Kailey Hamauei
About Kailey Hamauei
Kailey was born and raised in Corpus Christi. More about Kailey at the end of this section.
Taita's House
Off Ocean Drive in the old neighborhoods the homes have all been through the cycle: growth, stability, decline, and revitalization. Some have been through the cycle more than once. Most are pier and beam, many with original wood exteriors, some covered with asbestos siding so old it’s crumbling off in toxic chunks, and some with vinyl slapped on top of the asbestos.
Taita’s house had that kind of shitty 1940’s white aluminum siding that was slightly dented or bent every couple of feet or so. A healthy green and manicured hedge lined the front lawn and wrapped around the sides. The long, deeply cracked driveway led straight back to the detached garage where a small rose garden—with red, pink, and cream blooms—that Taita tended in her spare time. Her workshop was next to that, where she made lavish gowns with beads and Swarovski crystals for the annual Buc Days parade.
The gutters and trim were brown, the front door a flat white with thick gold address numbers made of wood. No one really used the front door much because the back was always unlocked, unless of course, nobody was home. Growing up in the post-slasher-flick era, and being an imaginative, if paranoid child, I often sweated with the anxiety of my grandparents being murdered in that house. Thankfully, living across the street helped me assuage those fears by simply looking out the window, or walking over.
Between the garage and workshop was a narrow passage paved with heavy stone slabs opening to the large alleyway where we spent the majority of our summer breaks. A grape vine had woven itself all along the chain link fence to the alleyway, producing small green bunches of pure cheek-puckering evil we would only eat on dares. Two large fig trees grew there as well. One stretched along the back of the garage and the other past the fence more toward the back lot of Mrs. Chakur’s house. In the late summer the figs grew rapidly from hard green bulbs into fleshy black orbs that eventually dropped to the ground due to their own corpulence. It was then that Taita would ask us to gather them for her, as well as to pick dozens of the most tender leaves from the grape vine and bring them inside for washing and preparing. On the small kitchen table her hands, blue veined and wrinkled with soft olive skin, made quick work of trimming the stems and veins from the leaves, boiling them in salt, and then rolling them up like small cigars filled with rice and ground beef to make warak arish.
The figs we would rinse with cold water and eat fresh. Or if we begged her, Taita would indulge us and grind them up with chopped walnut and bake maamoul cookies.
“Ya Allah, habibti albee!” she would chide me as my brother and cousins and I ate one after the other the moment the cookies were cooled enough to eat.
When it came time to clean up the kitchen and to do the dishes, they boys took off back outdoors as usual, but I would linger to help tidy. I savored the moments where it was only the two of us. It did not take long to sweep the worn linoleum floor or to do what few dishes fit in the small sink space. I felt sorry that Taita would do these things alone and even as a child, I feared the strain would tire her heart.
When we relaxed after, we spent our time on the couches in the living room. The furniture consisted of very oddly colored pieces strewn about the edges of the room. The sofa was a thirty year old relic, possibly older, with clawed feet, lime green and patterned upholstery and dingy yellow-gold pillows. There were a few armchairs as well, equally as odd with green and orange fabric, but it would be unlucky to get stuck sitting in them as they were not very comfortable. Taita sat in one of the two burgundy-colored leather recliners in the room. The other sat empty. This recliner had been Jiddo’s. The headrest was still worn—it had never been replaced—from where he continually had rested his balding, white-haired head evening after evening until he took his last breath and died while napping in it on a chilly day in November. The space between the recliners was where the paramedics attempted to revive him, around five feet from where my brother and I hid watching underneath the dining room table.
“Ya Allah!” Taita had cried. But not in the same voice I had ever heard her say it in before.
I thought of this every time I passed the spot. It was a hard image for a child to shake. Even years after, late at night and when I was sure Taita wouldn’t see me, I would curl into his chair and cry for him against the coolness of the leather; overwhelmed with the memories of my five-year-old self. After periods like this, days later when Taita would fall asleep in her chair while watching her novellas, sometimes still wearing her pink apron, the mortality and frailty of her would grip me. I would fix my eyes hard upon her ribs to ensure it was still rising and falling. Sometimes I resorted to even placing two fingers lightly to her wrist as she slept, like my mother had shown me if I couldn’t be sure.
As an adult, the whole house is much smaller than the one that lives in my memories.
The kitchen does not seem like it could have fit all of us grandchildren at once. There is nothing cooking on the stove or in the oven. There are no soft maamoul or twist cookies or sugar dusted kourambiedes tucked away into the dining room cabinet. The house has long since become my father’s rental property. Tenants come and go every few months, and now, what was once a home is abused and defaced as rental properties tend to be. The trees in the front have been cut down to nothing, black rot clearly visible from the splintered nub that was once a proud trunk. The hedges are dead as well, which brings to light even more imperfections in that aluminum siding. The front door is painted a loud and tacky red.
The last time I was permitted to see inside, the carpet had become so frayed that it had pulled away from the edges of the floor in places. The linoleum portions of the floor more worn than ever. Places that once were coated in cream colored paint now held a dinge that no amount of taking to it with a wash cloth could scrub away. New memories had been made in this place. New memories of strangers; and an influx of tenants who did not know about the place on the floor that used to be between two recliners. Or the place in the hall where Taita’s heart finally shuddered weakly in her chest.
But in the alley, away from the touch of the renters and the neighbors is still the grape vine, still flourishing more wildly than ever, and the two fig trees. It was a cutting from this vine that we now have in our own backyard. One which still grows and has now spread along the entirety of the back fence, reminding me of all those scorching summers all those years ago.
The Wedding
The pale amber liquid swirled around in Sam’s highball glass, the dark color of the whiskey diluted by the melting ice cubes. A cacophony of conversations and laughter passed by him; the men in tuxedos and women in glittering evening wear drifted back and forth between the dance floor and the bar. Glasses, gleaming golden and filled to the brim with champagne, clinked together in toasts he could not hear over the music. Occasionally someone would clap him on the back or stop to exchange some quick banter, but with the exception of moving to get another drink, he had stood all evening fixed to his position near the bar.
He drained the last of his drink in one swallow. The back of his throat seized up and burned a little in protest but he relished the feeling. Cate had not finished her drink yet. In fact, she had probably only taken maybe two sips from what he could see. She looked older now than she had, not so much in features, but in the distinguished and deliberate way she carried herself. From where he stood and because of the dim lighting he could not tell how the details of her face had changed through the years, but he knew there had to be changes. His own face had changed a little more than he liked to admit. He had to shave every day now to keep his face smooth. There was a large crease that appeared between his eyebrows now when he moved them and that lingered even when he didn’t. He couldn’t remember having that as a teenager. He also couldn’t remember the little lines around his eyes or when they had appeared.
He wondered if the red of her hair simply looked muted because of the lighting, or if it had lost its fire and begun to tame with age. He wondered if the kid had red hair too.
copyright Kailey Hamauei
read the rest of this story in Corpus Christi Writers 2018
About Kailey Hamuei
Born in Corpus Christi and raised somewhere between her grandmother’s Arabic kitchen, the public library, and the Padre Island National Seashore, Kailey Morgan Hamauei is currently pursuing her passion in animation. She has pursued other creative work. Her passion is storytelling in any medium.
Karen Cline-Tardiff
About Karen Cline-Tardiff
Karen has been writing as long as she could hold a pen. She is the Editor-in-Chief of Gnashing Teeth Publishing. More about Karen at the the end of this section
Problematic
I.
My husband wears his red-brown skin like a badge of honor. It wasn’t always so. He tells me stories of being young and of difference, being teased and hit for that difference. He tells me of finally feeling the first hints of acceptance when he got his “Indian Roll Card.” He carries this worn square of paper proudly. His name and a number. He is Recognized. He is not Native American; there were no Americans when his great-great-grandfather stood against an invading force. He is not Native. He is now bound by a government he resents. He is Miami. He is Myaamia.
II.
She is white-passing. She will not let her skin dictate who she is. She of half of me and all of him. She is wild and more free than I ever was. She doesn’t know the ancient stories: she feels them in her bones. At 2 days old we could see it in her eyes. She was Wise Woman. She was Ancient Mystery and Healing. She was Before.
III.
I am white. Or maybe white. Adopted into white. No one knows. White appearing. I have no voice in the matter. In any matter. I sit in tears watching my family ignored, treated as if they don’t exist, treated like reservation trash. I must stay silent. When I try to write of my love for them, for their humanity, I am being problematic. I am too white to have words for the dissonance I live in.
the rain
Dios
Spanish for God
Dias
Spanish for days
If God is the masculine
And days are the feminine
Is God diametrically
opposite of days
Does time flow
As blood across El Mundo
The masculine Earth
Awash is lluvia
A feminine insertion
Of water into soil
God is Earth
Time is flowing water
I stand grounded
In the masculine
Yet cannot grow
Without the feminine
Without the rain to
Wash away the sins
Without the days
To tick tick away
Dios is plural
God is one
Full of many gods
We are Dias
Feminine
Days without end
We are Dios
Masculine
Love without end
We are Eterna
KCT 11-26-22
Standing In Line
Death Does Not Come in the Spring
flowers push hard against earth,
brown sandy loam gives way to
a impetuous green, stroked all
night by moonlight before fracturing
into pink and white and petals, splayed
open, inviting insects to dive in, butts
in the calm Spring breeze, partaking
of the nectar, satisfying their buzz
the slideshow sky is a lesson in
cloud physics, cumulonimbus reposing
in naked delight across the stratosphere,
unashamed of it’s virga, it’s streak
exposed for the world to see
my husband ambles around our
small acre, imagining where to place
the much-talked-about fire pit which
never materializes; there is salt water
coating our windows, forcing us outside
to see the eruption in our yard, the
stickers and stinging nettle reaching out,
cleaving onto our soles, our pant legs,
their hope for reproduction depending
not only on the wind, but on our wandering
my daughter is studious in her bedroom,
her online classes keeping her engaged
beyond the four walls of our home, a
hope for the continuation of our version
of normal continuing beyond this Spring,
our ancient imperatives echoing inside of us,
the innate knowledge of Spring as a bringer
of futures, where Death is not welcome
About Karen Cline-Tardiff
Karen has been writing as long as she could hold a pen. Her works can be seen in several literary magazines and websites including Nowhere Poetry & Flash Fiction, Tuck Magazine, Pif Magazine, Unlikely Stories, Tuck Magazine, and The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. She founded the Aransas County Poetry Society and hosts a monthly Open Mic in Rockport, Texas. She has a Kindle edition book of poetry, Stumbling to Breathe. She is the Editor-in-Chief of Gnashing Teeth Publishing.
Kenneth bennight
About Kenneth Bennight
Kenneth Bennight is a husband, father, lawyer, former Marine, and the author of the hard-boiled Nacho Perez stories. More about Kenneth at the end of this section.
Zeke and the Mystery of the Callaghflorian Crystals
Wheel Colony XJB776, Interstellar Space
The blue chick’s bright mane was no yellower than a jonquil and her clothes no skimpier than a clumsy pickpocket’s purse. She stood at the bar, her stripes pulsing to the beat of the music. I let out a deep breath. Middle aged, I’d all but lost my stripes, except when mad—or scared. She’d never give me a second look.
Stale ale and THC-product smoke wafted to me. Flashing signs lit the room. The bar sat on an outside bulkhead, and a four-meter diameter porthole showed the galaxy spinning around us. Pedants insist we’re doing the spinning. Whatever. I never tired of gawking. Every deck along the 100-kilometer circumference of the wheel was lined with portholes, but schmucks like me don’t live next to outside bulkheads.
I polished off my ale and signaled for another. It came quickly, and I flipped the bartender 500 People’s Credits. A year ago, 50 PCreds would have been ample. The damned Council would destroy the Wheel.
I cringed at the thought. The Council knew everything, but they couldn’t read minds. Well, if they could, they’d keep it secret. But if they couldn’t, wouldn’t they keep you guessing? I squeezed my eyes, shook my head, and took another quaff.
Three unmodifieds drank at the bar, a rare sight. No stripes, hair instead of manes, and limited, fixed colors. Merchants or diplomats, maybe. The Council won’t let unmodified people live here, and I hear modifieds aren’t welcome on other wheels. So the Council keeps us modifieds in and mostly keeps unmodifieds out. The better for the Council to keep control.
I was halfway into the second ale when Blue Chick sidled over. What did she want? Not likely my charm.
“Ezekiel Soorling, private investigator?”
I nodded and hoisted my ale in salute. “Zeke will do. How may I help you?” Maybe she’d be a paying client. One of those would be nice.
She bit her top lip. “Umm, let’s move closer to a speaker.”
The People’s Security Force had cameras here like everywhere, but the raucous music and cross talk likely drowned out listening devices. Still, she wanted to move, and she might pay.
At the table she picked, the pounding music pierced my ears. I sat down, and she snuggled beside me, grasped my hand, and whispered. I could hardly hear, never mind the PSF.
“Zeke, I need you to find something. Someone stole my Callaghflorian-crystal brooch.”
Her mane tickled my nose. I rubbed a finger over it and whispered back. “You can get a nice brooch printed on the black market easier than find this one. If somebody took it, the Council knows and allowed it.” Her perfume drew me closer.
She ran a hand over my thinning mane. “The cameras are showing us together, and we need to give the PSF a reason. You better kiss me.”
Who was I to argue? I kissed, and she kissed back. An altogether satisfactory exchange—at least from my perspective. I think my stripes even flickered. Being grateful for the cameras was new.
“I said Callaghflorian crystals. We don’t have the right minerals to print them.”
“If you upset what the Council’s got going, they may sanction you.”
She blew in my ear. “They and I both know who did it. It was the PO in my quarters group.”
I jerked my head back. “You want me to go after a political officer?”
She kissed my cheek. “Aren’t you man enough, Zeke?”
“Do you see “man enough” as a synonym for stupid?”
She smiled and held up a People’s Credit chip. “Run this through your scanner.”
I did. Five-hundred thousand PCreds. I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
She plucked the chip back from my fingers. “If you take the job, the chip’s yours—right now. When you get the brooch, there’ll be a second just like it.” I got another kiss on the cheek.
The kisses were great. A million PCreds was great. Being pushed out an evacuation tube, not great. I chugged the rest of my ale.
She waggled the five-hundred thousand PCred chip.
My landlord’s angry face appeared. My other creditors were none too happy either, so I took the chip and a deep breath. “What’s the name of this PO?
“Rusfornan Perforus. My quarters group is in the Tango Sector, Third Deck, where 25th Avenue crosses Prime Meridian.” She handed me a piece of paper. “Here’s a picture of the brooch.”
I took the paper. I’d never seen actual Callaghflorian crystals, and she probably hadn’t either. “This looks nothing like pictures I’ve seen.”
She tapped my left hand, which still held the PCred chip, and winked. When she got up, I grabbed her forearm. “What’s your name?”
“I know yours.” She blew me a kiss and was gone.
Synonym for stupid seemed apt.
* * *
The next afternoon, I headed to the Kilo Sector dog track. The crowd billowed through the concourse. I climbed to the mezzanine, looking for an area devoid of people. There it was, and there would be Wilfah.
Back downstairs, I smelled Wilfah not much sooner than I saw her. So her hygiene was better than most days. Her skin was so pale and so tight, it was hard to tell her head from a skull. The rest of her was covered in a long-unwashed robe of swirling purple, green, and blue, a visual warning of her redolence.
“Excuse me. I’m hoping for a tip on the fifth.”
Wilfah turned the page of her racing form without looking up. “What a damn shame. My crystal ball needs a new crankshaft.”
Mission accomplished. I headed to the track lounge and fired up a stogie. You could do that in the Kilo Sector. Mostly—if you were lucky. I was. When done, I discarded the stub in a public trash can—and slapped a gummed note underneath the inside rim. A nasty place. Wilfah’s idea. Surprise.
The next morning, I was back. Another smoke. Again, I mashed out the stub, dumped it, and retrieved a reply.
A political officer? Are you shitting me?
But the note was folded over. Inside, it gave an address and time. Good old Wilfah always came through. Except when she didn’t.
* * *
I ambled down the street a block from the meeting address, the same bar where I’d met Blue Chick.
I’d never have agreed to something this dangerous if I didn’t need the money. And I wouldn’t need the money if I’d chosen a real career. Why didn’t my momma tell me to be an accountant or something? I sighed. In her defense, she did. I just didn’t listen. So why didn’t she make me listen? I shook my head. The suffering our mothers saddle us with.
As I neared the bar, my thoughts turned to the PSF cameras. Here’s hoping Wilfah had control of them. It was both our heads if she didn’t.
In I walked. There she was—staring gape-mouthed at the porthole. Her smell reached all the way to the door, and the tables around her were empty.
“Wilfah, can I buy you another ale?”
She spun to face me but glowered instead of speaking. Bad sign. I ordered two anyway and pulled up a chair. She slurped down her ale, slammed the glass down on the table, and glowered again.
“I don’t care for being set up. Even if you’re indifferent to your life, I’m not. To my life, I mean. I am supremely indifferent to yours.” Wilfah sometimes talked as high as she smelled.
I spread my hands, palms up. “Wilfah, you’ve told me you’re so good that even the PSF can’t track you.”
“Puffing, schmuck.”
“You’ve hacked communications before. What’s the difference?”
“Not for political officers.”
“Is their stuff better protected?”
“Not so’s to matter.”
I held up the PCred chip. “Fifty-thousand PCreds.”
Wilfah narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips into a fine line. “Let’s revisit the split.”
I made a rude gesture, and she returned the sentiment. But she’d do what I asked. Her creditors were rougher than mine.
* * *
Wilfah signaled a meeting at the same place. She came in and ordered an ale. I gagged. Others switched to tables farther from us. I struggled to speak.
“Did Perforus take it?”
Wilfah slurped some ale. “Yep.”
“I’ll need your help getting it.”
“He gave it to his girlfriend.”
“Great. We can steal it from her?”
“She doesn’t have it.”
I slammed my fist on the table and felt my stripes glimmer. “Out with it, dammit.” I caught a glimpse of Blue Chick watching us from across the room. She pinched her nose and waved. She’d smelled better.
Wilfah shrugged. “She wore it to the market, and it was stolen.”
“Which market?”
“Delta Sector.”
“Naturally. Home of the lightest fingers on the wheel. So Perforus isn’t attracted to her smarts.”
“Who’s to say? She isn’t much to look at.”
Wilfah would know.
* * *
My Delta Sector clothes had ordinary pockets outside, holding only decoy stuff, and secured pockets inside, holding only the barest essentials, my P.I. license and a small-denomination PCred chip.
A simulated shower had just passed the central plaza, leaving the plants damp and the air cool and with a hint of moisture.
I sipped coffee and searched for King Klepto, the best of Delta Sector’s many finger-smiths. A provocatively dressed, young woman brushed by me, stripes fading in and out. At the same instant, a faint shadow appeared in my peripheral vision.
“King, long time no see,” I said. The woman scurried away and King Klepto stepped into view. His red wasn’t as bright as when we’d last met.
“Zeke, what brings you to my sector?”
“A favor.” I handed him a picture of the brooch. “This was lifted here, and I’ll pay to get it back.” I pointed at him. “I’ll even pay you for a lead.”
King studied the picture and nodded. “How much—in each case.”
We cut a deal, and I turned to go.
King grabbed my forearm and held out my license. “A gesture of good faith.”
“The chip?” I asked.
“Not that much good faith.”
It’s hell being a schmuck.
* * *
King set up a meeting two days later.
He scowled. “This is too hot to touch.”
“Come on, dammit. You can’t be afraid of your underlings.”
King shook his head. “This wasn’t Delta Sector people.”
“BS. You wouldn’t tolerate encroachers.”
He stared me dead in the eye. “It was the Family.”
That took a minute to penetrate. “The Family? They took time out from protection rackets and drug trade? I thought the Council allocated big stuff to them, leaving small stuff for people like you.”
King laughed. “Whether the Council controls the Family, or the Family controls the Council, who knows?” He chewed his lower lip. “Check out Rustovian’s Antique Jewelry.” He gave me an address.
He pointed at me. “One more thing, Zeke. I’m not forgetting you didn’t warn me this was heavy.” He walked away, stripes faintly visible.
He’d forget—if there was money in it. I checked my pocket. He’d helped himself to payment for the information.
* * *
That evening, I found Blue Chick at the porthole bar perched on a stool and smooching with a nose-ringed, purple and blue squirt, his stripes flashing, the type who couldn’t hold his own in a dodge-ball game.
I grabbed the nose ring, pulled him halfway to the door and pushed him the rest. “Go tell your mommy your nose hurts.”
When I turned back, Blue Chick was facing the bar taking a drink. She looked over her shoulder at me. “His mommy is a sector warden.”
“Then he’ll tell her.”
I grabbed her upper arm and steered her to a table in the back. “Tell me about the brooch. You’re paying too much and now you’ve got me tangled up with the Family.” My stripes gave a few beats.
Her face clouded, making it hard to read. But her stripes flashed. After a pause, she sighed.
“What?”
She dangled a PCred chip at me. “Does another 250,000 help?”
It did. I’m such a schmuck.
* * *
Wilfah harvested the antique shop’s communication data. On paper of all things! Some was nonsensical, mostly just numbers and punctuation. Code. I settled in to break it, a bottle of genuine Kentucky bourbon to keep me company. Kentucky was a street in Charlie Sector.
The next morning, pounding on my door awakened me. I staggered to answer while jackhammers whacked away in my head. I peered out to find the plumber. Oh yeah, a clogged drain. I tripped on the nearly empty whiskey bottle and tried not to throw up.
He glanced down while brushing past the papers with the unbroken code. “My kid’s reading that in school.”
“Reading what?”
“That book.” He pointed at the papers.
I rushed to grab them and nearly blew out my stomach. “What book?” I croaked.
He pointed closer. “Right at the top. It says Huckleberry Finn.”
“That’s a book?”
“Yeah, you can actually still get paperback copies. Can you believe that?”
“Huckleberry Finn’s a book?”
“Damned lot of good it’s doing you.”
The plumber done, hair of the dog settled my stomach. Off I went to the library.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Huckleberry Finn.”
The librarian lifted a pointed face to me, turned it to the computer catalog, and turned it back to me with raised eyebrows.
I smiled.
She let out a long breath. “Do you have a preference for an edition?”
I showed her my paper.
She compared it to the catalog and pointed to an entry. “This seems to be what you want.”
I sat down and bored into the task. Taking the numbers to be references to page, line, and word didn’t yield anything intelligible. Neither did line, word, and page. But word, page, and line seemed promising. I shuffled through the pages to see how much text needed decrypting. Then I looked around. Did you know libraries don’t serve beverages?
Hours later, I had the solution. The brooch had a secret compartment with a chip, which was somehow related to the Family. I even learned the brooch was in the antique shop inside a book, naturally a copy of Huckleberry Finn.
Time to get the book. Now, burgling, I do. But connected people, people who might dump me out an air lock? What kind of schmuck would burgle them? A pattern of schmuckitude was emerging.
* * *
At three a.m., the shop was dark. I disabled the alarm—I hoped—and jimmied the lock. Nothing happened when I pushed the door—that I could tell. I crept down the central aisle to the counter.
Something moved to my right. I froze. Sweat seeped down my forehead, burning my eyes. Nothing. I waited. Still nothing. One foot forward. It sounded again. Damn. I was dead. Rustling and then squeaking. Rats. I was panicking over rats.
I found the counter opening, then a door to the back room. Through it and to the right brought me to a book case. I risked a small light to find Huckleberry Finn. I almost missed its faded cover, sitting as it did at the top left, well above my head.
I got it down. A recess cut out of the center of the pages held the brooch. Light in my mouth, I fiddled with the brooch until I found a latch. Inside was a chip outlining a plan for the Family to seize control of the Council. Holy shit.
The room light flashed on. Two grinning slabs of beef pointed lasers at me.
“Hand it over, pal.”
I considered my options and handed over the chip.
The one who’d spoken turned to the other. “Now what?”
“Fry him.”
As they leveled their weapons, I dropped behind a table and considered a break for the door. The room erupted in dazzling lasers, and I curled into a fetal ball. My body throbbed with the rapid pulsing of my own stripes. Why were they such bad shots? I could have killed me by now. The Mach Two carousel ride lasted several seconds and involved too many shots to have come from just the two guys. When it ended, I was still alive, not even singed. I wiggled my toes. They worked.
“You can get up, Zeke.” Blue Chick’s voice.
I staggered to my feet and held my hands up.
“Drop your hands, idiot.” From her tone, she didn’t need me anymore. Her nose was buried in a chip reader, and two men looked over her shoulder. A third seemed to be calling in a status report.
He paused and looked up at her. “So?”
She smiled and waved the reader. “Yeah, we’ve got it.”
The man making the report smiled and continued.
The beef slabs were on the deck and barbecued. Blue Chick and her buddies had done the cooking.
I felt lonesome. “What’s going on?”
Blue Chick looked up. “We’re busy.”
“The hell you say. I work hard to find this place, and then you’re here, too. What did you need me for?” My stripes still pulsed faintly.
“We didn’t know the chip was here until you found out. It would have been too high-profile, too heavy handed for us to investigate directly. You were a low-key tool.”
It sucks when a hot chick calls you a tool. “Tool for who?”
She dropped her head and slumped her shoulders.” Do you need a color-coded map? For the Council, nimrod.”
“Wow. So the Family’s done?”
She snorted. “The Family and Council overlap.” She gestured toward the charred bodies. “This is just a sibling quarrel.”
The pile of barbecue didn’t resemble sibling quarrels I’d seen.
Hopefulness buoyed me. “Where’s the rest of my money?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Zeke, you’re such a schmuck.”
Joyriding the Flyer
Jake banked his F-16 left at Las Vegas and headed north toward Salt Lake City. At 45,000 feet, the deep blue sky floated on a bed of white cumulus clouds.
“Red Rover to Miramar Control. Commencing second leg. Over.”
“Miramar Control to Red Rover. Roger that. Out.”
Moments later, the radio squawked again. “Damn, Jake. Can you see that?” Karl, Jake’s wingman, was to the right and a plane length behind.
“See what.”
“On my nose. The damn thing’s on my nose.”
“What are you talking about?”
Jake dropped just enough airspeed to let Karl pass. A pulsating, diaphanous sphere flew just off Karl’s nose.
Jake gasped. “What the hell?”
Karl banked right. The sphere’s relative location remained steady. Karl slowed, and the sphere did likewise, synchronized to Karl’s maneuvers.
“Remember in Die Hard when Bruce Willis says ‘Yippee ki yay?’” Karl called.
“Yeah, and?”
“Yippee ki yay.”
Karl hit the afterburners and passed Mach 1. The sphere maintained perfect relative position. After a moment, Karl dropped his speed to resume position relative to Jake. The sphere remained on Karl’s nose.
The clouds broke, revealing snow-capped mountains below. The sphere left station, descending.
“I’ll show the bastard.” Karl locked his targeting radar on the sphere.
“Karl, don’t do anything stupid.”
“This has got to be the ChiComs, and they got no business here. Launch-button cover cleared.”
At that instant, almost faster than Karl’s eyes could register, the sphere shot upwards. Before he could bring his craft around to follow, the sphere disappeared into the heavens.
“Well, it didn’t like that,” Karl said.
“You dumb SOB, that wasn’t Chicoms. You going to put in your report that you nearly shot down a UFO?”
“I didn’t nearly do anything. That sucker could’ve outrun a missile.”
-0-
Yarnak slammed open the hatch to Lensur’s chamber. “What did you do to the flyer, youngling?”
Lensur jolted awake. He poked his eye stalk out of his sleeping gear.
Yarnak could see Lensur’s eye stalk try to focus. The confused look on his face betrayed jumbling thoughts, probably none coherent.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean? And it’s high time you were up anyway. It’s been four periods since light.”
Lensur twitched. “That late? Really? It feels earlier.”
“It’s not. The flyer. What did you do?”
Lensur swung four of his appendages to the deck and rubbed his carapace. “I don’t know. Nothing, really.”
“Nothing really? The transmission is cracked, the torque converter’s on its last legs. The fuel supply is nearly exhausted. And you did nothing? You think I’ll believe that?”
The youngling waved the two appendages not on the deck. “Maybe they were about to go anyway.”
“Herbigrazer cud. The flyer was overhauled only two cycles ago. It should be good for 100 cycles. And even then, you don’t see that kind of damage.”
Yarnak’s eye stalk throbbed and pointed directly at him. Lensur squirmed but remained silent. Yarnak snorted. What could the worthless one say?
“You know the flyer belongs to the company? Even though I’ll pay for this, I’ll still get an unfavorable data note. All because of a youngling with no self-control.” Yarnak’s eye stalk turned red and his top two appendages bounced.
The youngling squirmed again.
“You were trying to impress a female, weren’t you?”
“No, First Parent. We just went for ride, you know. Nothing much.”
“Where did you go?”
Lensur shuffled his appendages and squeezed his eye stalk. “It was just this planet, you know. Nothing special.”
“No, I don’t know. Which planet?”
He retrieved the designation from the implanted chip. “You know, in the MWG78650 System, Sector ZBXG.”
Yarnak accessed his own memory chip, and his top appendages spread out and his eye stalk rose vertically to its maximum height. “There? You went there knowing it’s forbidden?” He pounded his top two appendages on his carapace. “You went to the third planet, didn’t you? You stubborn, insolent, disobedient, unreliable excuse for . . ..” His voice trailed off as switched to pounding against the bulkhead.
He paused and breathed deeply. Continuing in a softer voice, he said “I saw reports the authorities know of an intrusion, and they’re trying to trace who it was. When I take the flyer in for repairs and refueling, it’ll be flagged. I’ll have to account for the fuel usage.”
He slumped against the bulkhead for several moments. Then he stood erect, eye stalk elevated.
“How did you do the damage?”
“They were going to shoot at me.”
“Who? Why?” Yarnak asked.
“I was just surfing their craft’s bow wave. Automated control. No risk.”
“Except the risk they’ll be scared and shoot.”
“It’s not my fault they’re primitive.”
“It’s your fault you went.”
Lensur raised his appendages. “You know, it’s not like we took a captive or probed anybody. It was just a little harmless sightseeing. No big deal.”
The throbbing in Yarnak’s eyestalk intensified, and the stalk itself flashed colors like a parthwah in rut.
More squirming by Lensur.
“Alright, tell me the name of the female. Her parents need to be warned before the authorities come for her.
Lensur’s eye stalk pulled back. “Can’t we just tell them I was alone. They don’t need to know anything else.”
“They’re not stupid, youngling, and they’ll talk to your friends. What’s her name?”
Everything on Lensur drooped. “Rishura.”
Yarnak took long deep breath and held it before exhaling. “Rishura? My boss’s daughter, Rishura? Duchess Rishura? Rishura who’s betrothed to the crown prince? That Rishura?”
Lensur’s appendages waggled affirmatively.
Yarnak clasped his top two appendages together, his eye stalk wilting. “You’ve disgraced me at work. You’ve disgraced me in society. You’ve committed a prison offense. And now you’re telling me you dragged into your criminal scheme a member of the nobility who is also my boss’s daughter, one who is betrothed to royalty? You could not possibly have made this worse.”
Lensur’s eye stalk moved in a circle. “Well, Rishura discovered she’s carrying my hatchlings. So I guess she’ll lay them in prison.”
Yarnak discorporated.
Found Money
Where the hell was the damn center stripe? Thad Will peered ahead. The wipers and the full-blast defroster kept only a patch of the windshield clear from freezing rain. His headlights barely penetrated the blur. He kept his speed around 40 miles per hour, his knuckles aching from his tight grip on the wheel. When was the last time South Texas had weather like this? His eyelids felt heavy.
He blinked and rubbed his eyes. No sleep in almost two days. Getting a room in Cotulla would have been good. If he could afford it. But Eagle Ford work had slowed and threatened to disappear. He couldn’t spend money on motels with Justin needing braces and the dining room set about to be repossessed.
His eyes closed, his body relaxed, he almost slid into sleep, and the car started to drift. Adrenalin hit. His eyes popped back open, and he jerked the car straight. Damn it all. He repeatedly slapped his cheek.
He hadn’t seen another car since leaving Cotulla, shortly before he’d passed a sign warning that the next gas station was 94 miles down the road. FM 624 cuts east-west across the South Texas brush. He’d heard it called the world’s longest hunting lease. Traffic was seldom heavy, and only an idiot would travel it on a night like this.
Headlights reflected in his rear-view mirror. Who else was out in this mess? A few seconds later, he realized the lights were approaching fast. Jeez. Whoever this schmuck was, he was blasting along, ice be damned.
Moments later a new Ford Mustang swung wide around him and careened back, nearly clipping his front end. It swerved and slid down the road for as far as he could see. A nutso with a death wish. Will held his speed down.
Ten minutes later, he saw headlights ahead and to the side of the road. Maybe there’s a curve. He studied the lights as he drew nearer. Something wasn’t right.
Just a hundred yards short of the lights, he caught sight of a bridge. Ice. Shit. He thumped his brakes just before he crossed onto it and slid almost to the guard rail before regaining control.
Beyond the bridge, the Mustang lay spun around and upside down against the fence. He pulled over, turned on his flashers, and took a flashlight from his glove box. His feet crunched on the icy grass, which brushed against his ankles above his low-quarter shoes. Moisture wicked up his socks, leaving his feet wet and nearly numb.
The spider-web cracks in the window glass kept him from seeing inside. He wrestled open the driver’s door, which cut an arced swath in the icy grass. A fruity, pungent alcohol smell slapped him in the face.
A sprawled body, feet to the front and head to the rear. The latter lay at an odd angle. No pulse. This fool had been driving like a madman without a seatbelt. A broken bottle of Jose Cuervo lay next to the driver.
He shone the light around to look for a passenger. No one. He was about to return to his car and call in the accident when he glimpsed something mostly obscured by the driver’s body. He kneeled in the grass, and shone the light inside. Please God, don’t let it be a child.
It was a duffel bag, the zipper slightly open – with a bundle of money sticking out. He pulled, but the driver’s body held it down. When the bag finally came free, the driver’s torso partly followed the bag out the door. Ice trickled down the back of Will’s neck. His wet hair lay plastered against his head. He shook himself, caught his breath, and unzipped the bag all the way.
The bag was full of bundled hundred-dollar bills. His jaw dropped. Were they real? He glanced at the slumped body. Who was this guy? A drug dealer. Had to be.
He pulled out his cellphone to call the police but then stopped. Rain and melting ice soaked his clothes. He climbed to his feet and looked up and down the highway. Nobody had passed and still no cars in sight. He stuffed the body back in the car and closed the door as best he could, but the latch wouldn’t catch. He locked the bag in his trunk and headed down the highway, setting the car’s heater on high.
The right thing was to turn the money in. But if he did, they’d know he’d been at the accident and didn’t report it immediately, and they’d know he’d tampered with a crime scene. Shit. He shook his head. I should go back. He took his foot off the accelerator. Then he thought of his debts. He needed that money. He sped back up.
He kept wrestling with the dilemma. He pulled over, shut off the engine, and turned on his flashers. The money wasn’t his. He couldn’t keep it. He leaned his head against the steering wheel and squeezed his eyes shut.
It had to be drug money. He took a deep breath. The druggies play for high stakes. Might even be cartel. What if they found him? Then I’m dead. It wasn’t worth it. He should go back.
He reached for the ignition. But they weren’t going to find him. Nobody saw anything. For all the druggies knew, the driver could have stashed the money somewhere else before he crashed.
He had to clear his mind. He slumped and focused on breathing regularly.
Tap, tap, tap.
He awoke, shivering. Flashing lights showed in the rearview mirror, and a patrolman stood at his window. He turned the key so he could lower his window. The rain and ice had let up.
“Is everything all right, sir?” The patrolman was tall and haggard, and his right hand rested on the butt of his pistol. He gave no sign the cold bothered him. The name tag on his chest read Corcoran.
“Yes, officer. Everything’s fine. I just got a little sleepy, so I pulled over to doze. The cold’s got me awake now.” Will shifted in his seat and ran his fingers through his hair.
Corcoran moved his flashlight beam around the interior of Will’s car. “Show me your license and insurance.”
Will pulled his license out of his wallet, handed it over, and fumbled in his glove box until he came up with the insurance card. Thank God he’d kept up the payments.
Corcoran took the papers and went back to his patrol car. When he came back, he returned the papers. “Where’re you headed?”
“Corpus Christi.”
Corcoran looked him and his car over again. “You’re soaked. Did you have some trouble back there?”
Will’s mind raced.
“Uh, no, not really.” He gulped. “The car, uh, well, it felt funny, and I thought maybe, uh, maybe I had a flat.” The last words came more quickly than the previous ones, and he continued almost glibly. “I got out to check it, but the tire was fine.” He offered Corcoran his most innocent smile.
“Pretty wet for just that.”
Will shrugged. “I guess it took me a bit.”
“I see.” Corcoran raised his eyebrows and glared at Will as if he didn’t see at all.
Will struggled not to wither. “May I leave now?”
Corcoran nodded. “Be careful, sir. It’s a messy night. My radio said there’s a bad wreck back nearer Cotulla.”
Will bit his lower lip. “I hope the driver’s OK.”
Corcoran looked into his eyes. “I didn’t say there was just one car or just one person in it.”
“I guess I just assumed.” Inspiration hit. “Were more people involved?”
“The officer on the scene said someone had been there. You know anything about that?”
Wills shook his head repeatedly. “No, sir. I don’t, no. Not about that.” Despite the cold, perspiration formed on Will’s upper lip.
Corcoran stared but waved him on.
Will made a point of signaling to return to the traffic lane and headed east.
That settled that. He couldn’t go back. They’d found the wreck, and they had a record of his whereabouts. He kept driving.
He slammed the steering wheel and grinned. Hell, he’d spend the money. Pay off bills, buy a new car, a new TV. Megan wanted to remodel the kitchen. He could just deposit the cash and start writing checks.
But what if the IRS audited him? No way could he explain the deposit. He shook his head. A lot of shit to think about. He’d ask Harry. Hypothetical, like. Harry worked for H&R Block during tax season. He’d know.
Another thought came to mind. He’d seen enough movies to know the druggies put GPS trackers in with their money. Less than two hours after his encounter with the patrolman, he pulled into the lot of the Stripes truck stop in Orange Grove, the only place open in the wee hours of a Sunday morning. He parked under a flood light at the back of the empty lot, retrieved the duffel from the trunk, and got back in the car to open it. The bundles all seemed to be the same size, and the bills were all Franklins, one-hundred dollars. He counted one bundle out. One hundred Franklins. Ten grand in a bundle. He found seventy-five bundles. Seven hundred fifty grand. A life-changing sum.
In the bottom sure enough his fingers found the tracker. He pulled it out and held it to the light. Were they already on his trail? Was he already a dead man? He looked around. Nothing, nobody. He had to get rid of it fast. He took several deep breaths. Don’t be paranoid.
A big rig pulled into the lot. The driver left the engine idling and went inside the store. Inspiration hit Will. He could stick the gizmo on the truck. But it didn’t look waterproof. He looked at the sky. If he didn’t keep it dry, he might as well throw it in a dumpster.
He returned the bag with the money to his trunk, keeping the GPS, and followed the driver inside. Rancid oil from the popcorn machine permeated the room. Microwaveable sandwiches and burritos lay at one end of the store and the counter lay at the other. In between were rows of candy, cookies, chips, toiletries, and cans of oil and radiator coolant.
The truck driver headed to the restroom. Will laid a Coke and a chocolate candy bar on the counter and, after they were scanned, slid his credit card through the reader. Coke and chocolate would both give him much needed caffeine.
“You need a bag for that?” the clerk asked.
“Yes, please.”
Back at his car, he put the gizmo in the Stripes’ plastic bag and used duct tape from his trunk to secure the bag to the locking bar on the back of the idling big-rig’s trailer. Then he waited. The driver returned to his rig, pulled out of the Stripes, and headed north toward Mathis. Hallelujah.
Will headed east to Corpus. When he got home in the wee hours of the morning, he stuffed the bag in the back of a closet and crawled into bed next to Megan. He lay awake for an hour, maybe two.
The next morning, over coffee, he brooded. He considered depositing some of the cash at an ATM and remembered to call Harry.
Harry chuckled. “You win the lottery, pal? You know they’re going to report that anyway.”
Will ground his teeth. “No, nothing like that. You know, a friend and I at work had a bet about how to do this.”
“A bet with a friend is an old one, buddy, You must have knocked over a drug dealer.”
“Up yours.” Will hung up the phone.
Will Googled large cash deposits and found a bewildering array of rules requiring currency transaction reports and cash-transaction records, some for transactions as low as $3,000. Screw that. He’d keep the cash.
He wasn’t due back in Cotulla until Wednesday. On Monday, he paid off the dining room set and prepaid the orthodontist for Justin’s braces. That evening, after Justin was in bed, he called Megan over to the table and laid out the receipts and the bag with the money.
Her weary eyes turned quizzical as she flipped through the receipts. “What’s this?”
“I paid for Justin’s braces and paid off the balance on the furniture.”
She poked in the bag and gasped.
“Where did you get this?” She paused and looked into his eyes. “Thad, what have you done?” Her voice was soft and higher pitched than normal.
He told her about the wrecked car and the duffel bag. He left out the highway patrolman and the GPS tracker.
Megan ran a hand through her hair. “You’ve got to give it back. It’s not ours.”
“Well . . . .” He explained about Officer Corcoran.
She shook her head. “You’ve made a mess.”
He took her hand. “Only if you look at it that way. Look at it as a gift.”
Tuesday morning, Will read the neighborhood crime blotter and looked up at Megan.
“Did you read about these burglaries? Somebody might steal the money.”
Megan tilted her head and looked at him sideways. “Irony’s not your long suit, is it?”
He waved her off. He needed to spread the risk of losing the money, keep some of it somewhere else. He stuffed $400,000 into his attic crawl space. He took the unspent remainder in the original duffel bag to the rented storage space where they stored stuff they should have gotten rid of.
* * *
Monday afternoon after Will’s early Sunday morning trek through Orange Grove, Laurencio Contreras sat in the Stripes parking lot. The sun was out, and the temperature had risen to the mid-60s. Texas weather.
El Jefe had been pissed when the GPS took the wrong path. Laurencio caught up with the driver at a Victoria truck stop, and when he was done with him, Laurencio believed the guy knew nothing. But Laurencio had to find the cash fast if he wanted to stay on el Jefe’s good side. He didn’t want to see el Jefe’s bad side.
He’d traced the GPS’s movements. It had stopped three times before Victoria. The bag must have been taken at the first stop, where the mule had wrecked. The pinche borracho.
Laurencio didn’t understand the second stop on an isolated stretch of road, but the Stripes had to be where the GPS got on the truck. He surveyed the lot and spotted surveillance cameras.
Inside the store, his nose wrinkled at the rancid-oil smell. He browsed the merchandise and picked up a Big Red and an Almond Joy. Just below another surveillance camera, a picture of the manager hung on the wall, conveniently labeled with a name, Buddy Jaramillo. But someone other than Buddy stood behind the register.
When Laurencio stepped up to the counter, he set down his purchases and pointed at the picture. “I think I went to school with that vato. Is he here today?”
“Naw, he’s off.”
“Live nearby?” Laurencio added a Snickers bar to his purchase.
“Yeah, last house on the left on West Josephine.”
At the last house on West Josephine, a boy practiced dribbling and tried to make baskets in a hoop without a net. A scraggly mesquite grew at the corner of the driveway. Laurencio turned his car to face back the way he’d come and called out.
“Oye. are you Buddy’s boy?”
The boy got control of his ball and held it as his side. “Yes, sir.” He brushed aside his dark hair from his forehead.
“Is your daddy home?”
“He went to the grocery store, but he’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll wait for him.” Laurencio stepped out of the car but left his engine running. He held the candy bar out. “Would you like this?”
“Sure.” The boy approached, and Laurencio grabbed him, one hand over the boy’s mouth. The boy struggled and tried to scream, but Laurencio stuffed him in the back seat.
“When I let go of your mouth, you make noise, I twist your head until your neck snaps. You got me?” The boy nodded, tears gushing down his cheeks. Slowly, Laurencio released the boy’s mouth. The boy sobbed but made no other noise. Laurencio gagged him and used two zip ties, one to bind his hands and another his feet.
He drove back down FM 624 until he found several rows of large, round hay bales lying near the road. He cut the fence, dumped the boy between rows, and left him among piles of dried cow manure.
When Laurencio got back to the house, a large man stood in the front yard shouting, “Jesse. Jesse. Get back home, boy.” The man matched the picture of Buddy Jaramillo.
Laurencio turned his car back around again, got out, and lifted his shirt tail to reveal a gun. “You want to see your boy again? Do what I say. Comprende?”
Buddy’s eyes raced back and forth between the gun and Laurencio’s face. “What have you done to my boy? Where is he?”
Laurencio touched his gun. “Get in the driver’s seat. We’re going to the Stripes. Show me video from two nights ago. Then, you see your boy.”
Almost as many tears ran down Buddy’s face as had his son’s. “You didn’t have to take my boy for this.”
“Just do it.”
At the Stripes, Buddy waited until the clerk finished with a customer and then beckoned.
“We’re going to be in the office. Leave us undisturbed.”
The clerk nodded.
In the small office in the back of the Stripes, Buddy and Laurencio pulled up the video. Running through it was excruciating, even at twice the normal speed. The later the hour, the longer between customers. After a long period of inactivity, a car pulled in and parked under a light. Laurencio recognized the duffel the driver took from the trunk. When the driver went into the store, Laurencio had Buddy load the interior video. When he saw the credit card transaction, Laurencio’s grin turned cold, and he had Buddy pull up the buyer’s name and credit card number.
Armed with a name, Laurencio called el Jefe. Then he turned to Buddy and pointed.
“That way up 624, in some hay bales.” He grabbed Buddy’s forearm, boring his eyes into Buddy’s. “You say anything about this to anyone, I know where you live. Anything. Claro?”
“Sí, claro.” Buddy gulped air. “I got you.”
When Laurencio returned to his car and reached for the ignition, el Jefe called with an address to match the name. Laurencio headed for Corpus. He found Will’s house and spent the night in his car down the block where he had a good view. Cars littered the curb, so Laurencio’s didn’t stand out. He chuckled when Will left Tuesday morning with the duffel. Pinche gringo. Mueres pronto.
* * *
The Sunday afternoon after his early-morning encounter with Thad Will, Earl Corcoran propped up his feet on the coffee table and took a puff on his cigar. Marisol never would have let him put his feet on the table—or smoke a cigar in the house. But when he’d gotten home, all he found was a spite letter calling him a low-life. She’d packed up the kids and headed for her parents. At the beginning of his week off. Bitch.
He shook his head. Dwelling on Marisol’s letter wasn’t a good idea. His mind turned to the squirrel last night on 624. Will had been at the wreck. His nervousness, his being soaked, and his comments about the wreck. All that clinched it. Will had to be the one.
He chugged the rest of his beer. A week without family. Hell. He might as well stake the bastard out.
Tuesday morning, Corcoran watched Will leave the house with a duffel bag. A blue-shirted Hispanic male in a car down the street followed Will. Corcoran followed them both.
Will traveled down South Padre Island Drive until he pulled into a sun-and-salt-bleached storage facility. It consisted of five wings of storage rooms all running perpendicular to a once-white office in the front. Will entered a code and went through an automatic gate. Blue Shirt’s car squeezed through and paused by a nearby storage unit. Corcoran grimaced, taking Blue Shirt’s pause as an effort to lull Will.
Corcoran ran through the office, holding out his badge to a sleepy clerk, who had incense burning. From the back door, Corcoran looked down one of the rows. Someone with a pickup was loading a mattress and box springs. Will’s car came into view as it passed to the right along a cross drive. Corcoran turned to the right just as he caught a glimpse of Blue Shirt’s car.
When Corcoran got to the next opening, he saw Will traveling away from him down the row. Will stopped, unlocked a unit, and took the duffel from his car. Blue Shirt whipped around a corner and skidded toward Will. He hopped out of his car and popped off a round in Will’s direction.
“Give me the bag, pendejo, and maybe I’ll let you live.” Will tossed the duffel into view.
Corcoran aimed his Glock at Blue Shirt and called out, “DPS. Drop your weapon.”
Blue Shirt wheeled and fired at the new target. Corcoran flinched when he felt the whoosh of the slug flying by his ear. Corcoran aimed center of mass and let off two rounds, but Blue Shirt was moving. The shots missed.
Will scuttled around the next corner and peeked back at the fight. Blue Shirt took aim and fired at Corcoran. At the same instant, Corcoran fired back.
Corcoran grabbed his side. Damn. Pain spread across his upper body. Blue Shirt’s round had probably broken a rib, but Blue Shirt had dropped from view. At least I got the bastard.
He approached where he’d last seen Blue Shirt. Not there. The opened storage unit. Corcoran stepped toward it, but a round slammed into his back. Corcoran staggered and fell to his knees. Blue Shirt had hidden behind Will’s car.
Blue Shirt staggered to where he had a clear line of fire at Corcoran and fired three rounds, all of which connected. Corcoran got off two rounds and stayed conscious long enough to see Blue Shirt collapse in a pool of blood.
* * *
Will winced at the sirens. He looked longingly at the duffel, but fear paralyzed him. The first officer arrived in moments and others soon followed. Two dead men and a bag full of money greeted them. Will needed a story. Fast.
“I was just checking my storage unit, you know, to see if it was OK. I hadn’t been here in a while. Then these two guys started shooting at each other. I nearly got hit, but I hid around the corner. I don’t know what it was about.”
Will wasn’t sure the cops believed him, but they let him go after a few hours. The evening news gave him hope.
Off-duty DPS Officer Earl Corcoran was killed today in a gunfight with known drug trafficker Laurencio Contreras, who also died in the encounter. Police recovered a large sum of money at the scene, money that will be forfeited as presumed proceeds of the drug trade. A police spokesman said this was a major blow against a cartel run by a man known as El Jefe.
The story didn’t say how much money was in the bag. The bad guys would think the cops had it all. Will thought of the $400,000 in his attic. Only Megan and he knew.
* * *
Buddy Jaramillo’s jerked up straight in his chair. The slain drug trafficker shown on TV was the guy who kidnapped Jesse and watched the security tapes. Then the reporter mentioned a Thad Wills. That was the name on the credit card receipt. Buddy reached for the phone and called the sheriff.
copyright Kenneth Bennight
read more great writing like this in Corpus Christi Writers 2018: An Anthology
About Kenneth Bennight
Kenneth Bennight was a husband, father, lawyer, former Marine, and native Texan, and the grandfather of the cutest little boy on the face of the Earth. Kenneth grew up in Corpus Christi and graduated from Ray High School. He resided in San Antonio, Texas, and is the author of the hard-boiled Nacho Perez stories, Nacho Perez, Private Eye and The Truth Shall Make You Dead. Those stories and others are available on Amazon.
K. R. Moore
About K. R. Moore
Kenneth Moore lives in Maryland. "I have long been a fan of creative Sci-Fi / Fantasy and my goal is to one day write regularly in the genres and grow my current catalog of work. I have 3 short stories published in various magazines so far such as CornerBar, Bookzine Adventures, BarBar and a fourth coming soon as well."
Werewolf Ward
Stuck in the lobby of a massive white marble hospital, 12-year-old John had nothing more to do but slump in his seat. Painfully waiting in agony as his body ached all over from the fever that waged war all over his body. "Mom, how long is this going to take?" He whined weakly. His sharp black hair was matted to his pale forehead. The only color on his body being his blue eyes.
His mom just sighed... "Don't complain now. It's your fault for being in that sewer. Seriously, what were you thinking, playing around in there?" The vein on her head was visible.
"I wasn't playing!" John thought back to his investigation with his two close friends. A squad of three who sought to investigate all the paranormal happenings around them for their web show. The latest case had led them to the sewers in search of a rumored giant gator living there. However, the only thing they found was a cold for John as it was not only wet but awfully windy that night.
John continued watching his video, grumbling at the measly 20 views.
"I was pursuing the truth! Unfortunately, it got away again." He slumped down in his seat before sneezing.
"John Pines, you're next. Doctor Zhu will see you now." A receptionist lady come up from behind the counter and announced.
***
"Half Caucasian and Chinese, age twelve..." The doctor read his medical info to himself before setting his stuff down. "So what do we have here?" In front of a shaking John stood a slender, African-American man with silver dreads and a white medical coat to boot. His emerald eyes stared John down as the fever worked its way through him further.
"My son has been falling ill lately. He was still okay this morning with only a headache but now he can barely stand." His mother answered.
"Have you been going out without a hat? It's getting late in the year and that's a common cause for colds, you know?"
She shook her head. "No, not to mention he was playing in the sewer not too long ago and didn't have anything to dry himself off until he walked all the way home."
"You what...?" The doctor raised an eyebrow.
John bit his lip in sheer embarrassment. "Mom! You're making me look weird."
"Oh I know all about weirdness, kid." He slipped on his gloves and leaned close to John's chest for a moment with no stethoscope. "Heartbeat is average."
***
After a brief examination, Doctor Zhu just shrugged. "Well Johnathan, it's clear that you've contracted a fever from your exploits. This will work its way through your system in no time, though, so I suggest you relax at home for the next few days. Some soup and common medicine will beat that bug right out of you."
"Ah thanks doctor. Now uh... my insurance just changed. How exactly do I address this?"
"Oh, well you'll have to go to the front desk for that. Here, I'll show you. Once that's done, you and your son will be able to head home."
Zhu led the way out the door, John's mom tapped on her son's shoulder gently. "I'll be right back, okay?"
John's head was still a banging mess as she walked out, preventing him from objecting until it was too late. As he lay there in the room alone, he remembered all the times she claimed she'd be right back after something, only for the opposite to be true.
"No... she'll be gone for ages!" He grumbled. Having no choice, he reached for his phone again, as it was the only way to pass the time. Only for both his pockets to turn up empty.
"Dang, where is it?" The misery of being stuck with no way to appease his boredom drove John mad. Eventually, he summoned enough courage to power through his pain and stand. Dragging himself out the door.
"Ugh my head..." He struggled and swayed down the hallway, approaching an elevator that opened. "I need to find my phone before I pass out. I must've left it in the car..." He climbed in and leaned along the wall as two practitioners made their way in.
"Excuse us son." One of them said.
The nurse accompanying him leaned in and whispered. "Hey did you hear what happened on Floor X earlier?"
"What?"
"Zhu ate him whole!" She exclaimed.
John slumped against the wall, raised an eyebrow at her words.
"Seriously? You'd think he'd show at least a little mercy." Her associate replied.
"But it's true! We already aren't supposed to use Floor X outside of emergencies as it is, so he probably scarfed him down.
"Surprised the boss hasn't found out yet. With all the people stuck down there, you'd think he'd be watching closely."
"People...?" The shaking boy mumbled as the elevator came to a stop.
The man swayed his longer hair as the elevator beeped. "Oh this is us. Come on, let's go help that kid that got his unmentionable stuck in a mousetrap. Not sure I even want to know how it happened...
The doctors left out, leaving him alone in the elevator for a moment. John thought to himself quickly. There were likely only mere seconds before someone summoned the elevator again. In that instant, John's finger hovered over the button for the Lobby where he'd be able to reach the car. He hesitated, however, as next to it was another one with a simple X icon on it.
***
John lay limp alone in the elevator as it descended further and further past Floor 1. It made no other stops and simply dropped down until finally halting. Slowly, the doors opened up to a long hallway only illuminated by mere black lights.
John gulped and eased his way through the doors, shaking from the fever and fear as he walked through the purple room. "What is this place...? Could it be a good add-on for the web show?"
There wasn't much to see except for the endless hallway and a long dark windowpane to go along with it. However, the insides were pitch black, with no way to see.
John trod a bit further before slipping on something and falling to the ground. His eyes opened to the sight of blood and warm, raw meat splattered along the floor. Terrified, he leaped back against a pair of doors that led into another dark room. Shivering at the sight of hair plastered against it. Long and shaggy, almost like the shed of a wolf.
"What is this place?" John muttered before hearing small footsteps. His head spun around like on a swivel looking for the source before a deafening bang on the door sent him onto his feet. Through the window next to it, he found a large figure, biting and thrashing about in a feral rage before banging against the door again. It took John one look at the doorknob beginning to snap out of place for him to know it was time to go.
With a slip and slide due to the meat, he bolted back to the elevator and banged on the button for Floor 1. Before he knew it, the purple room was gone and replaced by a serene granite white lobby.
He slowly trickled out the elevator before freezing. "Johnathan Pines, what do you think you're doing? I told you to wait in the doctor's office!" His mother approached him with a frustrated glare that changed to concern upon seeing the genuine fear on her son's face.
Through deep breaths, John blurted out the only thing he could muster. "M-Mom, there's monsters here!"
"Monsters?"
"Everything okay there little man? We were just about to come get to you." Doctor Zhu asked coming up behind her.
"T-There was hair and meat and stuff! It had to be... Ugh, what could it be?"
The boy's outbursts were catching the eyes of everyone on the floor. Desperate to avoid causing a scene, John's mom acted quickly. "It looks like this fever is getting to him faster than I thought... I'll take him home now." She said with a nervous laughter.
"But mom it's true, I saw it all on Floor X while trying to get my phone from the car!"
"Floor X?" Zhu's eyes went wide with disbelief. "That floor is only meant for employees, Johnathan. You could've gotten hurt!"
"You trespassed? And all for something that's not even in the car." She quickly whipped out his phone from her purse.
The sick boy stepped back stammering. "But..."
"You gave it to me to hold on the way to Zhu's remember? You were just using it in the lobby."
The truth suddenly hit him and his memory flashed back in an instant. "I... did..."
"Come on, let's get you home. I'll call your father to go get some chicken noodle soup for tonight. That'll be your dinner." His mom soothed as he pushed him by the shoulders towards the exit.
John weakly fought to get out of her grip before he turned back to see Zhu waving him away with an annoyed glare. "But I know what I saw! I do!"
***
It was close to midnight as John laid under the covers in bed. The TV was playing his best comfort show, an empty bowl of soup along with the same painkillers for him to take in the morning were next to him on his nightstand.
John was limp, unable to do anything as his fever had increased. Stuck there under the heated blanket, he was forced to listen to the wind as it howled ferociously outdoors throughout the night.
Though at times, he would notice the howling continue even as the tree by his window didn't move.
Just before he finally dozed off to sleep, one peek through the curtains at the full moon finally clued everything together.
2
One Month Later
"Four weeks... it's been four weeks since that day." John said somberly as he sat upon the wooden bench. It was the middle of a Friday afternoon as he hung with his friends in the park and told the story of what happened that fateful night.
"So what exactly are you getting at here?" Suzie said. A slender girl with unique silver pigtail hair with red swirls all over. It was no wonder she earned the nickname Peppermint.
"Yeah man, you've barely eaten your ice cream." Malik said. A burly blonde with a well-built figure for his young age.
"Haven't you been listening? I'm talking about the fact that Moon Hospital has Werewolves stashed underneath it!" John declared with the slam of his fist.
They shared a confused glance, "Werewolves?"
"Yes... What's the matter, I thought you'd be excited about this. We're monster hunters after all. Discovering Werewolves under the hospital would be a huge find!" He grabbed his phone and pulled up various strange happenings all over the internet that were reposted onto their blog.
Strange Sky Lights Still Puzzle Minnesota Residents
Wooly Mammoth Shadow Claimed to Have Been Found in Cul De Sac
Boys Claim “Movie Theater is Haunted”
All these news headings are just the stepping stones. We're gonna discover something big one day and I can tell this will be it!"
"Well yeah, and we could use new subscribers but..." Suzie twiddled her thumbs for a bit. "How do you know you saw what you think?"
"Yeah, didn't you say you went looking for your phone even though just earlier you gave it to your mom?" Malik added.
"You got to trust me! I was there with the meat, the smells, the blood and the hair. It's all real!" John pouted. "All we need to do is sneak in there and get one good shot of one of the Werewolves. Gather some evidence."
"Breaking into a hospital is easier said than done, though. We should really think about this before-" Suzie was twiddling her thumbs again when John slid his phone towards the two again with a picture of Zhu and some info at the bottom.
"What's this?"
"Doctor Zhu's bio. If he were a normal person, then how come he has over twelve medical PHDs and still looks so young?"
"He could just be super smart?" Malik suggested.
Suzie shook her head. "No... someone like that would have to be at least around their 40s but Zhu still looks like a college guy." She stared at the bio and started reading with wonder. "John... could you actually be onto something here?"
Malik read a bit of the info too. "That's actually a bit more convincing... Maybe we should do something!"
"Easy now Malik..." Suzie turned to John. "We've been hunting the chupacabra to search for the Lochness monster and all of them have all resulted in us just telling our viewers that the chase is what matters. But what if we aren't able to do that this time? What if we get arrested or what if there really is something going on there... what if-"
"Suzie?"
"Yes?"
John threw on a devious smirk and leaned in towards her. "Think about it... if we get a high subscriber count, how much Ad revenue will we make?"
The pair thought for a moment. Before John knew it, they were all getting geared up for the infiltration of Moon Hospital later that night.
***
The sun had just set by the time they made it there. All dressed in subtle black clothing fitting for burglary. walkie-talkies, pens and other tools were stashed deep in their pockets. "So we're all caught up with the plan?"
"Yeah, just leave it to me. I'll get everyone's attention in no time." Malik beamed with pride.
"And you're sure this ability to... raise your body temperature is safe? I mean how do you even-"
Malik held a finger to John's lips. "Hey, a magician never reveals his secrets."
Slowly, the trio entered the doors of the massive, luxurious hospital. Ready to begin their operation. At the front desk, a receptionist with the name tag Edna waved them in. "Good evening, are your parents with you?"
John put on his best lying face. "Uh no but our friend here isn't feeling well. We were just hanging out when he-"
Malik suddenly started swaying away from the group. His feet tumbling like a mad man as he clutched his face. "My head... everywhere... feel so hot!"
"Oh goodness, doctors!" The receptionists' pleas were quickly aided as two medics ran onto the scene.
"He's got a temperature of 114! We need to put him in intensive care right away." One caretaker pulled out a stretcher from the nearby closet and set Malik on it. As he was hoisted away, he gazed back at his friends one last time with a wink before vanishing behind the doors with most of the staff.
"Malik sure has some odd talents..." John carefully eyed the lobby. It was thankfully a rather calm night with few people and those that were there were completely focused on Malik's antics... Moving quickly, the two used this chance to bolt to the elevator past the desk and head down to the forbidden zone.
"Get your camera ready, we'll leave as soon as we get clear footage of whatever is down there." John, with adrenaline coursing through his veins, pressed the big X button once more. Only for an LED pad beside it to shine red. They needed a key to leave.
"This wasn't there before! We need a card to get to Floor X now?!"
"Ugh, they must've installed it after you snuck down there originally. Suzie sighed and thought quickly. "We'll just have to take the vents. Now, before more come to the front desk."
"The vents?"
"We've got no choice. Malik is already in this now." Suzie grabbed him by the arm and they sprinted towards the room where the stretchers and other hasty medical tools were held.
"Surprised they don't keep their supply closet locked." John sighed as he removed a vent cover in the far back. "We can get in through there. I hope they keep them clean..."
***
John crawled with Suzie close behind. He had yet to encounter anything icky like webs which he was thankful for. "Remember, Floor X is downwards so all we need to do is crawl in that direction."
"Easier said than done. Vents from within can get confusing real quick. What we need to do is-" As if on cue, the tunnel beneath Suzie bent and buckled under their weight. By the time John had managed to shuffle around to see what was going on, it was too late.
"Suzie? Grab my hand!" He reached out to grab her only to watch the girl slide down another shaft below and out of sight. The shift in weight sent several vents paths out of whack.
The two screamed as Suzie slipped down and out of sight while John was sent sliding into another place entirely.
3
The clock struck 1 A.M. as Malik lay in the hospital bed. His fever had gone down ages ago and he was eagerly awaiting the others to radio him. Something he eagerly anticipated more and more as he failed to find anything interesting on TV. "It's been four hours... where are they?"
"Yo, John? Suzie?" He spoke into his walkie but to no avail. Fully back to full health and eager to find out what was going on, Malik threw off the medical gown and slipped back on his regular dark clothes.
Carefully, he eased open the door into the dark hallway. The only lights being the various machines and computers of doctors on the floor's front desk and the full moon shining down through the ceiling windows.
"Psst... John. Where are ya?!" He whispered while walking through the dark hall. After a while, his patience slipped and he blurted a little louder. "John!"
"Excuse me, shouldn't you be in bed?" An older man stepped into the hallway with a raised eyebrow.
"Uh, sorry doctor. I just have to use the bathroom real quick." He lied with a smirk and scurried off.
***
After escaping the man's sight, Malik continued his search. "Dang man, where did you...?" He froze upon hearing a faint hum of static from down the hall. Careful not to wake any other patients up, he hurried over to the source. He came across a big black door with a chipped lock on it. Malik spoke into the Walkie-Talkie again and faintly heard his voice on the other side. "Hope this still works..."
He grabbed a paper clip from his pocket of tools and jiggled until it clicked open. Inside was the main man he was looking for lying spread across the floor on top of rubble under a busted vent. "John, there you are!"
He rushed over and woke the mastermind up. "M-Malik...?"
"What happened, I thought you guys were headed underground? This floor is several stories up!"
John shushed him weakly and clutched his midsection. "We were but they added a security pass to it. So we tried to take the vents but got split. Suzie fell downstairs somewhere and I slid around a few places before just climbing until I was out of that maze."
"Now that you're here, let's just find Suzie and go. We can't just sneak blindly without a plan anymore." He clutched his head. "We'll be lucky to find something worth looking into at this rate..."
"Well, don't be so sure about that. Take a look around." John raised his head and slowly took in the sight. They were in what seemed to be another supply closet but it was different than the rest. There, rather than tables and walls of colorful medical supplies, was a barren, unkempt room filled with dirty red wet rags and weapons such as rusty knives, chain whips and handguns with bullets laid out next to them. Most of which were silver.
"What the... What is this stuff?"
He got up and examined the materials. "Why would a hospital have a room like this?"
"So many guns and knives. They even got switchblades." Malik added.
"Well uh... something is definitely going on here." The nosy boy scratched his head in thought.
"Wait, what if this is a vault?" John raised an eyebrow. "Think about it. There's knives, bloody materials and even silver bullets. What if this is some kind of holding room?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You know how big evil organizations in shows pick off all the tools of their enemies and store them somewhere? What if all this stuff was snatched from the Werewolf hunters they fought shortly before killing them?!"
John thought for a moment. "I don't know. Seems to be a slight stretch." He was reluctant to dismiss the theory since he was the one who pushed the hardest, but their backs were against the wall.
"Let's just go before-" The sudden loud clack of footsteps caught the boys off guard. They were aggressive and headed their way. John covered Malik's mouth and looked around for somewhere to hide, soon finding a cabinet and jumping into it with him... They were careful not to get scraped against the barbed wire hung up inside and left the door open by the tiniest crack to see.
First through the door was an injured and scraggly man as he was shoved through, followed by a familiar Doctor. It was Zhu.
"Isn't this against regulation doc? What happens if I tell your boss about this?"
"You and I know very well that won't be happening one way or another." Zhu warned with a deep venom in his voice. His green eyes were giving an icy glare that sent chills throughout the boys' entire bodies.
"Listen to me... I know very well what you've done here and it won't go unpunished, believe me." Zhu gripped the man by the collar with a grip of absolute rage.
"I will warn you once. You even try to raise a knife around here and I will end you. You're lucky I wasn't appointed your caretaker. One wrong move and I'd have no qualms tearing your throat out. Now give it to me." With a sneer, the man reached into his pocket and handed him the wooden shank he crafted.
"How did you-"
Zhu hushed him with a deep glare. "I have a very strong sense of smell and the scent of dried blood on your shank is hard to miss. Now if we've both come to an understanding... get back to your room. This is your only warning."
The man sucked his teeth and hurried out the door. Though he tried to hide it, his face showed unmissable fear. Doctor Zhu walked out with him before looking back around the room to make sure everything was in place before tossing the wooden shank onto the desk with the other weapons and stepping out.
With shuttering legs, John and Malik slowly stepped out of the cabinet.
"Okay... What was that about?" The latter asked through chattering teeth.
"Did you see the look on his face with that guy? What doctor does that to a patient?" John held his head in confusion. "Not to mention that bit about tearing out the dude’s throat?" John eyed the shank on the table and inspected it. "Werewolves can't be killed by stakes, right?"
"No, that's Vampires."
"Even still, I think you were on to something Malik." John snatched his phone.
"Get your camera and let's snap some pictures of this place..."
***
After collecting some evidence, the boys wandered the halls preparing their next move. "What now?"
"I honestly don't think it's safe to keep going with Zhu looking like he's blood lusted. If he really is a Werewolf and has already beaten tons of hunters along with his friends down in Floor X, then we're really in trouble. We still should find Suzie and get out of here for now."
John's walkie then suddenly started speaking. Through a deep muffle of static, Suzie's voice could just barely be heard. "H-H E-E-LP!"
"Hello? Suzie is that you? John raised his walkie to his ear with Malik hovering over. "
"J-ohn! M-alik!"
The blonde shook his walkie. "We can't hear you!"
"Werewolves! You were right! They're here! There's one chasing me in Floor X!"
John nearly dropped his walkie and shared a look of fear with Malik. Before either could say anything however, a lady spotted them from across the hall. The same one that manned the front desk when Malik performed his stunt. "Hey, you should be in bed!" She turned to John. "And you? How did you get back here after hours?"
"Crap, run!" Before John could think of a quick response to get them out of trouble, he was yanked down the hall by Malik with Edna in hot pursuit.
4
"Where am I?" Suzie groaned as she opened her eyes to find herself in a dark room. Above her was the opening of a vent that looked like it had been broken through which would explain her laid out on a bunch of crushed boxes and cans.
Some emitting a sharp hiss as something escaped from them.
Suzie reached out for her walkie but froze. "I should have a look around first. Don't know who could be listening." She searched her surroundings for something useful and found a nearby closet with many storage items including a flashlight, just what she needed.
She stepped into the hallway to take in her surroundings. From the violet aura to the heinous floor, it was clear where she was. "These lights. It has to be X!"
"It's just as horrible as John described it... I can't believe it!" Suzie could only bite her lip as she walked further. Occasionally stepping on the raw meat and red substances below along with the occasional hair.
"Sure wish I had some silver bullets right about now." She mumbled before hearing footsteps ahead. Slowly, she turned the corner and hid under a tarped desk. Peeking under it to see two doctors wheeling a large crate with needles inside. All filled with glowing green liquid.
"And nobody has any idea where the smell came from?" The redhead doctor said.
"No but it's dangerous to be here too long while breathing it in so quit trying to take off your mask." His stern partner grumbled.
"Whatever." The younger man grunted before turning back. ""Hey, you sure this stuff will do the job?"
"Yeah it won't be too much longer. Soon we'll have all these guys transformed just the way we want them." The other masked doctor said. "After all, Zhu is an expert on this stuff. I trust his word."
"Come on, the storage room is up ahead. Let's move." Suzie watched as the pair turned a corner and hurried off. All she could see was their shadows dragged over the wall. Then, in an instant her heart dropped as she watched them stop and begin to morph. Along the wall were displayed two beings of hair, claws and slobber that howled harshly before running down the hall with the cart.
Suzie sat there petrified for a while, urging her legs to move but they just wouldn't. Eventually she managed to get out and back up against the wall and just take everything in. "Oh my god. They really are trying to transform the people down here! Everything John said was right..."
She thought about running. Every inch of her mind explored escape options. Yet during the process. Flashes of the needles and what they'd do to people kept flashing in her mind. "I have to do something about it, don't I?" She whimpered.
"Hey there little girl. Are you lost?" Suzie jumped back, not even noticing the shivering man as he walked up behind her.
"Where are you? Come into the light." She leaned in closer as the man approached. Quickly backing up as she saw a man with glowing yellow eyes, elongated claws and a shredded shirt. Hairs were sprouting over his body slowly.
"It can't be..." Suzie's teeth chattered as she froze.
"I just wanted to ask if you got infected too. And where did you get that flashlight?" The man grumbled, inching his way closer.
"No, you're mid-change! Stay back!" She bolted, whipping out her walkie and delivering a cry for help as fast as she could.
"HELP! John, Malik can you hear me?!" It took all her willpower not to hyperventilate as she heard the man's footsteps get closer.
"Werewolves! You were right! They're here! There's one chasing me in Floor X!" She whimpered before yelling back. "Get away from me!"
5
"You kids get back here, this is trespassing!" The nurse roared as John and Malik bolted into a nearby stairway, the bright white lights blinding them briefly.
"We need to get to Floor X as fast as possible! It's dark there, maybe we can lose her." John instructed.
Edna wasn't too far behind but she inevitably wasn't as nimble as two preteen boys. "Notify all staff on the premises! We have two kids sneaking around and causing trouble, be on the lookout!" She alerted into a radio of her own.
"Great, well I guess that cat's out of the bag." Malik chuckled nervously.
"I think we got enough evidence for now. Let's save Suzie and get out of here!" John assured as they hurried further down the hall. As they rushed, the door opened and the scraggily man from before stepped in angrily.
"Who's making all this noise...?" He yawned. After quickly hurrying to his room on the lower level, the last thing he expected was to double over in pain at the feeling of a kid ramming his head into his stomach. They both crashed into the wall together seeing stars.
"...Sorry man!" John winced before getting back to his feet and catching up with Malik.
After rushing down the steps for a while longer, the flight ended and there was only one final door next to it and the big letter on it only meant one thing. "Here it is, Floor X!" John beamed with relief. He quickly jiggled the handle only for Malik to spot a black LED pad to the side.
"Wait what's that?" The slick boy asked making the former groan.
"You've got to be kidding me? This door needs a keycard too?!"
"Man, you really scared them by coming down here the first time." Malik chuckled before freezing as he felt the back of his shirt being yanked along with John's.
"Got you!" Edna smirked as she finally snatched the two boys into custody.
John fought her restraints. "Let us go, our friend is in danger!"
"What are you-" Her mind thought for a second before realizing. "Wait, what floor is she on? It better not be X!"
"We need to get her, please!"
"Out of the question. Nobody is allowed on that floor aside from the staff." She started hoisting them back up the steps. "Come on, let's go. Your friend will be fine and join you in the back of a police car."
"Sorry, I really respect what you guys do as doctors, but Suzie could also be dead by the time that happens from your schemes so I have to do this!" Without warning, Malik suddenly rammed into Edna with pure force, Sending her to the ground with him on top.
John took the opportunity to plan an escape. Quickly he grabbed Malik and dashed into the nearest door, leading Edna to chase after them down the hall. Unbeknownst to her, they slinked around the corner just before she got her bearings.
After making sure her footsteps were far enough, the boys inched out of hiding.
"She's finally gone... she'll be looking for us for a bit but there's no going back. Most of the hospital will be keeping us on the lookout."
"Good thing we got this." Malik raised the nurse's keycard with a smirk.
"Wow, quick fingers." John smirked. "Let's hurry down there."
***
John opened the door and welcomed Malik in so he too could witness the horrors himself. "It's exactly as you described, wild."
"Yeah, be careful, you don't know what could be lurking around the corner." Just then, both boys felt a hand grab the back of their shirts yet again, yanking them back.
"She found us already?!" Malik panicked.
"How did you even get down here so fast lady?" John whipped around ready to fight, only to find a friendly face.
"Chill guys, it's me." The missing pair to their trio giggle weakly.
"Suzie!" The blonde snatched her in a hug.
"I'm glad we could find you." John sighed. "Malik and I have seen some pretty weird stuff here so far but you actually said you saw Werewolves?"
"Yeah... these two doctors were wheeling off some big case of needles before they transformed into them. I saw their shadows!"
"And then they chased you?"
Suzie shivered. "Well that was another one that was mid-change. I managed to lose him a couple halls down."
"Well, I've seen enough to know there's something seriously wrong with this place. Maybe we should wait a bit before uploading anything on our channel, especially since they know we're here." John rose to his feet and pinched his nose. "Now that we've got you, let's beat it. If we get caught, we'll be trapped down here just like those other people and I'd rather not be stuck smelling this awful odor."
"Well, we could, but..." Suzie trailed off for a bit before eventually working up the courage to explain more about the green substance and what the doctors said.
"So what are you saying? We can't do anything about that!" John panicked. "Our best advantage is to take pics for evidence but that's it."
"We have to at least try, or they'll use that stuff on the patients." She bit her lip. "And from what we've seen, I think it's safe to guess that it's responsible for turning these people into what they are."
John and Malik shared a worried glance before the former sighed. "Just had to be the voice of reason huh?"
6
After taking some time to stitch up a plan, the kids inched their way through the halls. Eventually, they come to a large room with various supplies visible through the pane. “Through the window, it's back behind this door!” She snuck up and jiggled the knob. “Ugh, it’s not budging.”
John spotted another LED pad and gestured with a playful grin. “Malik, if you’d do the honors?” With a single swipe of Edna’s card, the locks popped open.
“Wow, where did you find that?”
“Our friend from the front desk lent us it.” The bold boy smirked before slowly opening the door and walking into the room.
The lab was illuminated in black light just like the rest of Floor X, casting a purple hue all the way through it. Towards the back laid the box full of glowing needles as the kids approached it carefully.
“So this is what you saw?” John analyzed the contents as Malik pressed his hand against the container.
“It’s massive! So what’s the plan? Should we just break and pour them down a storm drain or something?”
John shook his head. “That won’t solve much. We need to get this substance to the police! That way they can send it in for an investigation and eventually they might be able to figure out what it is. Then they’ll come arrest the Werewolves and we’ll have a big scoop for the channel. As well as being hailed as town heroes.”
“Not a bad plan, but how will we even get it out of the building?”
“Actually Malik, I just might be able to open the elevator to the main lobby with the card.”
Suzie’s eyes lit up. “The one that’s right by the main exit, of course!”
John smirked softly. “This night is almost over. Let’s get this thing out of here and try not to get killed in the process.”
***
“Sheesh it’s heavy!” Malik hissed as he worked with John to hoist the container out the room and into the hall where Suzie waited with a cart.
“Don’t crack it!” she urged, scared stiff after it came slamming inside. “Okay, get ready to push. I’ll keep watch around the corners for people.”
“Good, let’s hurry.” John urged them out before freezing as his head suddenly ached.
Suzie looked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s just-“
“Hey, what are you doing over there?!” An enraged voice echoed from the other side of the hall.
“No! I didn’t even get a chance to check!”
On instinct, John used all his strength to pull the cart with Malik and lead the way. “Follow me, I’m sure I can find the elevator!”
“We’re gonna need a bit more than 'sure' man…” His blonde accomplice sighed. As they ran, two shadows of doctors hovered over the walls in front of them only to be obscured by another. A bigger, more ferocious one. “Are… Are you guys seeing that too?”
“W-What?” Suzie mumbled.
“Not sure I want to turn around.” John mumbled. Sadly it didn’t matter as moments later, a blur of black flashed past them and landed before their eyes. Laying there on all fours with gnarly teeth, green glowing eyes and thick fur was the clawed beast itself. As it crawled towards them with its razors bared for their throats, the truth was undeniable
John fell back, losing all control in his legs. “There’s no doubt anymore… that’s a real freaking Werewolf!” His head spun on a swivel, looking for a new detour.
“Go left, now!” He instructed, as the others followed. He hoped to hope there was still a quick way to the elevator. Alas the only thing that greeted them was a couple doors and the wall.
“A dead end?” The light vanished from John’s eyes as he realized they were cornered. With quick bravery, he jumped in between the Werewolf and his friends.”
“There’s got to be a way out through one of the rooms to the side!” He yelled back. “Just get out of here!”
As he inched closer to the beast and tried to figure out any possible way to survive, two figures popped though the doors to the side and snatched his companions. “Get off me-” Suzie fought before one slapped a white mask across her face, slowly draining and lulling her into sleep.
Malik jumped in between them. “Quit it, why are you doing this?!” Was all he could say before one wrestled him down and slapped a mask onto his face too.
“Guys!” John panicked upon seeing the event going on behind him. He then turned to see the Werewolf standing on his two legs and grabbing him by the arm.
“No!” John fought as he could feel the beast’s strength about to snap his arm in two. That was when he felt a mask around his face and his movements slowed. He could feel his defenses fail as he looked up at the Werewolf who had just seemingly put the mask on him. His vision soon got wispy and not before long, The Werewolf was gone, replaced by the doctor who always seemed to be around every corner.
“Doctor Zhu?” The boy mumbled.
“Shh… Just go to sleep.” He hushed before darkness set in.
7
John fussed in his sleep before waking up. "What happened?" He found himself in a hospital room in-between Malik and Suzie's cots, both of whom were still out cold.
Before them was Doctor Zhu reading with his legs crossed against the window. Out there, John could see the soothing blue hue of early morning start to peek over the horizon of town. The ever-strange man closed his book with an annoyed sigh. "Ah you're awake... Good morning."
"You!" John stuttered and fell out of his bed, spotting Malik and Suzie in opposite ones next to his. Let us go! We know all about your secrets." He grabbed his phone and opened his camera roll. "One push of this button and I'll have all the pictures and videos I took instantly uploaded to our blog!"
"And what do you have there little man?" The doctor taunted. "Let's hear these secrets you'll dish out."
John grimaced and bellowed the truth out. "That you're Werewolves!"
The room fell silent as Zhu just looked at him with honest shock. "W-What...?" His smile vanished like dust in the wind.
"That's right, I know."
"Sorry, maybe it was because I was stuck with the graveyard shift but could you say that one more time? I believe I heard wrong."
Suzie shook herself awake from the sounds of the commotion shortly before Malik. They watched the scene before them in alarm, "I said we know that you and the other people in this supposed hospital are Werewolves!"
Zhu just stood there for a second before bursting into laughter. "Edna, please get over here!"
The receptionist opened the door and walked in, curious about the commotion. "You think I'm a what?"
"I'm not repeating again..." John said through grit teeth.
"Look, I'm being serious now. What is this really about?"
Suzie threw off her covers, grabbing the doctor's attention. "He's being serious too. I mean at first I thought it was a little much but we've seen so many things here, it's impossible to deny."
"Yeah, so don't even try to play dumb." Malik crossed his arms and eyed Zhu with a judging glare. "Just skip the middleman and transform."
"...I can't."
"Yeah don't straight up ask him to shift, he could kill us at any moment." John warned much to Zhu's growing annoyance.
"No I can't because I'm not a Werewolf morons! Nobody here is." He jabbed a finger towards a red-haired man writing his own report in the corner. "Look at that guy. Does he seriously seem like he could hurt a fly?"
Suzie brushed off the doctor's annoyed grumble. "That was one of the doctors wheeling the stuff downstairs and I saw him and his buddy transform!"
The man broke his silence. "You saw or you think you did?"
"Huh?"
The doctor reached down and lifted up a large dented metal can next to him. "Does this look familiar to any of you?"
Suzie studied it. "I think I fell on one of those downstairs."
"Yeah, you busted several of these anesthesia cans and they filled all of Floor X." Zhu explained. " Many of the patients were affected as well. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them got out of their beds to find out what was going on before the effects caught up to them and they started acting strange just like you." Suzie thought to herself for a moment. Remembering that one man who came up to her.
"But what about what I saw? It was too real."
The receptionist stepped forth and answered. "An overdose certainly can cause one to be tricked by their mind. Especially if they're having stressful thoughts at the moment."
"Thanks Edna." Zhu smiled before eyeing them again. "It looks like you kids saw a lot of things out of context. So let's just clear the air, I'll answer any questions you ask."
John grimaced. "Okay, well then let's start with the biggest one. What is Floor X?"
The man shrugged. "Simple. Floor X is a special containment zone where patients with special unidentified conditions are treated. It is kept there as an immediate precaution to protect the public."
"Oh yeah? Well what about the claims of you eating? When I was here with that fever, I heard someone say that you ate him whole. Who were they referring to?"
Zhu immediately went red in the face and turned away with a guilty groan. "Oh those loose lipped morons..."
Edna suddenly burst into laughter much to the doctor's pain. "Ha! You actually ate him!"
"You know what? Let's just go with me being a monster. Yeah I'm that, mystery solved."
Zhu tried to get up only for Edna to hold him down. "Oh no you don't!" She could barely hold back her snickering and turned to the investigators. "You see, every now and then this one nurse up on the upper floors gives everyone these big treats as a team bonding thing. Only problem is that they taste terrible. The only one who eats them consistently is Zhu here because he doesn't have the heart to tell her she needs to take more cooking lessons."
Suzie cocked her head. "Is this story going anywhere?"
"Basically the week John was here, that nurse gave all the staff giant Gingerbread men despite it being closer to Halloween than Christmas. Despite claiming he would finally tell her, it looks like he ate it. Ha!"
"Uh, is that really all there is?" Malik wondered.
John hurried to the next question. "What about the raw bloody meat and hair on the floor?"
Zhu was quick to answer. "The doctors are always in a hurry to provide treatment for patients undergoing the disease. The disease Para9-23M4 gives the user a dire need for protein or else their vision and senses will temporarily dull. This in turn causes various odd chain reactions in the body. One of which being rapid hair growth. Also Temporary. To prevent that, we constantly provide the best meat-rich meals the hospital can bring! Well you know, when our newbies aren't dropping everything as they run. He eyed the redhead again. "But then again even us pros make mistakes. Earlier that night when you were there, I had dropped some raw meat down there while wheeling in a new shipment."
"And that container with the needles?" Suzie asked.
"That was our antivirus formula that quickly got shipped in. Luckily the turnaround time for this was quick. While you were out, we've already administered an injection into one of our patients. Would you like to see him?"
The three shared a glance before deciding to go down to Floor X with great reluctance. Though accompanied by Zhu and Edna, the Floor was still an unnerving sight.
***
"He's down this hall." Zhu guided. Edna opened the door, granting revealing a man resting on his bed while chatting with another doctor who was already in the room.
Suzie looked closely. Slowly picking up on the similarities until it hit her. "Hey, that's the guy who was after me. He's okay?" She hadn't even recognized it at first. When approaching her the first time, he looked senseless, feral and mid-morph like a monster. Now before her was simply a man with ruffled hair and sweaty skin at the absolute worst.
"He can't be discharged yet but his condition from the virus is improving." Zhu assured.
They left the room to allow the man his privacy. Out there, John just slumped against the wall, clearly growing more frustrated. "I would ask next about your degrees but I bet there's an answer for that too... But seriously I looked you up and you got way too many for someone so young looking."
"Spying on my background?" Zhu snickered. " Man kid, you'd make a great government agent in the future. Anyway... you got me. I'm a genius. Well... I've always had a hankering for medicine and became a scholar at everything so I could reach my goal of becoming a doctor. Even to the point of graduating college when I was just your age."
John rolled his eyes and looked off as Malik took his turn. "I can't believe how wrong we were... just one more question though. What about that guy you were interrogating in the back room? And what was that place anyway, it looked crazy!"
Zhu's eyes went wide as Edna approached him with a steamed look. "You actually did that? How many times do I have to tell you we can't get involved with patients like that? No matter what they are!"
Zhu sighed and looked away with a twinge of embarrassment. "I thought I heard two people in there... so you saw all that?"
"Yeah, I never imagined you could get so angry like that. Even now, you seem like a pretty laid back guy." Malik said.
"That's not always true." He motioned for John to pull out his phone. "Look up the name Arnold J. Russo."
John did so and read the search results, the shock in his eyes was all Zhu needed to see. "This guy is a..."
"Correct. He stabbed four children in the local park. Completely unprovoked, he was just a monster. For years I've treated people with the sole goal of saving lives. But when we end up being forced to take in someone who tries to take lives for fun, I lose it a bit. I tried to be civil, but then I overheard he tried to use a suspicious object on one of the doctors and lost it." His look darkened as he thought back. "I took him to our Harmful Storage room."
"Your what?" John asked.
"A place where we store all dangerous objects found on patients. Whether they were used with the intention to hurt or they were the victims of said weapons." Edna responded.
Zhu nodded. "Even that one weirdo that got himself stuck on barbed wire, it's all there."
"Unreal." John hit his face in absolute humiliation. "But it all seemed so bizarre. The evidence, the holes, everything!" He thought to himself hard. "Am I forgetting anything?"
"Don't give up yet John, there's still one more question that needs answering..." he and Suzie shared a confused glance as Malik walked up to the doctors. "If there isn't anything weird going on here, then how do you explain this place being in total darkness? It's like a horror show up in here!"
Suddenly, Floor X flicked to a bright white. The entire hall illuminated no different than the rest of the hospital. Malik did a double take before spotting Zhu nonchalantly standing with his finger down on some kind of switch. "Because the lights weren't on yet. Simple as that."
"Rest is an important part of the recovery process, thus we have to turn the main lights off after a certain time." Zhu smirked. "Now that I think of it, you guys only came here at night right?"
All three had been completely brought back to reality.
"Now then, if we've all come to an understanding..." Edna handed Zhu a thin file, I'll reach out to your parents and have them pick you up. I have your information John but I don't believe I've treated the others before."
A chill went through John's spine. "O-Oh okay, please don't do that. We sort of did the thing where we told our parents we were staying at someone's house and then did vice versa with the others.
Malik nodded feverishly. "Right now, John and Suzie's folks think we're all just chilling at mine. We'll be screwed if you tell them!"
"Well what do you expect me to do? You broke into here for the absolute dumbest of reasons along with tripling my workload and hours." Zhu scoffed.
The receptionist laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hold on. Maybe it would be best to just let things slide just this once."
"Wha- why?" All four were surprised. Nobody had expected Edna to be the diplomat.
"John's so-called evidence may not be all that useful but he is aware of what you did to Arnold. Even if you were in the right, anything is better than your name being connected to him. You'd probably get fired if what happened ever were to get out."
The doctor thought for a moment before swaying his dreads and sighing. "If I let you kids go without telling your parents, will you promise never to speak of that incident?"
The three exchanged a glance before John smiled nervously. "Yeah, that sounds fair I guess."
Zhu nodded with a careful look. "Okay, but I mean it when I say don't show up here again without a parent or guardian. Unless you've got blood coming out of your mouth, that rule is staying in place for you three until you all turn 18." He got behind them and began to push the trio out. "I could've been home by now had it not been for you guys. I hate having to walk out under that hot sun." He sighed.
8
The sun peeked into the teal morning sky as John, Malik and Suzie tread down the sidewalk with the hospital in the distance. Occasionally looking back to find the redhead from before, still watching them with his arms crossed. They were definitely getting some looks the next time they showed up there.
"Wow, they really had an explanation for everything..." Malik chuckled embarrassed.
"What kind of anesthesia were they using in there. Seriously." Suzie hissed.
"Well I guess we should delete those pictures of the weapons room when we get back huh? But let's get more rest first. My feet are killing me." He turned to John who began to trail behind."
"Isn’t that right buddy?" John's gaze was focused on his feet as he walked slower.
"Dude?" Malik walked back to get him before the impulsive boy just looked away.
"I'm sorry guys." He muttered.
"Hm? What for?" Suzie asked.
"I got you so hyped up for nothing more than a wild goose chase." John confessed. "Maybe I should just quit the channel. I'm no truth seeker."
Malik just looked at him for a second before scoffing with a smile. "Don't sell yourself so short man. This was still a blast!"
John's eyes slowly raised back up. "Huh?"
"Malik is right. Sure we didn't find any actual Werewolves but we do still have some good material for the story time segment."
Some light returned to the ambitious boy's eyes. "We... do?"
"Yeah, I mean just take out Zhu and Arnold's names, twist some of the facts and we got a cool spooky story. Sure it's not a myth hunt like we usually do but our viewers still like getting spooked in general now and then."
"Yeah... yeah! I'll get started on that as soon as we get home!" An energetic, toothy smile took over John's face. As he was imagining new hopes for the channel after all, loud sirens blared from down the hill.
"Let's sleep first. My body is so weak the sirens of those cop cars are making me ache all over." Malik shivered.
"Hope nothing serious happened." Suzie crossed her arms in concern. "Just thinking about another situation like what Arnold did makes my heart race."
"Same." John chuckled. "Wait... heart race."
"Dude you're mumbling again." Malik sighed.
John's walking slowed again as he thought back to the initial checkup with Zhu and how something strange happened around the start of it. But not before another police car blared on by and shook him back to the present.
Frustrated, he stomped ahead of the two. Officially done with his investigation and ready to head home. "You know what? Forget it, let's get back to your place Malik. I'm gonna crash in my sleeping bag for at least four hours then work on the story.
Malik grinned with delight. "Sounds like a plan. After all, that's around the time when mom gets up to make pancakes."
"Ah finally, a reward for all this hard work." Suzie laughed. "Now let's hope we can get there in time before those four hours are up."
John whipped out his phone. "I'll find a bus station near us. That'll be a big help."
"Stuff like this is why I'm getting my license the second I'm old enough." Malik added.
"Oh and I'll have front row seats to see you crash into everything." Suzie taunted.
As the two continued their antics, John swiped along his phone with the worries of the doctor finally put to rest.
Seeking nothing more than to go and rest with his friends which he did.
***
The deafening sirens of several police cars blared around the hospital. The remaining staff who had a rather peaceful night as opposed to Zhu and Edna watched with concern as serval officers hurried into the main hall.
"How is that possible? He just arrived yesterday!" A police chief demanded to know as he listened to his second in command.
"That's what the staff say sir. Arnold is missing!"
***
Deep within Floor X, Edna walked. Searching for that one secluded room that was never occupied. The place that was never opened by anyone except for one. The room that was Zhu's personal favorite place. Stepping in, the strong smell hit her immediately. It had been a long time since he had been driven to such lengths.
She approached the room's closet and slowly opened it. The walls within were painted with vicious splatters of red.
Her gaze darkened as she just sighed and looked down below. Finding Zhu hunched over and slurping something. Underneath him, was the corpse of Arnold J. Russo.
"You really just couldn't stay away from him could you?" She grumbled and put on a face mask to block out the stench of blood.
With a moist rip, Zhu tore his mouth from Arnold's neck and smiled with dark satisfaction. Revealing two long fangs painted in crimson along with half his face all the way down to his shirt. His normally green eyes shined a murderous red.
"First of all, I didn't get to have any of my midnight snacks I made due to having to clean up after those kids earlier." He licked his soaked lips. "Second, I found this." He handed her a white shriveled piece of paper.
"What's this?"
"Read the names."
Edna took it and did just that. One by one, it had the names of several kids, at the bottom of the list however were there new ones scribbled in a different colored pen. John, Suzie and Malik. "These are... the kids! But why would he-"
"Look at the names above them. According to the few reports out there so far, those are the children he stabbed. John and his friends were next."
"This is a hit list? But why? I didn't even think he saw them." Edna then thought for a moment. "Then again, I think he did have a brief altercation with them while I was chasing them down the stairwell."
"I told the scumbag that I would tear out his throat should he try to kill anyone. Even those brats don't deserve that. Now they're safe and I got breakfast." He snickered and licked his lips more. "Plus the dude is crafty. I spotted him watching the three as they left from a window. That was when I knew to act."
"He must've overheard their names being spoken when we were all trying to figure out more about them." Edna pursed her lips. "Well, it's not like he'll be missed." She smiled a bit despite the horrific situation. Letting her role as the monster's accomplice take over. "This just makes me laugh more at the irony of them thinking you're a Werewolf."
"Yeah, I've been around plenty and I've got to say, those kids sure are repeating stereotypes." He got up to his feet and kicked the body aside. "Then again, I would prefer it if you remained the only one who truly knew what I am."
He looked down. "Now then, as much as I'd like to drain him dry, it's only a matter of time till the police start sweeping all floors. I'd better get rid of the evidence."
Edna slipped on some operation gloves. "I know just what to do. But first, let's clean the closet and get you a change of clothes."
***
Half an hour later, back in the main hall, the second-in-command approached his chief with a morbid face. "Sir uh... we found the stabber."
"Excellent, where is he?" The chief smiled at first but it slowly melted away as the situation was explained to him.
"At the bottom of one of the stairwells sir. Authorities found him there with lacerations all over his neck and chest. We've deduced that he fell down while trying to sneak out of custody and succumbed to his wounds.
As Zhu and Edna walked past the two policemen, he closed his eyes and let his sense for blood reach out. Tracking the accelerating heart rates of everyone in the lobby, especially his fellow doctors, fearful of the incident.
"Thank goodness our shift ended. Let's leave, people are starting to freak out." He mumbled.
"Agreed, you can sleep in the backseat if you want. I'm going to get coffee before we head home." Edna snickered.
"As long as you finally got those car windows tinted like I keep telling you."
"Ha, and you accused the kids of stereotyping?"
"Well, the 'creature of the night' bit isn't exactly inaccurate, at least for me." He eyed with a slight grin laced in satisfaction as the cops walked off to recover Arnold's body. "Besides, how else would you describe me as a Vampire?"
The two left into the morning as their acts were left completely covered up.
Later that day. John would read a news article about Arnold's freak accident at the hospital only for a moment before casting off doubts and going back to excitedly working on the story time segment with his friends along with planning future investigations into the bizarre.
Continuing to be oblivious of the true monster just one checkup away.
Ken Diercouff
About Ken Diercouff
Ken Diercouff is retired from laboratory work. He lives with his wife, Monica, in Corpus Christi. He has lived here for eight years. He enjoys reading, barbequing and fishing. He and his wife visit their children and grandchildren across the country as they can.
GOING HOME
A little too much salt. Surely too sweet. This wasn’t the best margarita I’ve ever had, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Why do they have to mess with the best drink in the world? But no complaints today. How could anyone diminish a day spent floating and in this iconic sulfur pool, the toasty rays piercing the very thin autumn air of Colorado. They tingled my peachy, office-white skin. After another methodical stir, I killed the drink. One more? Sheila and I used to share a float, not a care in the world, having a few too many of these. It was a green turtle float built for two. We would huddle together, staring off in the horizon, mountain peaks etching the tapestry. Her head rested softly on my shoulder.
Kerstin Berger
About Kerstin Berger
Kerstin is both model and designer. From concept to final make-up, she controls the artistic path. Her husband, Hermann, provides the highest level of technical photographic expertise. More about Kerstin at the end of this section.
Maya
Maya was a marionette.
She danced on a string.
The puppeteer controlled everything
Her clothes
Her hair
Her make-up.
She felt grotesque.
Maya is a warrior.
She is who she wants
When she wants..
Watch Out
Kerstin is both model and designer. From concept to final make-up, she controls the artistic path. Her husband, Hermann, provides the highest level of technical photographic expertise. With the COVID lockdown in 2020, they developed mayathara Photoart. She found a protected space in which to live ideas and dreams. There are no restrictions or limits. "I can be what or who I like to be. In addition to the classic bodypainting I like to use materials from nature such as Earth, mud, leaves, twigs, etc. and integrate them into my work. I use my body as my canvas and sculpture to turn my ideas into reality. And that is exactly the moment when my husband and photography come into play."
All of our images are available as prints. Website or Instagram
Kimberly Ward
About Kimberly Ward
Kimberly Ward lives in Austin, Texas
Icing Event
Current conditions at the farm house ...checking pipes and heating unit (unit was encased - caked like an ice cube) but powered on and working like a charm.
100,000+ in Austin without power - powerlines arcing or snapping under the weight of the ice.
Covered in ice, 40 foot trees reduced to 1/3 their size out here - 100 year+ oaks are snapping like straws. Can actually hear it happening all around.
Fruit trees (shown) were already budding.
The official buzz phrase, an "icing event."
Should move the boat from under the giant 50 'cottonwood - limbs arcing dangerously low - not gonna happen...js
Back fields are crunchy underfoot....looks like snow, yet it's ice..
71° in 48 hours or so....
Nature throwing temps around like Powerball numbers this week.
kristi sprinkle
About Kristi Sprinkle
Born, raised and educated in Corpus Christi, Kristi was privileged to have her first poem published when she was 15. Currently, she is living on a trawler in League City. More about Kristi at the end of this section.
visible briefly
visible briefly Is
A lone metal chair Inside a grove of California trees
Just under a turnpike
(Noticed from a higher road on our way elsewhere)
It sits facing railroad tracks that, from
The chair’s eyes, run north and south and disappear in both directions
And I wonder whether a young soul
Or an old soul sits there
And why
copyright Kristi Sprinkle
Ere I seem malapert
Ere I seem malapert,a gnashbag, or even a sciolist, I contend that the puissant scoundrels of this country, led by a growing number of cumbergrounds, have truly made this pestilent malison cause most to see that our nation is saddled with picaroons, fopdoodles, leasing-mongers, dalcops and a gowpen-o' mummers.
The rest of us are thole with wanion, even the sluberdegullions and the roiderbanks. I have, however, not developed lethophobia - yet.
Her body
Her body always tells the truth
But the wind carries her ill-borne lies
Spoken under countless moons
And she flies
Day to day it would seem
The conversations that she holds
Are sane, smart
While underneath her skin
the nerves explode
As broken glass -
Shards focused on her shattered mind
The restless, anxious ‘we’
-having passed
Many years inside rather different lives,
Come undone with our mind's own truths
as if shaking naked in the cold -
Nobody and no wind at all to pass along our holy lies.
and here
I am home in this
The constant wakes
And waves
That touch the right things inside
The movement that never stops
The passersby - fish and everything
Under
This is what I understand, where I watch, mind afloat
Of all that matters -
The wind, the rain, the
Demanding tides that mean so very much
And currents that do not mark time
As time marks them.
I am home in this.
Tried picking up
Tried picking up the sunshine on the floor as if it were trash but I am trying hard to raise the limit of who I am, no longer holding to the pith or marrow inside - or to the comfort of whom I’ve already been.
I think my past - this old box, has too many corners, darkened with experience, deepened with time, and the face you see on the surface has almost forgotten the question, ‘why?’, often turning away from a future where the head is cocked with wonder, enlightenment, and panache.
So, this strange new path - is it worth it? Could I be mistaken and the doubt too real? (The questions and answers are the essence of existing old me – hard parts I’m trying to set free.)
Now I am grasping intangible limits, pushing, seeking – raging against the comforting warmth of this tired soul. The sunshine on the floor cannot be picked up, but it brings only relief to know that possibility lies in that simple small square of light -not trash, after all.
I Am Cast
I am cast in this insanity, the ass on the hill, hands crossed over chest and sometimes hips now wondering about the boy sitting under the tree, singing – he’s probably me. The tree is an oak, one just large enough to accommodate a singer of songs and all the young in the world inside the old and aging.
His importance in this insanity cannot be described except with goose pimples and a wild imagination of the possibilities, some already taken, some passed into the void the wise might call, ‘regret’ and others might laugh, might say, 'he’s too old' when this young boy never ages, never dies.
The completeness of the boy is intriguing, not knowing his future
never regretting his past. He is free and singing, the naked imp I treasure. His future seeks me out, no matter how it turns, no matter how it ends. And that child, inside, sings, sits under the tall oak that’s wide, but not old, allowing this insanity to subside.
Waves and waves
Waves and waves of the past link me to an ocean of memory:
The firsts of firsts -
Becoming a woman at thirteen during Christmas when family from all over came, my mother hurriedly explaining the facts of womanhood quickly, before the Parker House rolls burned; her apron dirty with flour and cigarette smoke.
And for the next five years,
hoping my breasts would expand like all the girls at school - and like my sister’s - not knowing that the looking back , the wishing would be laughable, at best.
The first attempts at makeup - a horrendous failure, but a defining moment when I said, ‘no thanks’ and still don’t put grease on my face, the base of which was discovered to come from leftover frying oil at fast food places.
The first time betrayed by a friend,
the firsts of everything in that experience of learning about the measure of life,
the details discovered one by one, and always remembered even now, even as more layers build a life, quickly becoming that still life past and path I’ve designed myself
somewhere and somehow along the way.
Today Is the Day
Today is the day you forgot there were dark chocolate-covered almonds in your shirt pocket when you went out to dig in the dirt - where you contemplated the death of a very good friend and started to cry, but because you are a half mile from your neighbor, it occurs to you that screaming is okay.. and you do it, fists raised to the clouds and you realize that younger, they were dying by suicide or by overdose or car crashes and now it is by heart failure and cancer and all that crap you give a wide amount of space to in your aging thoughts because at the end of the day your back will be sore from digging new holes for new life - in the form of flowers to spring up and, while the light is dimming, you finally smell that chocolate in your pocket and wipe the melted mess out with a paper towel and the day has ended, and somehow you are happier with it than you thought you would be, understanding the difference between what was and what is, finally, and after all.
Yesterday... was just a bad day.
Yesterday... was just a bad day. whacked myself a good one (very large bump and bruise on my forehead - the old rake joke - step on the tines and WHACK! There was a twig intertwined with the tines, so I stepped on that. Same effect ("I'm not a COMPLETE backbirth")). Almost as bad as the time I dropped a post setter on my head. The garbage disposal started leaking... then I found some gopher holes where I just planted roses ("carefree beauty" that has a patent and certification from the department of agriculture... whatever happened to just plain plants?). The chickens that are free-roaming destroyed my potted tomato plants. Then this fraud - fighting it at a time when Mike and I should have been sleeping (we wake up fucking early, even in my retirement). Dead tired. Today? Went to bank and got new debit cards and had to write a novel to Visa on the events that took place last night and this morning with the fraud. Now starts the long process of changing all those autopays over from the old card number. Making chicken stock (HEB has 10lbs of chicken halves for 5 bucks). Delivered eggs to the Mennonites down the road, went grocery shopping where, unbeknownst to me, my debit card had just been canceled (see previous post). Just made salsa with old pico, using a boat motor on it. And new pico with fresh ingredients. It IS a better day. So far.
copyright Kristi Sprinkle
Woke Up Today
woke up today in clarity's
sense of sheer happiness
weary of nothing
quiet eyes 360 degrees around this path
seeing what's been done and undone
wizard behind the curtain
hands crossed, perplexed
at the powerlessness
to stop
this high
because i see everything i am
and have
and do
and all the people i know
settled and unsettling
pushing this world, pulling it
- life/death and threats of both
and it all comes together
perhaps i'm crazy
but all the good and bad
suddenly doesn't matter
because here we are
more than those words on a wall
and yes, the glass is half full
finally held in hands
that were strong
all along
About Kristi Sprinkle
Born, raised and educated in Corpus Christi, Kristi was privileged to have her first poem published when she was 15. This was the beginning of her love affair with reading and writing, specifically poetry -both spoken word and poetry meant to help people privately express the inexpressible. In high school, she and one other woman created a poetry collection called ‘Open All Night’ - a legacy at her high school that lasted many years. As an adult, she managed the first computer magazine tailored for the Austin computer environment just as the Internet made an appearance. Working for the Texas School for the Blind in Austin, she became the unofficial historian and put together two museums to celebrate the incredible history of the school. While working in tech at the school, she also co-wrote and edited a superintendent’s book, celebrating 50 years serving the professional blind community. Currently, she is living on a trawler in League City, with plans to travel the Intercoastal Waterway in the next few years, so she can get back some of her Corpus roots- being on and near water - and fishing!
Kristi Sprinkle
Perspective
The old chain smoker sits on his small porch
Across the water from us, his chair set back against
The sole window, next to an old broom turned
Upside down – and one that hardly ever seems to move.
I know there are others that watch our home from
The many units in the building that overlook
Our docks in the marina, but his gaze is unnerving as I try
To think what he thinks about our comings and goings.
I count the days he wears his old shirts, sometimes
Three, four times before he changes them.
I am sure he lives alone, his gait and the slowness
He takes in smoking are not the actions of a man
Called inside his home by any other voice.
People walk past him, but he never interacts, perhaps
Because he just doesn’t want to, perhaps he is that
Kind of old man.
And now I wonder if he wonders what we are thinking
About his comings and goings,
But really, I don’t think he does at all.
Kristopher Cisneros
About Kristopher Cisneros
Kristopher Lee Cisneros wrote and directed a short film which won Best of Fest at the South Texas Underground Film Festival. He is currently working on a novel and a pilot script. More about Kristopher at the end of this section.
Paradise Cemetery
Halloween night, I was thirteen years old,
Trying to be brave and bold.
I entered Paradise Cemetery on a dare, To
show those bullies I was no easy scare.
Flashlight in hand, I plodded among the dead, When a
presence filled me with sudden dread. Turning around, my
light flashed on a face so pretty— Not rotted, gross, or gritty.
She wore a white dress and, in her hair, a blue bow. "Is it
Halloween?" the girl wanted to know.
I nodded, though my legs urged me to run;
She shouted, "I can play until the rising sun!"
"Please play with me," she pleaded, For a
playmate was all she needed.
Hide-and-seek was her favorite game, she shared; I said
nothing, just stood there, scared.
She turned away and started to count; I
looked around for a way out.
I ran to the wall and was about to climb,
When I heard her sob, "I'm almost out of time."
I went back to her and flashed my light; She
smiled at the beam so bright.
I asked if she'd like to go to a Halloween dance with me. "Yes!"
she cheered, jumping up with glee.
We ran past the mortuary,
And climbed over the wall of Paradise Cemetery.
We skipped down old Conner Street,
But stopped halfway when she screamed in defeat—
"I don’t have a costume to wear!"
So, I stole a bed sheet from a clothesline, without a care.
We cut holes for eyes, now she was a ghost;
I was Davy Crockett, and we held hands under the lamppost.
The girl was so happy, she began to spin around.
"It feels good to be out of the ground," she said, profound. "What
do you mean by that?" I asked, concerned, But she fell silent, as
if enough had been learned.
The road was dark, cold, and scary;
She whispered softly, "My name is Carrie." I
told her mine was Harold, Harold Fitzgerald.
We arrived at the party, Though
just a bit tardy.
The kids were dancing to the song "Sh-Boom," All
dressed up in neat costumes.
"I don’t know how to dance," I confessed,
But she smiled and said, "Just give it a chance." She
placed my hands on her shoulders and led, Her head
gently resting on my chest, no more dread.
We danced all night long, To
some boss songs.
"Just one more," she whispered, a quiet swirl— It felt
like a dream, being with this girl.
She removed her ghost sheet, And
smiled so sweet.
"My Special Angel" played next; As we
waltzed, she gave me a peck.
The song ended, and she ran away; I chased
after, begging her to stay. I called out her
name, not once but twice, As I sprinted all
the way to Paradise.
I spotted a big black crow perched upon a church steeple,
as I struggled up a grassy hill.
His shrieks echoed across the night,
Chilling me to the bone with fright.
I found Carrie crying at the cemetery gate, looking up at the moon. She said
an evil man had ended her life too soon—
It happened on Halloween night, on her way to a dance; She was
found by the roadside in the grass.
We went back over the wall, and she showed me something dire—
A sight I hadn’t really desired. I
flashed my light on a tombstone,
And found that it was her own.
"Carrie Ortega, 1922-1935,"
It was twenty-two years ago that she stopped being alive.
Carrie began to cry,
So, I held her, and tears welled in my eyes.
I stayed with her until my flashlight flickered and went black; The time
had come for her to go back.
The sun rose over the treetops, peeking through the branches— Would
there be any more chances?
She promised she’d return when I needed her near—
"Just flash the light, and I’ll be here."
My special angel, I know you're an angel,
The night retreated, giving way to the light's tangle.
As it did, I caught a glimpse of a monster trying to hide— It fled
with the shadows, writhing in pain as it sighed.
Into a crypt, the monster crept,
And 'til this day, that image in my mind is kept.
That was sixty-five years ago;
Now I’m seventy-eight—old.
Waiting in a nursing home to depart this life— I have
no more fight.
So, I snuck out into the parking lot on Halloween night, And
flashed a light beam so bright.
Carrie returned as she promised,
We were together again, under a moon called Harvest.
When they found me,
I was cold to the touch, lying beneath a tree. My
life was a jubilee, So don’t feel sorry for me.
I was taken to Paradise Cemetery— To
shed tears unnecessary.
Now, Carrie and I can dance and play, Every
Halloween night until the break of day.
The Hallelujah Traveling Show
Part One
The Summer of 1969
***
Make love, not war, and power to the people were the slogans. However, too many great people had been shot down, and the bombs were bursting in the air. We came in peace for all mankind. The sixties were nearly over, and I stopped believing in God.
***
“I’m a salesman, honey,” Papa told me, my name being Jupiter Orvis. “What I sell is the freedom of men’s souls.” I traveled across the fruited plains with Papa as he brought Jesus to the masses. “The devil runs loose, and I’m chasing after him,” he proclaimed, Bible in hand.
***
They were the same all over—folks in need of salvation. The war had not gone as planned; the riots and the rock-n-roll music were all a bit too much. It was time to let the sunshine in. 'Let not your hearts be troubled'; The Hallelujah Traveling Show was in town.
***
Papa wore a white suit and lots of make-up. 'It’s performance art,' he explained. He was good at his job. He preached fire and brimstone to a captivated audience. They gave him their hard-earned money, and he gave them hope. All done, off to the next town.
***
Under that old, ragged tent, the lights burned bright, and the choir sang praises to the Lord Almighty with booming voices. People were healed. They cried. They testified before the congregation. The Holy Spirit was loose, and the people felt it coursing through their bodies. It was an awe-inspiring sight to those who didn’t know no better. But I knew... it was performance art.
***
The year before, when I turned twelve, Papa got me a pet rabbit. I named him Beasley. I kept him in a little pen outside Papa’s trailer, and as I fed him, I overheard the plans for that night’s revival. Papa paid people to pretend to be healed. It was fake. He came out, patted my head, and said, 'Happy Birthday, Jupiter.'
***
'It’s only fake to the non-believer, Jupiter. The folks in those seats want to be saved. They want to believe. I give them that, so where’s the harm?' Papa declared when I confronted him. That’s when I stopped believing in God.
***
Seems everyone was on the move in 1969. The roads were full of hitchhiking hippies, lost soldiers, and station wagons. Some of the places where we set up our church were bright and sunny, others cold and wet. We were like the traveling circuses of old in more ways than one. 'The open road is your school,' Papa asserted. 'Jesus is your teacher.' Not my only teacher; there was Iris also.
***
We picked her up outside Dresden, Ohio, on a hot May night. She had some bad experiences in NYC and decided to leave for a new life on the West Coast. Iris was a flower child with hair like rivers of gold and eyes blue like a summer sky. Both of us had our scars.
***
Papa told me once that Mama was a beatnik. She wrote short stories in college and loved the novels of Thomas Wolfe and the poetry of Emily Dickinson. They fell in love at a USO dance. 'You have her eyes and her smile,' Papa said to me. A bad rainstorm and a drunk driver—that’s how Mama died. That was five years ago. I miss her very much. Papa cries and drinks until he passes out. He sold our house, and we left Corpus Christi, TX, shortly after. I grew up in this traveling church.
***
Iris and I bonded right off. I didn’t get much girl talk, so it was fun just being around her. She was twenty and had already seen so much. She had lived with a guy named Asher back in New York who was as mean as a wildcat. He would hit her, call her all sorts of awful names, and so she decided to hit the road in search of the American dream.
***
Iris taught me how to braid my hair and how to meditate. She played the guitar badly and wrote poetry. She was headed for San Francisco to meet a guy named Lawrence Ferlinghetti. She wanted to be published. We shared a joint and danced to the song 'Incense and Peppermints' under a desert sky.
***
He was a year older than me and had a girl's name, Shelby. His parents were divorced, and his father worked security for the Hallelujah Traveling Show. He tagged along with us for the summer because he wanted to see Jack Kerouac’s America; at least that’s what he told me. He looked like a young Mark Wynter, but his manners were the worst. Shelby poked his nose and spat on the floor. Iris said that’s what guys do, but I still thought it was gross. He told me that he really liked my name.
***
I had never run that fast in my whole life. I was out of breath and nearly blind by the time I found Iris setting up some chairs under the tent. 'What’s the matter?' she asked, fanning me with her hands. 'Herbie,' I hollered. 'Shelby wants me to go to town and see The Love Bug with him. What do I do?' To this, Iris only giggled. 'You should go,' she replied. I dropped to the ground and shook my head, 'I’ve never been invited to a movie by a boy before. I haven’t a thing to wear,' I lamented. 'Leave that to me,' she replied.
***
Shelby waited for me by his daddy’s red pickup truck. I approached him, dressed in Iris's curated ensemble of rebellion—a mini skirt and a knotted white button-down that flirted with the boundaries of liberation—Shelby's eyes widened, threatening to roll right out of their sockets. 'Far out,' he mumbled, nodding in approval. We talked all the way to town about men on the moon and atomic death. The movie theater, adorned with a marquee shouting THE LOVE BUG in bold red letters, beckoned us like a portal to escapism. Shelby generously played the part of the gallant suitor, paying for our tickets and popcorn, and led me into the dimly lit sanctuary of the cinema. 'Far out,' he exclaimed when he saw that we were all alone. We sat in the center of the theater. My palms were sweaty, and my pulse was racing. I felt the butterflies fluttering about in my stomach. The lights dimmed, and a silver beam struck the big screen. Music boomed all around us. 'Should we hold hands?' I asked him. 'Why?' he replied, his eyes fixed on the screen. I shrugged. The movie was okay.
***
After the movie, Shelby and I bought some ice cream sodas, the sweet concoctions serving as elixirs for the tales that lingered between us. We meandered to a nearby park and watched the fading sun paint the sky with warm hues that eventually gave way to a purple sky with countless sparkling stars. Shelby unraveled the chapters of his life—his older brother stationed in Vietnam and a mother residing in Denver. He was going to live and go to school in Denver, and on weekends would immerse himself in the rhythmic heartbeat of a horse farm. In turn, I shared the tender ache of the night Mama departed. Shelby marveled at the enigmatic figure of Papa, a charismatic soul who effortlessly drew in the crowds. In a desperate effort to shift the conversation, I asked him about his brother. He said that his brother’s name was Duncan, and last he heard, he was in some place called the Quảng Ngãi province.
Shelby walked me all the way to the trailer door. 'It was fun,' he said, looking down at the ground. I nodded. Shelby looked up at me, bit his lip, and swayed side-to-side. After a second or two of silence, he leaned towards me. I stiffened up, unsure what was happening. Then Papa opened the door and said, 'Why, Shelby, thank you for bringing my Jupiter home safely. Did you kids have fun?' Shelby smiled wide and nodded. 'Well, bye,' he said, shook my hand, and hurried away. I turned to Papa, red-faced and huffed. He threw his hands up and asked, 'What?' The evening curtain fell, leaving behind a tapestry of shared moments and the enigmatic dance of youth.
***
Ely, Nevada. A dusty tent pitched on the rugged soil became the theater for a divine spectacle. As Papa wove tales of Jesus purifying a leper with the power of faith, the air itself seemed to vibrate with anticipation. It was then that she emerged—a woman of weary resolve, each step a testament to the burdens she bore. Her eyes tightly shut, she traversed the aisle, a painful journey showcased in her every movement.
Papa descended the aisle like a shepherd tending to a wounded lamb. He reached out, hands aglow with fervor, and bellowed, 'In the name of Jesus, I command whatever evil spirit that inhibits this poor woman’s body to leave! Sister, get up and walk!' The tent pulsated with silent prayers. The woman, wrestling with invisible forces, initially faltered. Yet, on her second attempt, a miraculous metamorphosis transpired—she leaped to her feet, tears streaming from her opened eyes.
A collective gasp gave way to a cascade of awe, and the tent erupted in a symphony of astonished murmurs. Papa cradled the healed woman in his arms. The congregation swept up in a tide of divine fervor, rose in unison, hands clapping in thunderous applause. Hymns of praise resonated through the air, a chorus honoring the miracles unfolding in their midst. In the wake of this divine encounter, the once-crippled woman, now rejuvenated, ran out into the night, leaving behind a trail of whispered marvels. And that’s how it began.
Part Two
Seasons Turn
***
The woman wasn’t part of Papa’s act. 'Who was she then?' Papa demanded, but no one who worked for him knew. Later, she went to the press with her story. She wasn’t acting either. Her spine had been damaged when she fell off a horse a decade before, and everyone who knew her said the same. Her doctor was baffled. It was a miracle.
Our next stop was the small town of Caliente. The lines stretched out across the sunbaked land. 'Look at all of them,' Shelby said, awestruck by the mass of humanity. He took my hand and dashed me backstage to get a better look at Papa. The word was out about his healing powers, and people came from all over America to see for themselves. Some of them sold everything they had to make the trip. They were disease-ridden, mentally scarred, and broken. They waited in line for hours for him to lay hands on them. Papa was so scared.
***
Papa healed them; more came. Papa kept performing his miracles. The number of people who needed healing was never-ending, and neither was the money. The dollars fell like the leaves from the autumn trees. We left Nevada with a trail of pilgrims following behind us. Papa bought a new tent.
***
Papa was front-page news from coast to coast, and the cameras joined the pilgrims. One day, he received a letter from Mr. Dick Cavett inviting him to make an appearance on his show. He accepted, and we were flown to NYC for the taping. While Papa prepared for his studio debut, Iris became my guide through the concrete jungle. The cityscape unfolded before me, a spectacle of towering buildings, the ceaseless hum of urban life, and a symphony of car horns echoing through the canyons of steel and glass. She took me to an anti-war protest, where a man with long hair and purple sunglasses drew a peace sign on my cheek. It was my personal rebellion against the horrors of war. I saw a lot of soldiers, young men who looked old, and I cried.
***
Mr. Cavett was skeptical of Papa and made him angry with some of his questions, especially when he pressed him about the war in Vietnam. Yet, despite the contentious exchanges, Papa's narratives wove a spell of intrigue, leaving an indelible mark on the audience. When we got to the airport, it was packed with people wanting to see Papa. The police moved in to control the situation, and tensions escalated, turning the scene ugly.
***
Papa held me tight as the crowd, in a frenzy, began to lose control and rushed us. Someone took hold of my hair and yanked it, and I screamed. Iris freed me. Some people were trampled over and left pleading on the ground, victims of the chaos. The air was thick with cries for help, and by the sickening scent of violence. Puddles of blood stained the ground, a testament to the brutality unleashed in the pandemonium. I turned to Papa, who was white as a ghost. For our own safety, the police hurriedly escorted us to our plane.
***
When we returned to The Hallelujah Traveling Show, the authorities were investigating Papa's activities. They wanted to see his books, and they didn’t mean Bibles either. Despite Papa's troubles, people seeking help still came. His critics in the papers wrote awful things about him. They said awful things about him on television, too. Their words, like venom, painted him as a charlatan—Micah Orvis is a snake oil salesman, a false prophet, a Wizard of Oz orchestrating illusions. They even blamed him for the people who got seriously hurt back in NYC. Papa became a recluse and drank a lot.
***
Needles, California. Shelby and I lay on a blanket under the stars while the song "Do Wah Diddy Diddy" played from a transistor radio. He listened as I told him all about what happened in New York City. 'Harsh,' was all he said, then turned to me with a casual shift, venturing into a different realm of inquiry. "Ever been kissed before?" he asked.
“How, I mean like the way the French do it, or --"
He scrunched his eyebrows and got quiet for a moment. “I guess just regular," he answered, "I don’t know any other way.” I sat up and spit out the gum I was chewing. “Have you ever kissed a girl before?" I asked him. "Oh yeah, sure, plenty of times," he boasted. I got to my feet, kicked dirt in his direction, and stormed off. 'Hey, Jupiter, come back,' Shelby hollered. I kept going.
***
I ignored Shelby for the next week. Every time we passed each other; I could see written all over his face how bad he felt. One night, as I fed Beasley, I heard someone yelling out. I peeked around one of the trailers and saw Shelby beating on a junked car with a lead pipe.
“Shelby, what’s the matter?” I asked as I plodded over to him. His anguished gaze turned towards me, face contorted by rage and eyes welling with tears. Breathless and soaked in sweat, he uttered the devastating truth—his brother, Duncan, was dead. The lead pipe clattered to the ground as he crumbled, his emotions pouring out in waves.
As goosebumps cascaded down my body, I found myself at a loss for words. I sat next to him; an arm extended in silent solidarity. He looked over at me, his eyes reddened by tears, and planted a kiss upon my lips. It was unexpected but nice.
When Shelby withdrew, his red-rimmed eyes locked onto mine, and without a word, he fled into the night, leaving me to grapple with the complexity of emotions that lingered in the ocean of my adolescent confusion.
***
I was atop a ladder, engrossed in the mundane task of changing light bulbs when the quiet moment was suddenly disrupted by the soft approach of Shelby. His somber expression bore the weight of the decision he had come to share — he was leaving.
Climbing down from my perch, I found unexpected tears welling in my eyes. Silently, we stood face to face, emotions zapping the air between us like an electric charge. Shelby extended his hand, a gesture filled with unspoken sentiments. I placed mine in his, the warmth of his touch grounding me in the reality of the moment.
He leaned in, his words a whispered revelation, "That was actually my first kiss, Jupiter, and I won't ever forget it." The weight of his confession hung in the air as he turned away, walking out of the tent. I never saw him again.
***
Indian Wells, California. The air crackled as Papa's fiery sermon echoed through the desert night. However, the evening would take an unexpected turn when a woman, eyes bloodshot and trembling like an earthquake, stormed into the tent, interrupting the spiritual spectacle.
She dropped to her knees, seizing Papa's hand, and begged him to resurrect the son she lost in war. The crowd hushed, and Papa froze like an ice sculpture, his eyes locked onto the woman's desperate face. Security rushed in, but he waved them away, a realization dawning on him that this was no act.
"I can't," he confessed, shaking his head, and closing his eyes. "I'm sorry," he apologized to the grieving mother. The woman, in anger, shouted at him, "He is your God, who performed for you those great and awesome wonders you saw with your own eyes."
The crowd, once in awe, now began to protest.
***
Later, in the quiet aftermath, Papa said, "It's all performance art.” He stared at his trembling hands, a sense of disillusionment settling in. "I'm a false prophet," he admitted. I went over to him and pressed my head to his chest. “How’s Beasley, Jupiter?” he asked. I was so taken aback by the question that it took me a while to reply. “He’s good, Papa,” I answered.
He nodded and cracked a smile. “I sure do miss Mabel,” he lamented. Mabel was Mama’s name. “Me too,” I said. We just held one another and cried.
***
I found Iris sitting on some train tracks on a warm and bright afternoon. It was evident that she had been crying. She told me that the last few months had been a rollercoaster ride, but after what had happened the night before, she knew the time had come for her to jump off.
“You can’t leave,” I blurted out, my lip quivering. “You’re my best friend.”
She stood up, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and stared into the distance. “I’m sorry, but I have to. I promise I’ll write you. Jupiter, I’m really gonna miss you, my sister,” she sobbed.
I turned my back on her and shouted for her to go away. I listened to her footsteps on the gravel until there was only the wind blowing.
***
Papa drank himself into a stupor, and the last of his devoted followers scattered into the depths of Indian Wells. I stood beneath a star-studded sky; the celestial tapestry stretched out above—a silent witness to the unraveling of the events that had transpired over the past few months. A chilling wind blew, a subtle reminder that the summer's warmth was giving way to the approaching embrace of fall.
The star’s radiant glow provided a backdrop to my thoughts as I grappled with the mysteries that lingered in the shadows. A shooting star streaked across the sky, a transient blaze of light trailing behind it. I watched its descent, pondering its significance. In the solitude of the desert night, questions lingered—unresolved and haunting.
The woman whom Papa made walk, the miraculous healings that followed – what force or entity had orchestrated these events? Would Iris reappear in my life, or was her departure a permanent farewell? Why had Mama gone away? And what awaited Papa and me in the uncertain days ahead? Was it all just performance art?
My face flushed with frustration, and I clenched my hands into fists, unleashing a guttural cry into the quiet night, “Why?"
The man on the moon stared down at me. The echoes of my plea dissipated into the vast emptiness, leaving me alone with my tears.
***
I was zapped of strength and collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Blurred vision clouded my surroundings, and the night seemed to swirl in disarray. With my face pressed to the ground, I heard a distorted scream pierce the air—faint but haunting. A sudden burst of brightness assaulted my senses, revealing two silhouettes entangled in a mystic dance against the beams of glaring light.
Jimi Hendrix's "All Along the Watchtower" blasted throughout the desert—a song Iris often played. As my vision returned, I saw that the silhouettes were not engaged in a dance but locked in a fierce struggle. The source of the radiant light became evident—the headlights of a car illuminating the desert darkness.
In the midst of the chaos, Iris dropped before me, her beautiful face etched with fear. A menacing figure seized her by the hair, a threat hanging in the air like a storm on the horizon. The man, unshaven and consumed by the stench of alcohol, spoke with a growl, 'I’ll put a bullet into the pretty little head of that girl if you don’t take me to the money.' A cigarette dangled casually from the corner of his mouth as he pointed his gun menacingly in my direction.
Iris, defiant and fearless, shouted, and struck the man. Undeterred, he jabbed the gun beneath her chin, issuing a chilling threat, 'You're one shot away from meeting Jesus in person.'
***
'Who is he?' I questioned Iris; my hands raised in surrender. Iris whispered, 'Remember I told you about an ex-boyfriend I had back in New York named Asher?' With a shove and a growl, Asher ordered us to shut up. He forced me to knock on Papa's door. Silence greeted my desperate calls, and in frustration, I began beating on the door. Growing impatient, Asher pushed me aside, sending me face down into the sand. Iris rushed to my side.
Asher kicked the door off its hinges and rushed into the trailer. He re-emerged with a black lockbox taken from Papa's desk and placed it on the desert sand. He fired a single shot at the lockbox. The deafening sound coursed through my body. Money fluttered in the cold wind as Asher, dropping to his knees, laughed maniacally, stuffing the ill-gotten gains into a sack.
'Time for me to go, ladies,' he said, getting to his feet and pointed his gun at us. Just then, Papa lunged at him from the darkness, initiating a fierce struggle for control of the weapon. The desert floor became an arena for their chaotic ballet of strength and desperation. Papa emerged victorious, wresting the gun from Asher's grasp. Iris ran to get help, and I leaped into Papa’s arms. The police took Asher away.
Part Three
The Life Fandango
***
The summer of '69 ended with a bang. Iris left for San Francisco. She told me she was now part of something called Women’s Lib. Mr. Ferlinghetti published a book of her poetry, and she sent me an autographed copy. Iris wrote me a lot of letters, and she always ended them with, 'A time for peace, I swear it's not too late. Love Always, Iris.'
***
We stopped for a bite to eat at a small diner outside of Roswell, New Mexico. I had the best burger I’d ever had there. As we stepped out into the vastness of the New Mexican landscape, a woman approached us, seized Papa's hand, and pressed her lips to it—an expression of profound thanks. It was the very woman whose life he had restored, the one who had miraculously walked again.
Before the weight of the moment fully settled, she vanished into the expanse around us, leaving us standing there, awestruck, surrounded by the big rigs and the tumbleweeds. We were done with the Hallelujah Traveling Show and went back home.
***
The twinkling Christmas lights lit up the cold Corpus Christi nights. Our lives had found a new rhythm—a melody composed of everyday moments and the echoes of extraordinary events. We took Mama some fresh flowers. Papa was happy in his new role as an appliance store manager, selling washers and dryers. In the warmth of his smile, there was a sense of acceptance, a belief, perhaps, that everything unfolded according to a divine plan.
I went back to a regular school and even managed to make friends. We got a house by the beach, and I go to sleep to the sounds of the ocean waves. There are nights, however, when I can’t sleep. Images flood my mind—the crippled woman, the puddles of blood, and the barrel of a gun pointed at my head. Those memories mingle with moments of pure magic—Iris, Incense and Peppermints, Shelby, and the sweet taste of a first kiss. Miracles, both chilling and enchanting, stitched into the fabric of my existence.
Smarter folks than I have pondered the meaning of life, each coming up with their own interpretations based on their personal experiences, and I guess that’s what it’s all about—our own life experiences and how they shape us. God only knows.
The End.
why me
he was my passenger
that was the first time I had met the man
his name was Alejandro Garcia he told me
he had worked for all of his life he told me
I sensed anger and regret in his tone
“my life had been spent in the grind.” he told
me
“I picked cotton under the brutal Texas sun
when I was only seven.” he told me
“My dear dumb father put me there.” he told me
“That was the first day of the end of my
life.” he told me
the light changed from a spring green to a
fiery red, we stopped moving
i faced the night ahead of me, only the
darkness beyond my windshield
on the radio Chopin played
mr. Garcia went on speaking, louder
“My dear dumb father sentenced me to a life of
hard labor.” he told me
“I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to write
beautiful stories.” he told me
“Instead, I went from the fields into the
factories and worked some more.” he told me
“From the factories to the suburbs. I married,
had kids, house payments, car notes, and
insurance policies.” he told me
the light changed and we continued down the
road
fog rolled in off the Gulf of Mexico
we were enveloped in it
the world disappeared
i felt that we were no longer driving along
on hard pavement, but that we soared across
the heavens
mr. Garcia didn’t take notice of the world
beyond the windshield
he continued to lament
he cried, he laughed, he yelled, and then
went quiet
we were caught in the snares of another red
light
“I wanted to be a writer.” he told me
“My wife never supported that dream. She
wanted security. She wanted the suburbs.”
he told me
“The kids got older, so did I. They moved
on, so did the world.” he told me
“After 40 years of work, I was put out.” he
told me
“At last I had the time to write. I had
earned it.” he told me
“And then it happened. Just as I sat down
and typed two words my heart stopped.” he
he told me
“I fell to the floor. All I could see was
the ceiling fan spinning around and
around” he told me
THEN DARKNESS
i pulled into the cemetery grounds and down
the winding path towards the funeral home
i reversed the hearse towards the garage
door
i set the car in park and sat there
outside the wind blew bitterly
the fog was being blown away and things
were becoming clear
“Don’t let the same thing happen to you my
boy.” he told me
“Time blows past like the winds, and before
you know it’s into the cooler for you.” he
told me
i nodded and got out of the hearse
opened the backdoor, pulled mr. Garcia out
i logged him in and then rolled him into the
cooler.
“What were the two words you wrote?”, i asked
him
“Why me?” he told me
i shut the door on him
i parked the hearse and walked back to my car,
got in and drove home
the world beyond my windshield was still dark,
but it didn’t bother me
i made it back to my apartment
i surfed Youtube videos for an hour
then i set my phone down and went to my
computer
opened up my Word document and typed two words
i waited for my heart to stop
nothing happened
i wrote some more
i wrote a poem
i dedicated to the man i had met that night
i called the poem WHY ME
the stripper
she made me feel special
she made me believe that I was the only one
she did her job well
she was a pro
my life was in a downward spiral
my job was taking me nowhere but to the grave
my apartment was infested with rats, and they were starving
my car died on the side of the expressway, it’s still there
i looked out my window, searching
i drank lots of beer
i ate sardines, the rats were envious
i left that apartment and walked down the street
night had fallen
i found a patch of neon light in the dark
one light was in the shape of a woman
a man in a cowboy hat asked me, “You looking for love young fellow”
“Ain’t we all,” I answered
“In here we have all the love a fellow can handle,” he said
he sold me, so I walked in
it was a dark place with nothing but lonely men
judging by their looks it was no wonder they were lonely
the working girls were probably sickened by us, but they put on a good act
i sat in the corner by the end of the stage
she came out from behind the curtain like a dream
her hair was long and flowed like a golden stream on a summer day
her eyes were like stars in a distant galaxy
she moved with such grace
it was La Bayadere or Swan Lake with a strip pole
the world around me vanished
she was pure magic
her eyes fell upon me
we connected like the earth and moon
our souls left our bodies and danced together all the way up to heaven
she was meant for me
she was the snake charmer, and I was under her spell
what did crappy jobs, bills, and shoes with hole in them mean to me now
what was politics, nuclear war, poverty, and bad breath anyhow
at that moment there was no past and no future, just her and I
she blew me a kiss
which pierced my heart
she winked at me and flashed the most beautiful smile in all of creation
then she skipped back behind the curtain
the fairytale was over
i didn’t want to see anymore, I got up and walked out
the traffic jams, aches and pains, and the rats waited for me
i walked the cold dark night for hours
i came up to a bridge and looked down
below the traffic zoomed past in an explosion of color like a Chinese New Year
i thought of ending it all
this world with its rats, was not my size anymore
just as I had climbed over, she popped into my mind
her magic still worked me
her beauty
the kindness shown to a down and out loser, her gift
i decided to live
that beautiful stripper had saved my life
she made a nobody feel like a somebody
she made me feel special.
About Kristopher Cisneros
Kristopher Lee Cisneros is a recreation director and mortuary science worker finishing up his studies in Mortuary Science from Amarillo College. He also wrote and directed a short film which won Best of Fest at the South Texas Underground Film Festival. The film also screened at the San Antonio Horrific Film Festival and the Victoria Film Festival. Kristopher wrote two poems for the Marina Arts District which placed first and second in their Spoken Word competition. He is currently working on a novel and a pilot script.
Lou Ella Hickman
About Sister Lou Ella Hickman
Sister Lou Ella is a former teacher and librarian. She is a certified spiritual director as well as a poet and writer. Her poems have appeared in numerous magazines such as America, First Things, Emmanuel, Third Wednesday, and new verse news as well as in four anthologies: The Night’s Magician: Poems about the Moon, edited by Philip Kolin and Sue Brannnan Walker, Down to the Dark River edited by Philip Kolin, Secrets edited by Sue Brannan Walker and After Shocks: The Poetry of Recovery for Life-Shattering Events edited by Tom Lombardo. She was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2017. Her first book of poetry entitled she: robed and wordless was published in 2015. (Press 53.)
a poem . . .
water
over
stones
you write
rowing words into poems
like a boat on water
the page wakens
after a poetry reading
after a poetry reading
i was asked today where my poems come from
Read the rest in Corpus Christi Writers 2019
Lizz Fraga Cosgrove
About Lizz Fraga Cosgrove
Lizz Fraga Cosgrove has a BA in English from UT Austin. Her adventures this lifetime include being a teacher, a paralegal, an event decorator, a writer, a wife, a mother, a caregiver but most importantly a Light Seeker.
Late
I’m running late again…
My morning writing, that attempted to become my afternoon writing,
has manifested itself into my evening writing.
I don’t ever desire to be late…
I don’t ever take pride in being late…
But I do take ownership of the relationship I have with Late.
Late and I are very familiar, comfortable companions – sometimes I follow her around, sometimes she follows me - but no matter who is trailing whom, we always seem to be no more than an arm’s length from one another.
Sometimes Late is my enemy – on my wedding day she showed up, uninvited, in the form of me trying to get myself, the bride, and my four young daughters, the bridesmaids, dressed and to the ceremony on time.
Sometimes Late is my best friend – the day of my mother’s funeral she showed up as a mourning dove who had somehow made her way into my home, into my mother’s bedroom and perched herself on the headboard of my mother’s bed – the bed in which she took her last breath…
She forced me to forget about the schedule to be met that day and allowed me to stare into her eyes and remember how much my mother loved feeding the birds in our yard – those days when time didn’t matter and Late was always welcome.
Somehow when you know the time is limited…
when you know each day is a gift…
when you pray for every hour to feel like an eternity…
You also pray for Death to be best friends with Late.
Read more great writing like this in Corpus Christi Writers 2019
Lucas Diercouff
About Lucas Diercouff
Lucas Diercouff was born in Denver, Colorado. He was a Combat Medic with the U.S. Army with tours to Iraq and Afghanistan. Shortly after, he attended New York Film Academy in Burbank, CA where he received a BFA in Filmmaking. He is a member of the Veterans in Media and Entertainment and alumni of the WGF's Veteran Writing Project. His first short film 'Strawberry Barbara' screened at LA Shorts Fest and he has been involved in film productions ever since. His writing has been recognized in the UK Film Festival, BlueCat, and ISA's Emerging Screenwriters competitions. While his focus has largely been screenwriting, he is eyeing a novel and making Texas his home for the foreseeable future.
Dr. Brittle
HARVEY TATE REPORTING: “This footage can give you…the heebie-jeebies! The Gulf of Mexico has RECEDED approximately one hundred feet from the shore! As you can see from this home video, it happened almost instantly. Like a drain pulled from a bathtub! What COULD have possibly caused this? What does this mean for the WORLD? When we receive more information we will pass that along. Wait. Are you kidding me? Is that a surfer?”
Read the rest in Corpus Christi Writers 2019
Nikki Ikonomopoulos
About Nikki Ikonomopoulos
Nikki Ikonomopoulos works as an artist, web/graphic designer and writer throughout the South Texas Coastal Bend. Her love of nature shows through the multiple roles she takes on in life. As an artist she works in many mediums including painting, drawing, sculpture, mosaic and more. Her art works including murals, portraits, ink drawings and online store can be viewed at www.alphaomegaart.com. Nikki also operates online resource guides local to South Texas which can be viewed at www.coastalbendattractions.com. After the impacts from Hurricane Harvey she launched a FREE booklet published bi-annually which can be viewed online at www.portaransaswildlife.com or picked up in one of several locations through out the South Texas Coastal Bend. Some of the profits from that book are donated to benefit local organizations that help protect wildlife. As a creative soul she loves the natural beauty that inspires life.
Wind
Whispering wind screaming so loud, calling your promises throughout the deaf crowd.
Listen close & hear the sound, your feet will plant firmly into the ground.
Read the rest in Corpus Christi Writers 2019
Lisa Mason
About Lisa Mason
Lisa Mason is the author of Summer of Love as well as other work
July 4, 1980
On July 4, 1980, my neighbors and I decided to throw a big bash for Independence Day. We each had a nice one-bedroom penthouse apartment atop a lovely building in the Noe Valley neighborhood of San Francisco. We each had a good view of the City. There was a wide hall separating our apartments. We each opened our doors and invited party guests to roam between our apartments.
Probably two hundred people showed up. I sequestered Sita, my Siamese girl-cat at the time, in my bedroom with a big sign—“Cat Inside! Do Not Open!” People respected that.
Otherwise, people cleaned out my kitchen of food and booze. My father (of all people) advised me to keep bottles of whiskey, vodka, and gin to serve guests. I’ve never drunk hard booze—still don’t now, I drink my Zevia tonic straight up—but I followed his advice. The party guests cleaned me out, as well as the cookies and the cheeses.
I didn’t mind. It was a fantastic party. No one stole my art books, but I saw one man seated cross-legged on the floor poring over my big hardcover, American Indian Art. When he was done looking, he carefully put the book back on my bookshelf.
I had another book placed on my coffee table, a book I was really excited about—The Dancing Wu Li Masters by Gary Zukav and illustrated by Tom Robinson. The book combined Eastern philosophy and quantum physics and was written with so much wit and clarity, it was a big bestseller.
Around midnight in walked a tall, lanky, red-haired man who was invited by a friend of a friend. He’d traveled across town from the San Francisco neighborhood of North Beach. The friend of a friend called him from my neighbor’s apartment, imploring him to come.
He was Tom Robinson, the illustrator of The Dancing Wu Li Masters. Quantum physics and synchronicity in real life!
We had our first date a week later, on July 11, and married on July 7—not in the same year!
Shortly after July 11, 1980, I moved to an apartment on Telegraph Hill in the North Beach neighborhood with a view of the Bay Bridge (“Viewtiful,” as the late, great Herb Caen used to write). Gary Zukav lived in an apartment a block up Montgomery Street. I met Gary at the Puccini Café later that week. My parents were appalled at how much the apartment’s rent was—then, I believe, $500, now $3,000—but I could walk five blocks to my law book publisher downtown.
Tom had an enormous art studio on Broadway, two blocks away from the apartment. So we could easily walk there, too.
When my publisher moved to the East Bay, we moved with it so I could walk to the office again. I only lived five years in North Beach and I was working a full-time job and working on my writing at night and on weekends. Sadly, I didn’t get to fully engage in the community but gladly I wrote the story “Arachne” there, which sold to Ellen Datlow for OMNI Magazine while I lived in North Beach and was published while I lived in my spacious new East Bay residence.
So it will be 41 years since we first met. Happy Anniversary, Tom