Monthly Archives: August 2020

The diploma on the wall was obviously a joke. According to this, Melissa had a bachelor’s in Criminal Enterprise. Joey shook his head. She was a lovely woman with a twisted sense of humor. He’d only been dating her for about a month, but he felt a real connection with her.

Her apartment was neat without feeling sterile. There was a cozy afghan over the back of the couch and her cat had claimed one of the pink throw pillows. He looked at her bookshelf while she finished changing to go out. He blinked at the Evil Overlord handbook and the Evil Genius series of electronics books. Part of why he liked her was her intelligence. There was an entire section on true crime and criminology. He hadn’t asked her about school, but maybe he should. It looked as though she were gearing up for something big.

The next section was politics. Machiavelli had a place of prominence next to a copy of Sun Tzu that looked ready to give up the ghost. He made a note to get her a new copy. Maybe that nice hardback he’d seen at the bookstore when he was stopping for coffee yesterday. There were pictures on the shelf of her and her friends. He blinked, was that actually the Congresswoman who’d just taken office with a pasted on mustache and fake black-rimmed glasses. No, he must be imagining things.

The cat, a big black and white fluffy Persian named Archie wandered over to demand attention. Joey stroked over his silky fur and then scratched right behind his ears. Archie rolled over to expose his belly for petting, but Joey new better than to take the invitation.

“Some judge of character he is,” Melissa laughed. “Joey’s not falling for your tricks, you little demon.” The cat looked singularly unimpressed.

Melissa looked wonderful. Her dress was a simple black number with a flared skirt. She wore sensible vintage heels and a necklace with a single drop of crystal. The pendant might be diamond, but he wasn’t going to assume. He held her brocade jacket for her. “You look beautiful.” She slung the small suitcase she called a purse over her shoulder.

She patted her sleekly waved blonde hair. “Thanks.” She pushed her Tortise-shell cats-eye glasses back up her nose.

He offered his arm after she locked up behind them. “Your chariot awaits.”

“Always the gentleman.”

His car was a sturdy Volvo that he’d had for years. It felt shabby next to the beauty that was now perched in the passenger’s seat. “I have reservations at the Thai place and at the Italian place, which would you like?”

Melissa considered. “Italian. As long as we can get a booth in the back near the kitchen.”

He raised his brows at that, but asked the hostess when they arrived. The DiGregorio’s an old-school Italian joint with red and white checked tablecloths and a menu that would change when the head chef died and not a minute before, and Mama wasn’t going. There was a large party on the other side of the restaurant. Melissa smiled at him. “They look happy, don’t they?”

Dinner was good. The conversation flowed from topic to topic. Melissa stopped him before he could get the check. “No, this one’s on me. You go see if you can find the car. I’m going to run to the bathroom. You get to take care of the movie. I expect popcorn.”

He laughed. When he glanced over his shoulder, she’d put cash into the little black folder. He pulled the car up to the curb and she climbed in.

When they left the movie theatre the local news was playing on the radio. “A four-alarm fire engulfed local favorite DiGregorio’s this evening. Fourteen people were killed and ten injured. The owner Nana DiGregorio was unharmed, but angry.”

“That’s a shame. I loved that place,” Joey said.

Melissa patted his arm. “We’ll find a new favorite.”

He perked up at the idea of a joint favorite restaurant.

“Your shift starts in twenty, I don’t want you to be late. Sounds as though there’s a lot to take care of. Goodnight.” She gave him a peck on the cheek before heading up to her apartment.

He grinned at her as she left for the fire station. He could still smell the accelerant on her hands, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. So what if his girl was a fire-bug? No one’s perfect.

FIN

The heat inside the bus was stifling. Jenna pulled her scarf off and folded it into a rectangle before tucking it into her backpack. She stripped off her gloves and hat. She shoved the gloves into the hat and added both of them to her bag. She tugged the zipper on the bag until it closed over the bulging center section. The young man in the aisle across from her watched with a little smile. “Would you like me to put that in the overhead rack for you?” he offered.

“No thanks. I’ll want something out of it soon enough.” She laughed a little bit.

“Are you riding all the way to Topeka?”

“I am. You?”

“Close enough. I’ll probably ditch at the last food stop and walk from there. I’m headed to my parents.” He grimaced as though that were something to be avoided. Or maybe as if there were something wrong at home. Jenna bit her lip. She did a quick judge of the other people filing onto the bus. None of them were even close to her age.

“Want to sit together?”

He crossed the aisle and leaned across the seats in front of her to look at the same group. “Oh, Jesus. That’s a tour group. Yeah, let’s sit together. Do you need the window?”

Jenna shook her head. She crossed the aisle. She stripped off her jacket and shoved it into the rack over their heads next to the roll-on suitcase he’d brought. “I brought books enough to last me. Well, I think I did at least.”

“Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones?” he asked wryly.

She laughed. “Mysteries mostly. And some random things that my Mom got for me for my birthday a few years ago. I’m willing to share those too. There might be some sort of fantasy there.”

“I’m Will.”

“Jenna.”

“Nice to meet you.” He settled into his seat. “You travel the busses a lot?”

“Not really.” She bit at her lip. “It was the first thing I could afford to get the Hell out of Pennsylvania.”

Will grinned at that. “I hear you.” He settled into his seat. “So, what do you think? Will be lose any of the group before Topeka?”

Jenna snorted. “If this is any indication of how well they’re organized? I’m guessing at least three by the middle of the country.”

“I’m going to catch a nap. Poke me if I start to snore, will you? I camped out at the station last night.”

“Sure.”

He slid down in his seat and closed his eyes.

He didn’t start to snore.

And it felt just right when his head lolled to the side and landed on her shoulder.

She opened her favorite book and brushed a kiss across her husband’s bangs. “Happy Anniversary,” she whispered.

FIN

“Again!” the sword-master ordered.

The recruits moved in fractured unison through the motions. He growled deep in his throat. “One, five, ten, fourteen, twenty-one, and thirty-two, step forward. Everyone else, one step back.” There was shuffling and muttering until the selected men and women were in front. “Again.” They went through the motions. All but one of them was in sync. “Ten, step back. Two, step forward. Again.”

He ran through six more recruits until he found his battalion. “You six, see the registrar. As a group. Leave your things here.” The two women frowned at him, but obediently left the room with nothing. Their swords were collected at the door. Two pages scurried through the room, securing the recruits things.

The sword-master chose six more and ran them through the forms until he was pleased with their unison. They were sent on. The day continued until he had six battalions being processed. He leaned against the desk in the registrar’s office. She looked at him with dark-rimmed brown eyes. “I hate you, Simpson,” she told him. The desk was polished to a smooth shine. “And I’m not just saying that. I plan to poison your beer.”

“Cruel, cruel, woman,” he chided. “At least make it my coffee so I’m not enjoying myself. Are they in barracks yet?”

“Those last six are getting sheared like the sheep they are at this point. That first group might survive this, but that last one? Send them out as cannon fodder.”

He smirked at her. “My only job is to train them now. What the brass does with them is not my issue. Any of them try to bolt?”

“Watch out for twenty-three. He seemed a little jumpy. And the woman in the fourth group, number fourteen, she seemed a little twitchy at being barracked with the boys. Might be some history there.”

This war had finally broken all of the barriers between the sexes in the military. It was still debatable as to how well the recruits were dealing with that. He’d give them a few days before intervening. He’d train his six battalions until he though they were ready to move on to formations. He rubbed at his forehead. “I’ve got schedules to get out.” The alien invasion had destroyed the majority of the electrical infrastructure. They still had it on the bases and other locations with technological help. But in general, they were set back years in weapons production. He had three sword-smiths that he’d brought with him from training movie stars.

By paper and pens and men on motorcycles and horses, they’d put out the call. Recruits came in every day. Scared, wide-eyed, hard-bitten, shy, punks, preppies, actors, and politicians, men, women, old, and young; as soon as they crossed into the recruitment center they were just recruits. The aliens hadn’t counted on the resilience and adaptability of humans.

The human race would fight those bastards into their ships. They’d display their hides as warnings. And they’d cut off their heads and mount them from every bridge and overpass that still survived the bombings.

Simpson rolled his shoulders and picked up his sword. He ran through the katas that he’d created to teach his recruits fast and dirty. Then, he started on the more formal ones he’d learned from his teachers.

This wasn’t choreography anymore. This was war.

The phone was an old black candle-stick like you’d see in a movie from the twenties. It even had a rotary dial. Jean grimaced at it. It was sitting on the top of the registration desk, mocking her. The old woman behind the desk was sturdy in the way old ethnic women always seemed to be. She was thick from neck to knees and wearing a muumuu of red and orange that dropped straight from her shoulders with an offensively large ruffle. Her hair was pulled back into a braid of grey. Her eyes were dark and emotionless.

“Thanks,” Jean muttered. She picked up the earpiece that way she’d always seen it done and was surprised to hear the dial tone. She pushed at the numbers, but they didn’t beep.

The old woman rolled her eyes. She reached over and dialed a one. “There. Either hang up or call.”

Jean finished dialing her husband’s cell-phone. There was static when he picked up. “Who is this?” he yelled into the phone.

“It’s your wife!” she said clearly. “I’m at the old hotel up on Creek Street. My phone is dead.”

“You’re wearing red?”

“My. Phone. Is. Dead.” She nearly touched the mouthpiece. Her fingers grabbed around the stick part automatically.

“Creek Street. Right. I’ll come find you.” He hung up on her.

“That man,” she muttered.

The old woman snorted. “It only gets worse. Go sit down. I’ll get you some coffee. Cream?”

“Please. And sugar if you have any?”

“No worries. Go sit by the fire. Dry out.” The old woman puttered into the back room. Jean collapsed onto a dusty red leather chair. She’d have preferred the velvet, but she was soaked to the skin. Maybe her phone would work when it dried out. She ran a hand through her short hair. It clung to her fingers and neck. The sound of the storm echoed around the room. It battered at the skylights and the doors.

The old hotel was called the Rochester. She didn’t know why and didn’t really care. When she’d seen the flickering light of an oil lamp in the front window, she’d simply thanked whatever spirits were looking after her for antiques. The oil lamp was one of five that were scattered around the room. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace, even though it was spring. The room was dusty. There were leaves in the corners of the rooms. Jean mentally cursed whatever help had walked out on the old woman at the end of the season.

She shivered. “Here you are.” The old woman put down a tray. “I’m Helen. Call if you need me.” She went back to the desk and settled behind it with an old leather-bound book.

Jean sipped the coffee. It was warm and sweet and perfect. She moaned in appreciation. “Thank you, Helen,” she called over. The coffee warmed her from the inside. The fire warmed her from the outside. Her eyes slipped closed and she rested her head on the back of the chair for just a minute. She didn’t remember closing her eyes.

When she opened her eyes, the fire was gone and her husband was shaking her. “Come on. Before the water gets any higher. We need to get going.”

She looked around. There were no lights in the windows. There were no lights at all, except for the illumination from the lightening bolts. Sitting next to her chair, however, was the dregs of a cup of coffee in an old white mug.

“Thank you, Helen,” she murmured as she gathered up her coat. She followed her husband out into the lashing rain. When she looked back over her shoulder, there was a light in the front window.

She smiled.

Lily pulled the down comforter over her head. She would not get up. No matter what sounds she thought she heard tonight. No matter when the alarm clock went off in the morning. No, this would be the best night of sleep she had ever gotten. The pillow was perfect. The comforter was freshly cleaned and smelled of lavender.

She had valerian under the pillow. She had her meditation tape set to go on in three hours. The crashing waves of the white noise machine were on. She took deep breaths and tried to sink into the mattress.

The little whimper that escaped as her back loosened reminded her how much tension she’d been carrying. She had the day off tomorrow. She didn’t have to do anything.

She drifted towards sleep.

The whining moans didn’t puncture the bubble of sound and safety she’d created for herself. She couldn’t smell the coppery tang from the other room. She couldn’t even hear the sounds of chains. She smiled.

Finally, a good night’s sleep.

The other side of the bed dipped. “Sweetie?” a soft voice said. “Are you asleep?”

Yes, she thought. I am asleep, go away.

He sighed. “I added gags. They should be quiet tonight.” He patted her hip. “Sleep well.” Then, he laid down.

She took deep breaths. Focus. Sleep, Lily, she told herself.

Sleep.