home wasn't cared for inside as the outside promised.

Her time in France would have been a marvel if she wasn't robbed her first day there, then had an accident which landed her in the hospital for days.

While wearing the dress, all her dreams came true. After she took the dress off, her dreams turned to nightmares.

What should she do?

After the last stitch was sewn, she knew instantly that the garment was special. That was why she resisted in even making a second one.

With her boutique in dire straits, she has been contemplating cutting the piece and making scarves to sell. Maybe, there was enough magic left in the dress for one more miracle.

The sun went down and still Amelia sat not knowing what to do. If bad things happened after removing the dress, maybe, she could keep it but just never it again. That would be crazy! Why own the Mona Lisa but never look at it!

She was mentally exhausted when it was time to sleep. She pulled the comforter up to her shoulder, lied her head on the pillow then drifted off.

Amelia was aware of feathers touching her skin. Starting at the top of her head, down the side of her face and across her shoulder caressing her like a sleeping child. It felt like the wing of a large bird. Comforted by the sensation, Amelia's eyes remained closed to not lose the peace it brought her.

A soft voice whispered in her ear. "The magic was in you all along. With each stitch you sewed the magic flowed from your fingers into the needle, the thread and into the red dress.

Amelia awoke to sunshine streaming into her window landing on her pillow. There was a picture-perfect blue sky outside her window. She stretched, her fists reaching towards the heavens. It was a beautiful day and she felt confident, happy and motivated.

Excitedly, she ran towards her drawing board in her pajamas and started sketching her new line barely able to keep up as the ideas came.

Sunshine cascading across my face awakened me. My eyes opened and I knew immediately. Don't ask how I knew. I just knew. I had been transformed during the night. I don't know how or why this metamorphosis occurred.

Turning my hands over, I closely studied each one, each finger, each nail, each cuticle individually, as if for the first time. Actually, it was the first time, being in my new state.

I dressed hurriedly, wanting to go out and see if what I thought happened was true.

I walked seeing the world in a whole new light.

A crying was coming from my left side further in the woods. Walking in that direction, I found myself in a clearing. The source of the crying was straight ahead and I ran to the hawk sitting on the ground. His cries were fainter as I approached. He was almost to weak to open his beak. His left wing was clearly broken and the source of his distress.

Sitting on the pine needles next to him, I spoke calmly in a soothing voice. I pulled him gently to my lap and ran my hand softly over his injured wing again and again. Placing him on the ground next to me, he flapped his wings then flew off without a look back. I smiled, satisfied.

I continued walking. Further into the woods, I saw a young boy sitting against a tree. A blue like lay on the ground. Attached to the back was a red wagon. As I came closer, I saw the dog by his side lying with his head resting on the boy's lap. Tears streamed down the boy's face.

Quietly, I sat next to him. The dog's breathing was labored. The hair in his muzzle was mostly white showing his advanced age.

We sat peacefully for a few moments. I wanted the boy to speak first. Sensing that he said "he's dying." His hand continued to gently pet his friend as he looked down at him.

"I can help him." I reached out to move to furry head to my lap.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!" Leaning his body protectively over the animal, his right arm came up to shield him from my reach.

Withdrawing my hand to respect his feelings, I spoke calmly to the child. "I can heal your friend."

The boy looked at me. "Batman is my best friend. We grew up together. We learned everything and explored everything together. This was one of our favorite spots. That's why I brought him here. He's going to be buried where I'm sitting." I noticed the shovel for the first time.

"He had a great life. Now, his time is over. Don't take anything from us. Just leave us alone." I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.

"If you truly have the power you say you do, you were given it for a reason. Don't waste it. Don't be selfish with it. Use it to make a difference in the world."

He must have saw the question in my eyes.

"Bring rain where there are droughts. Bring rivers where people have no water. Make food grow in barren lands. Bring wisdom to the leaders of nations. Make doctors curious so they never stop learning and they don't quit until they find the right answer. Give military leaders compassion to end wars."

I thanked the boy then walked back on the path that carried me to him.

I took my favorite hiking path to a spot on the lake. No one else was using the path or on the lake. The peace from the scene filled me.

Drought, famine, war, disease. What's the saying, "From the mouths of babes?"

For the second time this day, I was awestruck.

by Tari Conti

There was a splinter in one knuckle and a drop of blood slid slowly down another. Still both fists hammered on the thick wooden door. This was useless. All the doors in this place were cut from one slab.

One more time, Lola looked over her shoulder at the three windows in the stone wall behind her. Each was only one square foot. She would never fit through, that's if she could even reach them. They were placed high on the walls, above her head, and there is no furniture in the room. Slumping to the ground, she felt defeated.

How long will she have to linger here before being rescued? Again, she looked towards the windows. She scooted back against the wall preparing for a long wait. For the first time, she regretted this place being isolated. Mario and Lola were seeking a vacation spot. Some place they could be alone and relax. It wasn't just a vacation home they sought but a future home after retirement. This one-acre plot dotted with various fruit trees surrounded with nothing but miles of green wherever the eye looked seemed ideal. The fact that the house was in total disrepair was not a hindrance for the couple. The property was bought dirt cheap because of the years of neglect. Doing what renovations they could themselves was a challenge they readily accepted together. The place would truly be theirs marked by their sweat, blood and tears. She never considered that in times of emergency, the remoteness would be against them. She sighed as she lied down. Might as well be comfortable. She could be here for a while.

There was a distant pounding that grew closer and closer. The cool tile felt comforting against her skin. She didn't want to move and lose this sensation. Her lids slowly opened. Lola jumped to a seated position when she realized the pounding was coming from the other side of the door. Someone was here!

Wide eyes stayed on the door as it flew open. Lola jumped to feet and ran forward.

"Marco! What are you doing here?" Her arms encircled him as she pressed the side of her face into his chest in a hug. Strong arms were around her returning the sentiment. "I didn't think you were coming today!"

"I wasn't but the weather is beautiful today, too beautiful to be inside working. You've gotten a lot done this past week. Mario will be surprised when he returns."

"You mean we've gotten a lot accomplished. There's still so much I want to do before our anniversary. The renovations are really coming along though, even better than I hoped. Mario will be surprised. Mostly, at the sight of his long, lost brother! I can't believe after all these years, you just showed up out of the blue to reunite with him."

Lola smoothed her long brown hair after releasing her tresses from their binding as she tried not to look at Marco's eyes. Well, not staring into them mesmerized is what she was really thinking. She'd never seen brown eyes quite like his. They were bright, as if a light was shining through them like a stained-glass window.

Are Mario's eyes like that? Strange, she just couldn't remember. They would have to be, wouldn't they? I mean they are twin brothers after all.

"Listen, I'm thrilled you showed up. I thought this door wasn't shutting flush and closed it to check not thinking it was a problem that I was inside and the key was on the outside. I had resigned myself to the fact that I would be stuck in that room all weekend until Mario found me Monday morning."

"That's assuming he came here Monday morning."

"Let's not even think of the alternative. So why did you come anyway?"

"I want to take you out on my boat. It's a great day for it."

"You've convinced me. Let's go."

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Lola felt relaxed on the water. The sun glinted off the surface like jewels shimmering in the light. The sky was a perfect blue. Her skin was caressed by the light breeze dancing across the boat. Marco was a competent captain moving around the vessel with a sure foot and hand making a pleasant afternoon.

After a lunch of crab with avocado, tomato, mango and pineapple, she went below deck feeling like she had too much sun. Admiring the wood all around her, for the hundredth time, she felt amazed that Marco did all this work himself. It was a beautiful boat. She couldn't help but wonder if he lived on the boat. It certainly had all the amenities essential to any home. Undecided if it was rude to ask, she didn't.

Drinking the lemonade Marco made her, she sat back on the sofa and made herself thoroughly at home. Her sandals remained on the floor as her feet curled up on the cushion by her side. Her host appeared disappointed she didn't want the wine that was opened for lunch. Having alcohol while on the water never seemed like a good idea to Lola and she didn't feel bad about turning it down.

It must be the water rocking her to sleep. She felt drowsy and just wanted to close her eyes for five minutes.

The feeling of silk under her cheek made her finally open her eyes. The bed she slumbered in was a queen size four poster bed with luxurious silk bed linens and multiple pillows. She sat straight up and looked around. How did she get here? Where is she? This is definitely not the boat she fell asleep on.

Listening for any sound, she was met with silence. Cautiously, she made her way out of bed. There was a large wool carpet on the floor and a small dressing table with a hairbrush and comb across from the bed. The large, attached mirror reflected her look of confusion. There was no other furniture in the room. The walls were stone and the ceiling was high indeed.

She noticed the gown on the chair of the dressing table for the first time. It was forest green satin with burgundy trim. It was elaborate, ornate and Victorian looking. The exceptionally large wooden door opened and a very ordinary looking woman in the uniform of a servant entered.

"Where am I? What is this place? How did I get here?" Lola was anxious for answers and relieved to see someone harmless appear.

"You must dress for dinner. Dinner is served promptly at seven. Shoes are near the bed."

She looked where indicated and noticed a pair of velvet shoes for the first time. Annoyed, that she didn't answer her questions, Lola stood steadfast. She was not dressing in that ridiculous costume or staying for dinner!

The woman stepped towards her, as if, to help her dress. Her nose curled up instinctively. "You'll need a shower first. Through there. Go!"

Being directed through a narrow doorway, a shower was found. After hearing the door to the chamber close behind her, she ran to it and pulled on the handle to no avail. Lola was locked in. This felt like a bad dream. Both her hands ran through her hair as she sat on the edge of the bed.

She ran to the bathroom and peered out the window. Water was all around. It stretched all the way to horizon. This place was built to be a fortress.

After a quick shower, Lola slipped into the gown and shoes provided. Her best course of action was to go along until she discovered who brought her here and why.

Returning the brush to the dressing table, and taking one last look in the mirror, she didn't hear the door open, but suddenly the woman was beside her again.

"I'll escort you down for dinner."

Lola stood without a word. She's not going to answer any questions or help me and dinner was not a request.

There was a narrow winding stone stairway. Lola's hands ran over the stone walls as they descended in silence.

The bottom opened into a large open space. There was a huge fireplace against one wall with a fire burning inside. On the opposite side of the room, there was a long wooden dining table that could easily seat eight people but only currently had a high-backed velvet chair at each end of the table. Under the table was a wool carpet with a scene depicting foxes, hunting dogs and horses. There was a beautiful candelabra in the center of the table with long tapered white candles lighting the setting. A bowl of red roses was placed on either side of the center piece.

Lola stood at the bottom of the staircase taking in the scene. The servant moved to the table without a word to Lola. A tall man with black hair stood at one end of the table. He was also dressed in an elaborate costume to compliment Lola's.

He must have heard the servant's arrival. As he turned towards her, she realized suddenly that it was Marco. Never so relieved to see a familiar face she ran towards Marco as the slick clean bottoms of her shoes skid across the stone floor.

"Marco! You're Here! What happened? What is this place? How did we get here? Where are we?" She was at his side and placed one hand onto his forearm as she looked around afraid that they might be separated at any moment.

"Calm down. Here, have a glass of wine." He poured the ruby red liquid from a chilled metal pitcher. The goblet he handed her was heavy cut crystal filled three quarters to the top.

"You can start serving." He spoke to the woman who was silently waiting for instruction. "Yes, Sir." She disappeared presumably to the kitchen to retrieve the meal.

Lola put the goblet onto the table. It sat close to the edge and Marco casually moved it backwards to a position of safety. She looked at Marco with wide eyes in astonishment. "What is this? You brought me here? Why? What is this place?"

"Yes. Of course, I brought you here. Why are you looking like that? Don't you remember being on my boat with me earlier today? You said you wanted to see my castle. Well, here it is!" His arm waved in an expansive gesture to take in their entire surroundings.

"Well, yes, some day I wanted to see your castle. You, me and Mario..."

"Stop with Mario!" His fist banged on the thick tabletop. "I'm tired of hearing his name!" His anger was substantial.

Lola took a step back and cowered a little. "But he's your brother. You came to see him after all this time apart." She hated the pleading evident in her voice.

"He's always taking things from me. I won't let him take you, not now that we've found each other."

"I'm Mario's wife. I'm not yours to take."

I look of incomprehension met her gaze. "How can you say that after the last week we spent together?" Moving near her, he put his arms around her to pull her close. As he moved in to kill her lips, Lola turned her face so that his mouth softly glanced off her cheek.

His hands held her upper arms in a tight grip.

"You can't keep me here. What did you think would happen?" Lola struggled to release his hold.

"We'll be happy here. We'll fall in love. You'll see." His grip was loose but he didn't want to let her go.

"I don't want to stay here. I'm in love with Mario." She tried to sound kind, to not let her fear show hoping he would see reason and return her to the house she was renovating.

"I'm his brother! If you love him, you can love me!"

She pulled herself free, no longer concerned about being gentle with him. "I'm not staying here and no matter how long you keep me hostage, I will never love you!" She ran to the door at the end of the great room expecting a large hand to reach out and grab her, pulling her back at any moment. She reached the door looking behind her. Marco stood at the table drinking from a goblet.

Surprised to find the key in the keyhole, she turned it as she pulled the heavy door open. Risking one more look behind her, Marco was still showing no concern over her actions. Running out the door she ran about twenty-five feet from the entrance when she stopped short looking all around her in disbelief. This castle was an old lighthouse no longer in use. It sat atop a high cliff on its own island. Water surrounded her clear out to the horizon. She was trapped.

Lola walked inside with defeat written all over her face. What would be the point of staying outside without shelter or food? She had no choice. Marco knew it which explained his calm demeanor. There was no fear that he would hurt her, just a dread that permeated from her toes, how long would she be held here? There was no reason to suppose anyone would find her here. Certainly not Mario, he didn't know his brother was near or his contact with her. There was nothing to connect him to her disappearance.

"Have some dinner." The servant had come back with the meal and laid out platters containing roast fish, grilled potatoes, the largest asparagus spears she ever saw, olives, artichoke hearts and tomatoes. Everything looked and smelled delicious. She was starving. Silently, she took her seat at the other end of the table. Respecting her silence, he brought the goblet of wine she left untouched and sat it by her plate, close to her hand. He didn't speak until taking his seat. "You'll feel better with a full stomach and a good night's sleep." Placing his napkin over his lap, they ate in silence.

She drained the last of the wine in her goblet not caring how many times he refilled it or how intoxicated she became. Being drunk seemed reasonable considering the circumstances. The servant appeared at her side. Lola couldn't say if there were others. This same woman was the only other person she saw. Gently placing her hand under her elbow, she helped her to her feet. "Come Miss. I'll bring you to your chamber."

One hand held onto her arm as the other glided across the stone walls of the narrow staircase. The slick-bottomed shoes slid on the steps causing her to stumble twice. Her companion kept her from falling to the ground completely.

Once inside the room, she sat on the edge of the bed, as the servant insisted on removing her gown. She wasn't much help and flopped this way and that until it was finally pulled away. The white cotton nightgown slipped over her head before she could slide under the covers. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

"Wake up. Come on. We have to go." The whisper in her ear was accompanied by a gentle shaking of her shoulder. The words made it through the drunken fog and reached her brain. Her face scrunched up in refusal. Wanting to swat away the hand trying to call her to action, her fingers merely squirmed in response. Her faint cries of "shoo, shoo" drowned in the silk pillow resting under her cheek.

The comforter was thrown off and she was scooped up into strong arms that held her as her head rested against a broad flannel covered chest. Her minor attempts at discord were quieted. "It's me, Lola." Hearing Mario's voice was all she needed to settle into his arms ad be taken away.

Cool air caressed one cheek and her head looked up awakened, at last. The boat was clearly their destination. It wasn't the boat that brought her here. It was smaller and it was a motor boat. When she saw the man in the boat gesturing for them to hurry and join him, she felt nervous and her body stiffened.

"It's okay. That's Leo. He's with me." His reassurance worked and she was calm again. Once seated in the back of the boat, it took off as if they were being chased. She dared a peek behind them but saw nothing but water. The lighthouse faded smaller and smaller in the distance. They were not being pursued.

"How on earth did you find me?" The sea air sobered her up fast. Lola snuggled close to Mario. A wool blanket was wrapped around her. "I have to tell you something. I know you'll be shocked but you must believe me. Your brother did this." She was prepared for his denial.

"I know."

She looked up from his chest in disbelief. "You know? How could you know? You haven't had contact with Marco since, since who knows when? He showed up out of the blue a week ago with no word."

"It's true, I haven't seen Marco since we were in college, but I've always known where he was. I've kept tabs on his whereabouts all this time. He bought The Black Swan quite a few years ago."

"The Black Swan?" The confusion in her eyes was reflected in her voice.

"That's the vessel he took you sailing on."

"You knew about that? How did you know? Were you two in touch all this time? Is this some sort of trick or are you two in on this together? Lola was sitting up now.

"I knew he had the boat and I knew he bought the lighthouse. When I returned and you weren't around it didn't take a genius to figure out he invited you sailing as a ruse to get you to the lighthouse."

Mario sounded and by all appearances was calm. Never even looking back once to see if they were being followed. His calm was permeating to Lola and she felt safe. The night was dark with only a sliver of a moon but Leo steered with the skill of a man used to being on the water.

"What do you mean, you always knew where he was? If you didn't have any contact with him, how could you? Did you hire someone to find him?"

"I didn't need to. It was quite easy really. You see, I look like him so it's easy to convince anybody I am him and I can find out whatever I want to know about him."

Lola was stunned. It made sense though. She was speechless.

"That was why I was initially hesitant about buying the property here. I know I said it was because of the run down condition of the house. Actually, it was because I knew the proximity to Marco. It didn't feel comfortable but you seemed to have your heart sat on this place and there was no reason to think we would cross paths with Marco. He never needed to know we were this close. We're almost there." He held her close, putting her head against his chest and snuggling close with her under the blanket.

"We'll find a room to spend the night and fly home in the morning. There's every reason to think he won't detect you missing before morning. With a big enough head start, there's no way to believe he'll know where to find us. Sure, he found this place but that doesn't mean he knows where we live. We didn't talk about where we're from with anyone here."

In the back of his mind, he must have thought there was a chance Marco would find him and something like this would happen. Lola could never get him to admit why he was so close mouthed about where they were from.

"Lola, Lola. You have to wake up now." For the second time, she was being woken sooner than she wanted to be. This time the drunken haze was lifted. "You have to get up, shower, dress and pack the bags. I'm heading out to the bank and will make the arrangements. You have to be ready when I get back. Come on La Mia Piccola Colomba." He softly kissed her lips and waited until she grunted in reply so he knew she was listening. Then he was gone.

After the shortest shower of her life, she dressed quickly and threw their remaining belongings into their bags. Feeling proud that she was going to have everything done and be ready when Mario returned, she took one last look around the hotel room, opening drawers she knew she didn't use to make sure nothing was left behind.

The knock at the door stopped in her tracks. Who knew they were here? Surely, Mario would use his key. The knock came again, this time insistent. Quietly, she crept towards the door and peered through the looking hole. A police uniform was outside her door. Her heart started racing. Again, the knocking which wouldn't be denied. Slowly, she backed away from the door.

"Mrs. D'Angelo? Are you there? It's the police. It's urgent we talk with you. There's been an accident." The young man at the door was surprised when the door swung wide. For a moment, he didn't speak.

"An accident? What happened? Is it my husband? Is he okay?" Her nerves were on edge after everything that transpired in the last twenty-four hours.

"I'm afraid it was your husband and his brother."

"His brother?!" The shock moved her backwards a couple steps.

"Are you okay Mrs. D'Angelo? Is someone else with you? Is there someone I can call for you?" He stepped inside the room.

"No. No There's no one. I'll be okay. Please tell me what happened."

"Maybe, you should have a seat." His hand motioned towards my elbow to lead me to a sofa.

She was tired of being led and wanted to take control of her surroundings. She sat mostly so he would deliver the news. The concern on his brow made it obvious no news would be shared until he was certain she was safe to hear it.

"There's been a car accident. Apparently, they were traveling at a high speed and didn't quite make the curve in the road. They went over a steep rocky embankment. The gas tank hit a rock going down and exploded."

"Oh my God!" Lola's hands went to her chin in silent prayer as a tear came to one eye. "Is Mario dead?"

"I'm sorry to tell you only one of them survived. He was thrown clear before the car exploded. He's in critical condition though."

"Which one survived?" She didn't want to hear the answer but needed to know.

"We don't know." His tone was sheepish, as if he hated to admit it.

"YOU DON"T KNOW!? HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW?! Lola was on her feet, her hands at her sides.

"I'm sorry. Neither one had an ID on him. Both wallets were recovered in the debris of the wreckage. I'm sorry but both bodies suffered major injuries. They were twins after all.

Lola sat back down stunned. It only took a moment. She grabbed her purse and walked to the door. "Can you drive me to the hospital?"

"Of course, that's why I'm here. Let's go." Lola was out the door before he finished speaking.

Lola sat in the waiting room of the hospital not knowing what to do. The doctor spoke with her when she arrived. The survivor was critically injured. There was a lot of damage to his face, disfigured was the word he used. There were serious burns, internal injuries and broken bones to contend with as well. He was placed in a medically induced coma. He wasn't able to speak when he first arrived. Low moans came from somewhere deep within him. That was all.

The doctor didn't say it, nor did the policeman but they were relying on her to tell them which man survived. How was she expected to do that? She wanted to call someone. She wished desperately that there was someone to call but she couldn't think of a soul. Except Mario.

"Dear God, please let that be Mario they were working fiercely to save. Please God."

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It's been about a year since Mario's horrific accident. Life has been good. The remodeling is long completed and they spend time there whenever they can. Rolling over to kiss Lola once more, "I'm going to jump in the shower. We should hurry so they don't give away our dinner reservation like last time."

"They better not. I will be sooo mad. Don't worry Il Mio Piccolo Carciofo, I won't take long." She jumped out of bed to gather the dress, clothes and jewelry she selected for tonight.

"Carciofo?" Mario laughed. "You need to practice your Italian. Doesn't that mean rutabaga or something like?" He hurried into the other room without seeing the look of horror on her face. She heard the shower running.

"Oh My God!" She put her fist to her lips so she wasn't heard. Sitting on the bed every inch of her was shaking. Her body was paralyzed with fear. Running through her head was 'I have to leave before he comes out. I have to leave before he comes out.'

"I have to leave before he comes out." Whispering out loud broke the spell and she moved putting on the first jeans and shirt she found. Clothes and other belongings were thrown into a duffle bag and she ran to her car as if her life depended on it.

The red Mini Cooper traveled the roads like a champ approaching the finish line. Not looking back once, her phone rang and she hesitated to check the caller ID. Mario's face was smiling up from his photo in her contacts. Lola turned off her phone.

"I have to go where he will never find me. Where should I go?" Parking her car at the train station in Rome, she ran to buy the ticket for London. Confident she could get a flight to Canada, anywhere in Canada, she didn't worry. Once, she was on the flight from Montreal, she sat back confident she would not be found.

Once more she saw her husband's face break into a big smile as he laughed when she called him a rutabaga. Early in their relationship he started calling Lola 'La Mia Piccola Colomba', my little dove. She was trying to call him 'my little turtledove' but something went wrong in the translation and it came out 'il mio piccolo carciofo', my little artichoke. She remembered fondly how much they laughed that night because it was a good night all around despite her one faux pas. To revive the happiness of that night, she always called him 'mio carciofo.' Being so happy the last months, it hadn't really dawned on her that he no longer used the endearment. Mario would never have forgotten their pet names for one another.

For the first time, ever, she thought about what Mario told her that cold night as he held her close under the wool blanket. He always kept tabs on Marco's whereabouts to ensure their paths wouldn't cross. Marco had tried to kill him two or three times from their childhood to junior year of college. Always, he said the same thing, that Mario took everything from him, the same words he spoke to Lola at the lighthouse.

Placing the sleep mask on and sinking under the blanket, so no one would see the tears, she cried tears of grief for her late husband.

Imagine no possessions

I wonder if you can

No need for greed or hunger

A brotherhood of man

Imagine all the people

sharing all the world

Who can read these words from John Lennon and question if good writing matters?

The world was a different place when these words were written but they are still so relevant today.

These words inspire. They motivate. They bring hope. For some men, they are a call to action.

John Lennon left this life a long time ago but he can still reach people every where with his writing.

That matters.

A widow, a prostitute and a nun walk into Mrs. O'Leary's Cow. Three pairs of eyes scan the crowded pub and look at one another with a nod. They each had the same thought, how sad the man in the coffin only has the three of us to honor his memory.

And the preacher said he was a good man.

Only the nun knew the man in the coffin was at the soup kitchen every day, not for a free meal but to serve the soup.

Only the widow of his best friend knew he sat at the end of the bar every night with a ginger ale in front of him as the pub's self-appointed designated driver.

Only the prostitute knew the man in the coffin paid her at night, not for her company but so she could eat without walking the streets.

From then on, when the widow served the soup to the homeless and the prostitute sat at the bar sipping ginger ale and the nun drove the prostitute to the church to sleep, all three had the same thought, how wonderful the man in the coffin has the three of us to honor his memory.