Short Story

Push For Help

“Why do I always cut it so close?” I thought to myself. I checked the time on my phone, 12:55pm. I had 5 minutes to get to the meeting. Realistically I had 10. This case had been pretty drawn out. All parties involved were familiar with my chronic tardiness. I removed my jewelry, dropped it into a dish with my phone and placed it next to my purse on the x-ray belt. I stepped up to the metal detector and waited to be waived through. It was my lucky day. My bra’s underwire didn’t trigger buzzers nor sirens, a rare occasion indeed. I skated by, picked up my belongings, and headed to the elevators. I glanced at my phone, 12:57pm. I smiled to myself and thought, “I’m practically early.”

A number of elevators arrived at the ground floor simultaneously. My lucky streak continued. The vast majority of the crowd piled into the closest elevators to the security desk. I opted to walk to the more distant and less densely populated elevators. I glanced to the bank on the right. “Five adults, one toddler.” I counted to myself. I looked left. “Five adults, no children. Winner,” I decided. I made a sharp left and quickly hopped onto my elevator of choice, immediately claiming a corner near the doors.

“7th floor, please,” I asked of the stout gentleman nearest to the destination control panel. As he raised a short, plump finger, the seams of his tweed jacket screamed for mercy. I decided that his jacket likely stopped fitting him sometime in the Clinton era. Even his bow tie was too tight. A roll of greasy neck fat hung over his collar like a scarf. After fighting against the restraints he called clothing, he obliged.

“Thank you,” I uttered, mostly just out of respect for the social expectation of gratitude for the completion of even the most menial task. He then looked me in the eye and bared his dingy brown teeth in a broad, dreadful smile. I politely returned the gesture with a meek half-smile, and immediately averted my eyes directly forward to the “customer assistance intercom” panel on the wall ahead of me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that he was still leering at me, his ample head noticeably moving up and down as he gave me the once over. I pretended he was a member of the defense team that I hadn’t yet met, and he was just sizing me up before trial. I checked my phone, 12:58pm. My irritation with Professor Plump subsided immediately. I went back to being mighty proud of myself for being “on time”.

As the elevator began its ascent, an audible SNAP! started a terrifying chain reaction. Gears were grinding as the elevator lurched and stopped. While most of us simply gasped, the young pregnant girl behind me, who had up until now been mindlessly chattering away on her cell phone, began screaming.

“Jesus Christ, get a grip,” I thought to myself. The elevator had been still for just a few seconds when it attempted to resume its upward journey. Metal on metal screeched and again the lift jumped, dropped, and stopped. The Pregosaurus Rex was still shrieking. I stopped judging her. I considered joining her.

Instead I checked my phone, 1:00pm. “Damn it, c’mon!”

Then I saw it, sucking all of the hope from my soul, ‘No Service’. “Wonderful,” I thought, “commence wailing”.

“Ma’am, would you mind pressing the ‘Push for Help’ button directly in front of you?” The gentleman behind Professor Plump snapped me out of my pre-panic meltdown with his condescending request. I realized for the first time that he was wearing a badge. He was in street clothes, but still carried a holstered gun. “A detective,” I decided. I took a deep breath and complied. Immediately the “Call is being placed” button lit up like a stoplight. I exhaled a sigh of relief.

My comfort was short-lived. The voice that returned my electronic plea for help sounded like it was coming from another planet, in a distant galaxy, from another point in time, in an alternate dimension.

“W… a… … … yo… si… We a… …ing on th… … …ow.”

“What?!?” I asked no one in particular, “Did anyone understand a word of that??”

“I think I caught ‘we’ in there somewhere,” replied the officer with a smart ass smirk on his smug face.

“A regular Sherlock-fucking-Holmes,” I thought to myself.

Ignoring him, I shouted into the intercom, “What? This speaker has more static than a polyester suit in the winter. Can you hear me? We need help! We’re stuck here!”

Nothing.

As the Pregosaurus’ anxiety attack raged on, the little blond kid in the corner began to laugh. In response to the keep-it-up-I’m-going-to-end-you glare I shot him, he shrugged and said, in a very thick Russian accent, “Thees hoppeen een Rossia aoll zee time.”

I found his input to be less than helpful, so I turned away, rolling my eyes as I did so. Professor Plump on the other hand, was riveted.

“О! Какая часть России вы?” That oily bastard started a conversation with little Ivan, in Russian, of course. I shook my head in disbelief. At least the distraction made Pregosaurus stop bellowing. She seemed comforted that Ivan had survived similar ordeals in the past. I also noticed that she was no longer yapping like a chihuahua into her phone. The only logical explanation was that she too was without service in our suspended tomb. It was the first break I had caught since stepping into that death trap. I checked the time. I was absolutely stunned to learn that only 2 minutes had passed since I last looked.

I stared at the red light that indicated that my call for help had been placed. By sheer will I tried to force the green “Call answered” button to light up. It didn’t. I was still trying to conjure telekinetic power when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.

“Excuse me, excuse me dear,” a soft voice was interrupting my focus, “would you mind switching places with me?” she asked feebly.

I looked at her incredulously. “Can you not see that I’m trying to save us all?” I wondered, “Besides, this is my corner. I claimed this spot. Kick Professor Plump, Sherlock Holmes, Ivan, or Pregosaurus out of their spot. This one is MINE.”

“I didn’t plan to be on my feet for so long. I didn’t bring my walker,” she went on.

“Who does she think she is, Betty fucking White? YOU forgot your walker and now it’s MY problem. Fantastic.” I knew I was paving my way to hell with my silent assessment of each of the strangers with whom I was trapped and surely going to die. “Go to heaven for the climate, hell for the company,” I thought as I looked around, “Oh shit, what if the elevator actually crashed into the concrete depths of the courthouse basement and we’re all dead? What if this IS hell?”

“If I could just prop myself up in that corner there and lean on the railing…”

“Fine.” I interrupted. I wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying anyway. Besides, I couldn’t win this one. Every horrible person in that elevator was now an audience; an audience waiting for the bitch in heels to relent her sweet corner spot in our mutual coffin to the adorable little white-haired old lady with sore legs.

I attempted to secure a new place along the railing but Pregosaurus had decided to make herself at home. She was sitting in the corner, rubbing her protruding belly, with feet outstretched along the side wall nearly all the way to where Betty White was now standing.

I turned around to assess the railing situation at the back of the elevator. Ivan saw me coming and plopped down on his bony ass. He looked me right in the eye, gave me a fuck-you grin, and extended his skinny jean encased lower limbs along the back wall. He took out his phone and began snapping pictures of himself and his surroundings like he had just hiked to Machu Picchu.

Professor Plump too lowered himself to the floor. His all-too-tight clothes did not simplify his efforts. The elevator shook as he shimmied down the wall. I was sure all of the jostling would send us careening toward the underworld at any moment, if we weren’t there already. After much grunting and some inexplicable sweating, Plump’s ass finally reached the ground. I noticed that he actually made an attempt to consume as little space as possible. He hugged his knees to his chest in an effort to keep the area around the elevator doors unobstructed. It was like watching Jabba the Hutt assume the fetal position.

I was relegated to the middle of the elevator, in 4″ stilettos, with nothing to lean on, nowhere to sit, and a portly stalker now enjoying his front row view of my legs. I looked over at my last bastion of chivalrous hope.

“That was nice of you.” Sherlock had a firm grasp on the obvious.

“Thanks, I just wish I had worn more comfortable shoes today.” I angled for sympathy.

“I don’t know why you ladies even wear those instruments of torture. All you do is bitch about how much your feet hurt when you have them on. And, what if you had to run from a rapist?”

Clearly I wasn’t going to get sympathy from this asshole. “I suppose I would just kick them off and go.”

“There ya go,” he replied, “just kick ’em off.”

I looked at the floor. Spots of black putty that used to be chewing gum clung to it. A collection of paper clips, dust, leaves, and various other bits of filth were creating new ecosystems around each disgusting blemish. I realized I was happy to remain standing, with my shoes on no less.

I looked at the holster on his hip. I envisioned myself reaching out with the grace of a ninja, unfastening the strap that held the gun in place, and liberating the weapon from its restraints in one fluid motion. I was debating whether I would shoot them all, starting with Sherlock Shithead, or just make quiet sniveling hostages out of each of them when I heard it…

“Psh psh psh psh psh psh”

“What the hell was that?” I heard it again,

“Psh psh psh psh psh psh”

It was Betty White. She was making the strange shushing noises with her mouth. Her eyes were fixed on the green light in front of her.

“Green light? Hell yes! Call answered!” I celebrated in my head.

“Psh psh psh psh psh psh”

“Is she having a stroke? What is she… OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT SMELL!?!?”

I looked down at Professor Plump. He had one hand over his nose and mouth. He was using he other in a desperate attempt to use the railing to pull himself off the floor. He failed. He landed with a great thud and flailed about like a beetle on its back.

I wondered as I watched, “What is the weight limit on this thing anyway?”

Sherlock Holmes buried his nose and mouth into his collar. I could tell by the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes that it was a relatively futile effort. He began coughing and clearing his throat. I think he was starting to taste it.

“Vat ees dat smeel!?!” Lacking any tact whatsoever, Ivan blurted out what we were all silently deliberating. Well, sort-of. He said something that sounded like what we were all thinking.

The Pregosaurus Rex was writhing on the floor in agony. That’s when I realized it. The noise coming from Betty White’s mouth was intended to cover any noise that may escape her ass as she set loose a foul, constant stream of tainted wind into our crypt. Pregosaurus was in the danger zone, directly behind Old Fart, face level with the gas gun. The way she gagged, choked and carried on, I was sure she was going to break her water right then and there.

Betty White, aka Old Fart, maintained complete composure. She didn’t crack a smile. She didn’t look at any of us. She didn’t move at all. She stood silent and stoic. Clearly she was the source of the stench, but I wondered for a moment if she even realized it.

“Psh psh psh psh psh psh”

“Goddamn it! She realizes it alright!”

I had reached my breaking point. That damn green light had been on for at least an hour now, or so I believed. I checked the time, 1:07pm. 10 minutes had passed since I stepped through security. 10 MINUTES!

“I’m trapped in some realm where time passes infinitely slower. This MUST be hell. I’m dead. We’re all dead. Old Fart is Satan! That’s it! This is our eternal punishment for being terrible people. No way, I can’t be as awful as the rest of these dolts. I bet the other elevator, the one with that kid on it, was the stairway to fucking heaven! I almost got on that one. This is a mistake. I don’t belong with these people. I took the wrong elevator. Maybe I should tell Betty White/Old Fart/Satan. Surely she’ll understand and let me out of here. Yeah, Satan will understand. Shit! What am I going to do?”

The elevator began shaking again. Professor Plump was trying to free himself from his tiny coat. It wasn’t going smoothly, like a mental patient trying to escape a straight jacket. That twat waffle was intent on snapping whatever cables remained intact and riding the fast track to hell.

“That’s it, I’m taking the gun. I’m putting Plump out of his misery first.”

I looked at Sherlock. He was picking his nose, PICKING HIS NOSE! I recoiled in disgust. He caught my revolted look. He removed his snot hook from his nostril and rested his contaminated hand on his holster.

“Fuck the gun, I’m not touching that thing now. I need a new plan.”

I turned toward Ivan, who had just snapped a picture of my snapper. That’s right, he was holding his cell phone near my ankle, screen up, and firing off crotch shots. I kicked the phone out of his hand with my heel. He looked at me with disdain.

I returned a look that said, “Screw Plump. You’re the first to die, Ivan.”

The Pregosaurus Rex was either practicing breathing techniques or was in active labor. I didn’t care either way. She was at least 9 1/2 months pregnant. I was sure we’d still be trapped here when that demon came out of her, whether she was in labor now or not.

“That’s what this place needs, a crying baby.“

“Psh psh psh psh psh psh”

“Oh hell no, Betty White! You did NOT just shit your pants again. That’s it. I’m going to kill you all with my bare hands. Come here, Ivan. I’ll shove that phone so far down your throat that you choke on my photographed muff, you little pervert. Your turn, Plump! I’ll twist that ugly bow tie until you suffocate slowly you fat fuck. Ugh, Sherlock, stick that finger up your nose again so I can shove it through your brain! And you, Pregosaurus…”

DING!

“Wait, was that? It was! We’re moving!”

The elevator stopped smoothly this time and another DING! rang out like the sweet sound of church bells on Easter Sunday in the Vatican. I swear I heard a chorus of angels sing as the doors opened and a cherubic palm extended into our cell. Shunning my cellmates, I snatched his hand and skipped out of our cage ahead of all of them.

“So sorry about your ordeal, ma’am,” he said as he tipped his hat, “I hope it didn’t cause too much inconvenience.”

I replied over my shoulder with a sprightly tone as I scurried away, “No problem, sir! These things happen. It was no big deal at all. I’m not even that late.”

I looked at my phone, only 1:10pm. Well, at least that last part was true.

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The Tempest’s Tower 1: Vengeance

Cara learned to keep the light off in the tower. She preferred the anonymity that only the shadows could provide. She enjoyed watching them play, imagining that she was part of it. However, when they saw her watching them, the other kids would run out of sight, usually screaming. They were right to be afraid of her. She WAS a monster. Still, she treasured the memory of her day with Ryan and the others. For a few short hours, before everything went straight to hell, she was just like everybody else. It was both the best and the worst day of her life.

***************

The dank stench of the leaky, mold filled house was stifling. In the ten short years of her life, she had never smelled anything quite like it. They had lived in heaps suffering a greater degree of decay, but none of them reeked like this one did. While her parents fought loudly over which box belonged in which room, Cara slipped out in search of fresh air. She wandered down the sidewalk to explore her new surroundings.

She could just see over the top of the brick fence that encased her new neighbor’s home. The house on the other side was just as old as hers, but it had been well maintained through the years. Crumbling slabs in the barricade had been meticulously patched. The grass on the other side of the wrought iron gate was plush like blades of deep green pillows. Her fingers traced the mortared crevice between layers of brick as she turned the corner. That’s where she saw him playing on the swing set behind his immaculate home.

“He must be around my age,” she thought. She smiled unconsciously as she watched him frolic about his expansive yard.

“Hey, who are you?” the boy asked when he noticed her lingering outside his fence. “Are you moving next door?”

She nodded as she replied, “I’m Cara.”

He smiled broadly in response. “I’m Ryan. You can play too if you want. Go around, come through the gate.”

She did not hesitate to join the boy. She removed her shoes to feel the tickle of the soft lawn beneath her feet. Ryan quickly removed his shoes as well. As they ran barefoot through the yard occasionally succumbing to raucous fits of laughter, Cara felt normal for the first time in her life. Throughout the day other children joined them as well, all choosing to liberate themselves of their shoes as they played. Cara was impressed by how far Robby could kick a ball shoeless. She watched in awe as Lissa twirled like a ballerina on the tips of her bare toes. She envied Allie’s perfectly manicured nails. Above all else, she cherished the moment when Ryan took her hand during a game of hide and seek and whispered, “Follow me.” He hid them both so well that Allie gave up and threatened to go home if they didn’t come out.

Time seemed to pass in a flash and Cara panicked when she noticed how far the sun had traveled across the sky. She bolted to the location where she left her shoes earlier, but they were missing. “Oh no,” she thought, “I can’t go home without my shoes! Dad will kill me!”

The trees began to rustle as the wind gusted suddenly. “No, please don’t let this happen now. I don’t want them to find out,” she mumbled to herself as she nervously watched branches bend and sway.

Fighting back tears, Cara turned to the others and begged, “Have you seen my shoes? Please, I’m late. I need to find my shoes.”

The increasingly violent winds prompted Robby’s mother to beckon him inside. “Sorry, Cara!” he yelled over his shoulder. “I’d help you look but I have to go.” He ran down the adjacent alley and disappeared into a yard on the opposite side of the block.

Seeing the desperation in her eyes, Ryan immediately offered to help. The duo scoured the yard but to no avail. As Cara’s despair grew, the skies grew more ominous. While they searched, Lissa & Allie sat on the porch, whispering and giggling. Noticing their antics, Ryan questioned them, “Do you know where Cara’s shoes are?”

“Oh, are Cara’s shoes missing? Why didn’t you say something?” Allie asked deviously, choking back a chuckle. “Lissa, do you know where Cara’s shoes are?” she asked sarcastically.

Lissa looked at Cara and simply shrugged, reducing the two girls to laughter.

“It’s not funny,” Cara protested. “I could get in big trouble. Give me my shoes back!” Sizeable raindrops joined the whipping winds as tears slipped past the rims of Cara’s eyes and streamed down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry little baby,” Allie teased. “Your shoes are just hiding from you.”

Cara did not understand the clue, but Ryan did. He immediately retreated to their earlier hiding spot while Cara confronted the girls.

“Why are you being so mean?” she demanded. She had completely lost control of the tears which now flowed freely down her face. Simultaneously the sky released its bounty upon them.

Allie and Lissa ignored her question. They were scrambling to collect their things so they could seek shelter from the rain. As they started their sprint across Ryan’s yard, Cara stomped her foot, threw her fists toward the ground, and bellowed at them, “You come back here!”

Her bark was accompanied by a brilliant flash, immediately followed by a deafening blast of thunder. The lightning that lit up the sky struck the thick arm of a nearby white oak tree. The girls stood frozen, wailing in terror. Ryan reemerged to push them clear of the massive branch before it came crashing directly upon them. A limb clipped Ryan from behind, and knocked him forcibly to the ground where he lay motionless.

“Ryan!” Lissa cried.

“You freak! You did this!” Allie accused, pointing directly at Cara.

“Oh God, what have I done?” Cara asked herself quietly. As her anger turned to dismay, the rain responded in kind, becoming less powerful. She stood perfectly still whispering “I’m so sorry” until she heard her father shouting her name.

Ryan was moaning and beginning to cry by the time Cara’s father made his way into the yard. Ryan’s mother had already called 9-1-1 and was gently tending to her wounded son.

Chris, Cara’s father, grabbed her arm fiercely. “Did you do this?” He demanded sharply.

Ryan’s mother gave Chris a confused look. “It was an accident. Lightning struck that tree.” She gestured toward the still smoldering old oak.

“Cara MADE it happen!” Allie insisted. “She tried to kill us!”

“Don’t be silly,” Ryan’s mother responded. “Nobody controls the weather.”

“She does!” Lissa argued.

“Let’s get out of here,” Allie said to Lissa. “You’re a monster!” She spat back at Cara as they climbed over the wall, “You can’t play with us anymore. Stay away!”

With Ryan now clinging to her, his mother looked at Cara, “Kids will be kids, dear. Accidents happen. It wasn’t your fault. We will get Ryan looked at. He will be fine.” She then handed Cara her shoes.

“Yeah, accidents happen,” Chris scoffed. “Unfortunately they seem to follow my kid wherever she goes. I’m very sorry for what happened today. She shouldn’t have been here.”

Before Ryan or his mother could respond, Chris dragged Cara savagely by the arm down the sidewalk and out of sight.

“Daddy, you’re hurting me!” Cara fought against his grasp. She knew by this point in the day he had been drinking for hours. She was angry at herself for losing track of the time. She should have been in her room, quietly staying out of sight, before he was drunk. She was afraid of the punishment inevitably forthcoming. As she struggled, the winds once again began to swirl around them.

When they arrived at their wretched new home, Chris shoved Cara toward the cement stairs leading to the back door. She stumbled and landed hard on the cracked and jagged edges of the concrete. She began to sob and begged her father, “I am so sorry about what I did. Please don’t hurt me. I like Ryan. I didn’t mean to do it!” The light rain transitioned back to a torrential downpour suddenly.

“Stop it!” Chris demanded. “No more of this. Stop this rain right now or I will beat the evil out of you if I have to kill you to do it. I have had enough!”

“I can’t Daddy! I don’t know how to stop it!” Cara’s voice shook with fear. She knew he meant what he said. She knew that he secretly wanted to end her life the moment he realized that her emotions somehow had an impact on the weather. Even as an infant, when she would wail, it would rain. When she was not getting proper nutrition because her drunken parents forgot to tend to her needs, dangerous, dry heat would follow. When she became angry or fearful, all hell would break loose, just like it did today.

“I do,” he replied as he picked her scraped body up off the stairs and shoved her back down again, harder this time. Her head struck an edge, leaving her with a gash on the back of her skull. She reached back instinctively and could feel the warm, moist sensation of her own blood against her fingertips. Her eyes narrowed into slits as her fear turned burning hatred for her father. She was ready for him the next time he pounced. She rolled clear before he could seize her. Off balance, he himself landed against the rickety steps.

Cara clenched her fists, braced herself and waited for his next attack. However, his level of intoxication caused him to be slow to regain his footing. By now, the atmosphere was deep black and clouds raced across the sky. Rain pounded relentlessly upon them. The winds whipped and whirled from every direction. Lightning began to flash in the distance and rolls of thunder filled the air. Cara’s mother, Susan, opened the door. “Cara! Stop! Get in this house right now before you kill someone! Cara, please!” she begged.

Initially Cara complied and started toward the door. However, as she neared her father he lunged at her, trying to knock her off her feet. Cara dodged his offensive. She squared her shoulders, planted her feet, and readied herself for battle.

“Chris! No!” Susan tried to distract her husband from his objective. His level of intoxication, coupled with his rage, deafened him to her pleas.

The skies turned an apocalyptic shade. The ferocious wind picked small objects off the ground and tossed them into a cyclone. Lightning radiated across the sky. The constant roar of thunder filled the air. Cara stood unmoved. The gales passed right through her. Her father attempted to reach her, but the wall of swirling air rebuffed his advance.

“Don’t come any closer.” Cara warned her father. Never before had she felt in control of her curse, but today power surged through her. For a moment, she was unafraid of her own abilities. As a matter of fact, she finally understood them for what they were, an exceptional defense mechanism.

“You little brat! I’m going to snap your neck when I get my hands on you.” Chris threatened.

“Keep your hands off her!” Susan charged wildly toward her husband. “I’ll kill you before I let you touch her again!” she cautioned.

Chris laughed at his wife’s threat. He swung his fist mightily as she approached. He landed his punch directly beneath her jaw. Susan’s unconscious body jolted backward. She landed in a heap on the ground.

“Mommy!” Cara shrieked. Simultaneously, a brilliant bolt cast the light of day onto the night. Cara resembled a lightning rod as she drew power from the direct strike. An immediate clap of thunder rattled the windows of all nearby homes and started car alarms blaring.

Chris stood transfixed as he watched his daughter absorb every volt of electricity. Her veins were illuminated from within her body. They glowed through her flesh like the strings of a spider’s web. Her cobalt eyes were replaced with a radiant blue luminescence. Each strand of Cara’s hair crackled and thrashed like a downed power line.

Voltaic energy consumed the girl. She was no longer a scared child. The charge of the lightning strike temporarily sapped away her humanity. She glared at the man she called father. He cowered before her lustrous magnificence. She smiled wickedly as she contemplated her next move.

“Cara, little one, please. It’s Daddy. C’mon baby, please. I’ll never hurt you or your Mom again, I promise. Please don’t hurt me, doll” Chris pathetically begged.

Through her newfound power, she could feel no empathy for this cowardly villain. He needed to be destroyed. A glance at her mother’s still motionless body confirmed what she already knew. With him alive, they would never be safe.

“Goodbye, Daddy,” she muttered faintly before she focused the capacity of her energy on him. He didn’t even have the chance to beg her again for his life before she struck. She dialed up every volt from her tiny frame and forced it into a concentrated pool of snapping electricity in the palm of her hand. She raised her arm, aimed directly at her father’s heart, and fired a beam that hit its mark directly. Chris was dead before his corpse hit the dirt.

Instantly the wind subsided, and torrential rain became soft drizzle. Lightning faded away, and thunder fell silent. Black clouds broke apart and fissures of light trickled through. The resulting rainbow seemed to start at Cara’s feet. Her mother sat up, still dazed. She looked up at her daughter, basking in the brilliant shades of the color spectrum. She glanced over to see her husband’s remains lying nearby. His shirt was burned. The skin beneath bloomed with lightning flowers.

“He was struck by lightning.” Cara declared before she retreated into the house.

From inside, Cara watched Susan make her way toward Chris’ body. She knelt over him, weeping, until police arrived and pulled her away. The official cause of his death was determined to be cardiac arrest. Though that exonerated her in the eyes of the law, Cara knew her mother didn’t need to witness the events of that day to know her daughter was a killer.

***************

Cara shook off the memories of that horrific night 2 years ago. She returned her attention to the kids outside. With her mind distracted, she had not noticed that Ryan now stood alongside them. He was getting tall. No longer did he have the plump cheeks of a little boy. His jaw was square and defined. His soft blond locks no longer flowed loosely. Instead his hair was cropped short and carefully styled. She couldn’t see his sparkling green eyes from where she sat, but she suspected that they may be the only feature on him that remained unchanged since that fateful night.

She was giddy to see him now. His family still lived in the same house next door, but like many others in the neighborhood, he typically chose a route that would not bring him past The Tempest’s tower. Cara had not left the house since Chris’ death. However, her mother overheard many whispers and rumors about the crazed little girl that killed her own father. She was so often spotted gazing out from behind the windows of her home’s turret room, the spot was dubbed “The Tempest’s Tower” by locals.

Ryan looked grown up now. He was becoming so handsome. Cara beamed as she watched him laugh with his friends. She gave up on wishing she could talk to him again long ago. It was enough now just to watch him, to know that he was well, to know that he was happy. She would never again risk his life by getting too close to him. The joy of seeing Ryan was immediately dampened when she saw Lissa and Allie approaching. She saw them often, too often. They frequently lingered on the sidewalk around her home, looking up toward the tower and taunting Cara.

Allie walked directly to Ryan. He looked at her and grinned. The air was knocked from Cara’s lungs when he reached down and took Allie’s hand in his. For the first time since the night she took her father’s life, she could feel herself spinning out of control.

The soft wisps of white clouds began to swirl and darken. As the wind churned, the sky became immediately overcast. The unease in Ryan’s face was apparent as he noticed the twirling sky. He glanced toward the tower and released Allie’s hand. Allie glared at Cara’s windows and hooked her arm in Ryan’s, leaning close as if she was asking him to protect her.

Cara struggled to reign in her emotions. As a defiant tear snuck past her defenses, the rain began to fall…

Wait! There’s more! Read The Tempest’s Tower 2: New Beginning

Photography: http://fav.me/d8wzol4

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The 7 Deadly Sins ~ Day 2, Greed

I was not planning a short story for today, but that’s what is happening anyway. When you are jolted out of sleep at 3:28am to the sound of 5 quick gunshots, the brain juices start flowing, even if you’d rather fall back to sleep. We got up and checked our surveillance cameras. While the shots were certainly nearby, they weren’t close enough for us to capture any footage of what happened. For a long period of time after that I just laid there, thinking up scenarios that could result in middle of the night gunfire in a residential neighborhood…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m telling you, there is a fortune in there.” Jesse whispered from his crouched position in the bushes outside of Mr. Butler’s home. “I saw where he kept it when he paid me to mow the lawn yesterday. Follow me.”

Thomas was skeptical. His older brother was always getting him into trouble. At just 17 years old, Jesse had already been in and out of juvenile detention centers more times than Thomas could count. He did not wish to follow in his brother’s footsteps, but he feared his brother. Jesse was 4 years older and had a temper to compliment his penchant for stealing.

Besides, Mr. Butler certainly did not life a lavish life. His home was old and dilapidated. He didn’t own a car. Jesse & Thomas’ mother often drove Mr. Butler to the store and to his appointments. Even if there was an actual treasure in there, he couldn’t imagine it was enough to justify what they were about to do. “Jesse, c’mon, lets just go home. I have a bad feeling about this.”

“He’s an old man, Thomas. Nothing is going to happen you little chicken.” Jesse teased. With that he crept around the corner of the home, still concealed by the thick shrubbery surrounding the house on 3 sides. Jesse sighed and reluctantly followed.

The rustling of leaves, the snapping of twigs beneath his feet, and his own heartbeat were the only things Thomas could hear as he followed his brother closely. It felt like a bad dream. Thomas was convinced that he would wake up, warm and snug in his own bed, at any moment.

“There! An open window.” Jesse reported. “Come here. I’ll give you a lift.”

“I’m not going in first!” Thomas objected.

“God you baby, you have to go in first. You can’t reach that window without help.”

Reluctantly Thomas conceded to his brother’s reasoning. He put his right shoe into his brother’s cupped hands and allowed himself to be hoisted up to the window. He quietly opened it wider and shimmied his way through. Once inside he turned and whispered nervously to Jesse, “Ok, your turn.”

“Relax, I’m coming. Is the coast clear?”

“I don’t know. I’m in the bathroom. The door is shut.” Thomas replied.

“Well open the door and check, idiot.” Jesse insisted.

Thomas felt like he could cry. He didn’t want to be there. His eyes began to well with tears.

“Thomas! IS THE COAST CLEAR?” By this time Jesse was almost through the window. Thomas knew better than to ignore his brother’s orders. He also knew not to let his brother see him cry. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and pushed the bathroom door open…

Eugene Butler was born during The Great Depression. A blue-collar man, he never learned to trust financial institutions with his hard-earned income. He did things the way his father did things. He kept his cash where he could see it; at home, locked in a vault. After witnessing a number of times what the desperate were willing to do for cash, he obtained a Glock .9mm to defend his keep.

Eugene lamented his decision to allow that hoodlum, Jesse, to see his hidden stash. It frustrated him that he suffered such a lapse in judgment. That kid was a neighborhood plague. His mother was a kind woman, but worked long hours outside the home. She could not keep tabs on the boy. Eugene thought by paying the kid to do odd jobs he could deter Jesse from finding further trouble. Unfortunately, the effect had been the opposite. The more money Jesse made, the greater his desire for material possessions became.

Eugene’s dissatisfaction with himself kept him awake most of the night. It was almost 3:30am when he got up to warm himself a glass of milk. He was in the kitchen when he heard the sounds of whispers in the adjacent bathroom. He moved swiftly and quietly. Without flipping on a light or making a sound, Eugene retrieved his Glock and returned to the kitchen. He stood in the darkness and waited.

Eugene lingered in the shadows holding his breath as the bathroom door slowly opened. He already regretted what he had to do. Jesse was dangerous. Not only that but he had at least 1 accomplice with him. Eugene was old. He could no longer defend himself with his bare hands. The gun shook in his trembling hands. Damn it, kid. Why did you have to prove me right this time? Eugene thought.

The door opened completely. Eugene aimed in the direction of the activity and squeezed the trigger.

POP-POP-POP-POP-POP

As soon as Eugene heard the thud of a body hitting the floor, he turned on a light. He was mortified by what he saw. He immediately fled to call 9-1-1. Jesse began to wail.

“Thomas! Thomas!! No, no, no, no, Thomas, no,” Jesse pled as he cradled his brother’s head in his lap.

The 13-year-old began to cry. “Jesse, please can we go home now?” Thomas asked through gasped breaths. His little body then seized and began to shake. A few long seconds later, he was gone.

Jesse sat there, covered in blood, clutching his little brother’s body until police arrived. He readily offered his wrists to the officers without making eye contact. He continued to stare at his only sibling, lying there motionless. His desire to undo what he had put into motion consumed him. He longed to bring his brother back. As they placed handcuffs on him, Jesse finally fully understood what his mother had always told him, “He who is greedy is always in want.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remember, if you have a Greed post to share, comment on this post with a link so we can check it out.

Writing Prompt: 7 Deadly Sins

Day 1 ~ Sloth

Outstanding photo “Seven_Deadly_Sins__Greed” by the very talented stay_young on DeviantArt.com.

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Cooper the Cat

Steven Fox’s Alphabet Challenge, Day 3 ~ The letter “C” is easy. My own name begins with “C”. Many of my favorite things in life begin with this letter: candy, chocolate, cookies, cupcakes, comedy, comfort, cottage, cuisine, cats. The most difficult part of today’s entry was narrowing down the subject. Because Cooper, the cat, changed my life in a wonderful way, Cooper wins. If cats had a voice, I think Cooper’s story would go something like this…

**********

The cold or the abuse? Cooper pondered as she watched life unfold outside through a closed window. Technically the cold IS abuse, though probably not as severe as the abuse I’ve suffered at His hands. I do love the human children. I don’t wish to leave them. However, I am beginning to fear them too. They have learned too much from the monster they call Dad.

Cooper’s decision was made. She would leave. She was no stranger to the outside world. She enjoyed hunting for food and fighting for fun. Predators that stalked her in the cover of night were the only reason she ever returned to His home, to His abuse. She would find a safe haven, something to protect her from cold and shelter her from darkness.

It didn’t take long for one of those unsupervised children to dash from the house, leaving the door wide open. Casually Cooper made her final escape, or so she thought…

It’s unseasonably warm, Cooper noted. It was a good thing too. The days were getting longer, but the nights were still brutal. Her coat had already begun to molt for the season. She needed time to adjust to the climate. She would use the warmth of the day to first find a place to rest. Her good fortune continued when, right across the street, she discovered a seemingly abandoned garage with a broken window. Purr-fect, she concluded.

Upon sneaking through the damaged window, Cooper discovered a litany of supplies. This garage may have been dilapidated but it certainly wasn’t abandoned. Less than ideal, still it would do nicely. She explored boxes until she found one filled with old blankets and children’s clothes. She had never curled up in a more comfortable bed. Cooper drifted off that night pleased with herself. She was lonely but comfortable, hungry but safe. Tomorrow she would hunt.

After a long slumber, free of drunken yelling, crying children, unprovoked kicking or tail pulling, Cooper arose with a stretch. She climbed into the window sill to sit briefly and absorb the morning sun. A rumble in Cooper’s stomach interrupted her meditation. She turned to set out on her mission for food when she realized she was being watched. In the distance she saw a human female holding a small black machine over her eye. Occasionally the human would push a button and the machine would click. Interesting. Cooper knew adult humans. They are mean. They are unpredictable. They have food. Engaging this human was a future option. However, for now Cooper wished to pursue her newfound freedom. She descended from the window sill, bolted through the back fence, and disappeared down an alley in search of food.

Cooper spent much of the day cautiously surveying her new surroundings. There were many dangers. She needed to learn her escape routes. The cats native to these streets did not welcome her. Quite the opposite, they considered her an intruder. More than once she stalked her prey only to be run off by a flailing human before she could pounce. Massive, loud boxes of metal in all colors and sizes tore down busy streets on large rolling circles. She was horrified by the number of corpses she encountered, the victims of those metal monsters.

The sun is beginning to set, she observed. It’s time to return to safety.

As Cooper crept through the yard she witnessed the human female exiting the garage. Oh no, she panicked, where do I go if it’s no longer safe?

She waited in the shadows long after the human disappeared. She proceeded cautiously through the window and was relieved to find herself alone there. What is that smell?

Cooper made her way toward the door and realized that the human had left two bowls behind. Food and water. She was beginning to like this human. Cooper huddled in and ate every crumb. When she was done she yawned and stretched, time for a nap. That food would certainly hold her over until she could hunt again later.

Eating food left by the human at night and soaking up the sun under the human’s watchful eye in the morning became staples in Cooper’s new routine. That is, at least, until He returned. One morning after basking in the glorious sunlight, Cooper began down the path toward the gate. She had just emerged from beneath the fence when she was viciously grabbed by the neck. NO! Cooper fought against His grasp. Let let me go! She hissed and bit. She swiped and slashed. They were right outside the human female’s window. Make more noise. She began to howl. As He carried Cooper away by her neck she heard it, BANG BANG BANG. The human was pounding on the window.

“Hey! You let him go! Put him down! Don’t carry him like that!” But He ignored the human’s pleas. He never turned. He never slowed. He scurried away from the concerned human like the cockroach He was.

He charged through the door and launched Cooper across the room. She scampered away and hid in the dark corner under His bed. She found comfort in the memory of her shortlived freedom. She thought back to the dismay in the female human’s voice as she plead with Him to release Cooper. Wait. Did that human say “him”? The human thinks I’m a boy. She was amused by this. The human mistook Cooper’s tough resourcefulness for masculinity. A female of any species should know better than to make such assumptions. I will befriend her, let her get to know me. I just need to get out of here again.

It would take longer than expected to find the opportunity to execute another breakout. The children were gone now. Cooper had no idea where they went. Their belongings were untouched, but they were absent, no longer there to leave doors wide open. He had become cautious about closing the door. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. She would have to be aggressive. She waited crouched by the door. As soon as this door opens, I run.

Soon He returned home in a stupor. She executed her plan flawlessly. His altered state prevented Him from recapturing her this time. She quickly crossed the street, escaped the streetlight, and disappeared into blackness. She remained concealed for a short time until she heard voices. Humans? She wondered. She approached the yard with caution. Two of them. It’s a risk. I want to return to the garage but I need a better place to hide from Him, especially now… She let out a faint meow.

The humans turned to her but did not approach. Cooper was relieved. The female knelt low and extended her hand. Cooper advanced with care. The humans waited patiently and the female coaxed Cooper along. When Cooper was within reach the female human gently caressed her head, scratched behind her ears, and stroked her back. She removed the collar that Cooper had worn since she was a kitten. He never once loosened it, even as Cooper grew. It had become a choking reminder of the mistreatment she’d endured. This human truly freed me. Cooper had never been around one so gentle and quiet. The male human opened the door and stepped aside, as if to welcome Cooper into their home. She wasted no time. She darted through the door and began to explore her surroundings.

I need a safe place, just in case. She found a bedroom empty except for a bed. She navigated the maze of boxes and books beneath it and discovered the perfect cove in which to hide.

“Where is he?” Cooper heard the male human ask. They still think I’m a boy. They will certainly be surprised by what I have in store for them.

For the most part the humans left Cooper to adjust to her environment. They seemed sensitive to her plight. Cooper liked that about them. Well, that and the food. She was so hungry all of the time now. She ate and slept the days away.

“He’s really filling out.” The male human called Brian once observed.

“I’m not sure he’s a he.” The female human called Carrie replied.

Oh you have no idea…

A couple of weeks passed before they caught on, “I was petting Cooper today and HER belly moved,” Carrie recounted to Brian.

“No way, really?!?” Brian was still in denial.

He approached where Cooper lay in a strip of sunlight on the floor. “You got something in there for us, Coop?” He sat next to her and lightly pet her side. With a stunned expression Brian exclaimed, “I felt it too! Cooper is totally pregnant!” Cooper laughed to herself and dozed back off to sleep.

“I think maybe four kittens” she heard Carrie say as she woke from her slumber.

“Yeah, three or four” Brian agreed.

The amusement just doesn’t stop with these two. Clearly these people have never had a litter of kittens. This should be fun.

Carrie did manage to a decent job on a birthing box. Pillows, blankets, privacy, yes this will do. The Sunday the kittens made their arrival Cooper did not want to leave Carrie’s side. She was uncomfortable and quite nervous. Carrie is comforting, though maybe a little too excited about MY babies. Regardless, she would shadow her human throughout the day. Eventually it became clear that it was time to leave Carrie and settle into her box.

I do wish they would stop looking in on me. Enjoying the show nosy humans? Cooper was irritated by the constant interruptions, particularly from the overly concerned Carrie. Though, as it would turn out, Carrie’s concern was justified. There were more than three or four babies, more than five or six even. Seven kittens were born and some so closely together that Cooper had little time to clear the sac from their faces and stimulate their breathing. A few had even become entangled within the blankets in the box somehow. When Carrie looked in on Cooper for the final time that night, she carefully sifted through the blankets, placing each kitten onto Cooper’s belly, so the new mommy could tend to them properly.

Seven ~ Ellington, Julius, Khan, Louis, Lola, Shojo and Voodoo. Three girls, four boys. This family who owned no cats just a few weeks ago now has eight of them. It’s a good thing they’re decent, for humans.

SIDE NOTE: When the kittens were old enough to wean themselves naturally we began the re-homing process. Louis went first to my youngest son’s best friend’s family. He is now “Levi”. Lola followed. She went to live with my cousin’s family. Unfortunately Lola ran off while out playing with her new puppy brother and was likely picked up by another family. 😦 Khan was a birthday gift to my niece. My oldest son kept Ellington. My daughter kept Shojo. My husband and I kept Julius and Voodoo. Cooper went deeper into witness protection. She now lives with dear friends and is allowed to roam their expansive property at her leisure. She also gets lots and lots of affection when she wants to be inside around her new humans. Each and every one is treasured and loved by their respective families. I get regular updates on all, except for Lola, obviously. I like to think she’s living it up with a great family too.

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The Apple

Ben Turner burst through the door, kicked off his shoes, dropped his backpack and ran into the kitchen. As expected, a shiny red apple awaited him on the counter. Without word, he snatched the apple and climbed into a bar stool to enjoy it.

“Hungry today Benny?” Asked Grandma, as she took inventory of the contents of the kitchen. Ben smiled through his mouth full of apple and nodded excitedly.

He loved everything about having Grandma live at his house. Even getting her moved in last summer was a great adventure. Ben got to ride with Daddy in a big truck all the way to Grandma’s. He felt so grown-up as he helped carry boxes and possessions from her house to the truck. All the way back home he and Grandma sang and laughed.

On his first day of third grade, Ben came home to find the largest, most succulent red delicious apple sitting upon the counter. Grandma smiled and handed it to him. That day, and every day since, they would sit together as Ben finished his apple, happily discussing the events of the day. Mom and Dad were at work, so Grandma even helped Ben with his homework. He would never tell them, but Grandma was a much better teacher than his parents. She was warm and patient where they were usually hurried and flustered. Even when he struggled, Grandma would smile, pat his head, and slowly start over.

Homework wasn’t the only thing Grandma was the best at. Grandma always cooked the most divine meals. He appreciated Dad’s morning Eggo waffles. Mom’s packed lunches were certainly edible. Oh but dinner… Ben looked forward to devouring Grandma’s dinner time creation every single day.

“No homework today, Grandma!” Ben exclaimed as he wiped the sticky apple remnants from his face with the back of his hand. She grinned and shook her head. She motioned him toward the sink and turned the faucets to just the right temperature. He put his hands under the running water and allowed Grandma to gently wipe his face.

“Good”, Grandma replied, “I am making a special dinner tonight. I could use your help. Wash those hands up like I taught you.”

Getting to help Grandma in the kitchen was always a treat. She called him “the official kitchen taste tester” and let him sample all of the food before it was served. He scrubbed his hands as clean as a surgeon in preparation.

As they got to work, Ben wondered what was so special about meatloaf. Sure, Grandma’s was the best as far as meatloaf is concerned, but this certainly didn’t constitute a “special dinner”. His disappointment was quickly replaced with elation when he realized that they would also be baking a chocolate cake for dessert. Not only would he get to taste test the batter, but he’d also get to apply the frosting and lick the spatula. His Grandma was the best grandma.

Mom and Dad gushed over the luscious food that Ben and Grandma had made them. The cake was delectable and moist. The homemade frosting was a perfect balance of light, sweet, and chocolaty. Everyone ate until they were stuffed to capacity.

After dinner, while the adults cleaned up, Ben headed upstairs for his nightly bath. He wanted to hurry to allow Grandma enough time for a bedtime story. She was even better at storytelling than she was at cooking. Grandma didn’t even need a book. She made up plots that twisted and turned. Characters that became as real as life. Stories that would make them laugh and some that would make them cry. The more time she had, the better the story would get.

Grandma peeked into Ben’s room just as he had finished donning his pajamas. He climbed into bed and Grandma sat down to regal him with the story of “Super Bird”. Ben giggled at the title. Of course Grandma knew exactly how to give that bird life and suck Ben into her world of make-believe.

She told him of a little bird, smaller than all of the rest, who longed to be special. The other birds teased him relentlessly because of his minuscule stature. When he just couldn’t stand the bullying anymore, the little bird ran away from home. She painted a vivid picture of the bird’s travels and especially his destination, the circus. Ben’s eyes widened in wonderment as Grandma’s words portrayed a magical place, full of color and laughter, where the little bird was accepted and loved as the “World’s Smallest Bird”. Ben’s expression turned to concern as the little bird began to grow until he was no longer the smallest or unique. His concern turned to relief when the bird didn’t stop growing until he was the circus’ newest attraction, “Super Bird”.

By the time Grandma finished her story, Ben’s mind was full and his eyes were heavy. Before he drifted off to sleep, he told Grandma, “I am going to sleep now. I want to dream about Super Bird.” Grandma tucked him in tight, kissed his forehead, turned on the nightlight, and softly closed the door behind her.

The next day began like any other. Mom was up early to prepare lunches and leave for work. Dad made toaster waffles for breakfast. Grandma zipped Ben’s coat and helped him with his backpack before hurrying him out the door for his short walk to school.

During lunch that day, Ben began feeling ill. He wasn’t sure what was making him sick. He didn’t have a stuffy nose or a tummy ache. His body didn’t hurt and his head felt ok. He just didn’t feel right. That sensation would linger for the rest of his school day. At the final bell, Ben gathered his things and prepared for his walk home.

He exited through the front door and spotted Mommy in the parking lot near the sidewalk. She hadn’t picked him up from school since second grade. Why was she here now? As he got closer he realized that Mommy had been crying. Those around her rubbed her arm, placed a hand upon her back, and some hugged her. Ben didn’t know why, but his eyes began to well with tears. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached his mother. He looked up at her inquisitively and she responded with a tight hug. Mommy kneeled until she looked Ben directly in the eyes. Then she said something so impossible, so infuriating, so cruel… She said, “Ben, Grandma is gone. She left this world and moved on to the next. Baby, Grandma died today.”

“NO!” Ben howled as he shoved his way out of his mother’s embrace. “You’re lying!” She had to be! They just ate dinner together the night prior. Grandma’s bedtime story last night was one of the best yet. She was fine, she was better than fine! She just helped him get ready for school this morning. She wouldn’t leave Ben without saying goodbye. She couldn’t!

Once he escaped his mother’s grasp, he started to run. Each step landed quicker than the one before it. He heard his mother call for him, but this only gave him cause to run even faster. He wanted to be too far away to hear her lies. Warm tears streamed down his cheeks to his quivering chin as he ran toward home on a mission to end this heartless joke. Today when he burst through the door, he didn’t bother to kick off his shoes and he didn’t shed his backpack. He continued his uninterrupted sprint through the house until he reached the kitchen.

There the harsh truth became his reality. Ben gasped for breath as he stared in anguish at the empty spot upon the counter.

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