Children of Fury: Hellions Chapter 7. Casa De Las Canas

Children of Fury:Hellions
Standard

Chapter 7. Casa de las Canas

Two women, shared the same icy stare. In four years, they had their indentured contracts extended against their will three times.

Now they both had an extra seven years on their service to the plantation.

They were the only women that did not suffer the forced marriage and children in the House of the Canes in the four years they had been in the service to the plantation.

Caoimhe Ni Maile MacRanald, from Campbell’s Town in Scotland was cousin to Fey Mac Boru O’Danu, the women grew up together as children, writing letters to each other when apart. They knew well enough they were no longer free in the first days of their servitude and they brought suffering unlike anything the men experienced before.

Then, the rape teams tried to move on them in the cabin they shared, to tame the women from the wilds of the emerald isle.

And it was failure that would echo for years. Now men feared the two women with blue-ice for eyes and fire for hair. These Scots women, one with an Irish name by marriage, held sway over all men on the plantation.

Garcia Parga, the Master of the Fields. The jefe de las cañas, would tremble at the thought of approaching the women and pass on a command from the owner of the estate.

Roberto de Las Planas owned and drove the daily trip to town in his covered coach, let Garcia to do the day-to-day work. except for the two women that he had bought at the slave-pens in Barbados, he had full confidence that all would be well.

The women, the first one called Fey.

Even after four years, he struggled with the name of the taller, slightly crazier one with the name of a harsh land.

“Keeva” He thought to himself. He tried to give her a Christian name, but the struggle for that in those early days was not worth the battle.

His memory of that time made him laugh and weep at the same time.

Unknown to anyone, his purchase of these two guardians of the house, they were more formidable than anyone would have suspected.

In the first day, he sent his best looking men in as their mates. Roberto even told the men to make sure the women would have children inside of them.

Over that long year, breeder teams went into the cabin where the women lived, fueled by wine and rum. But, then none of the muscular and brave men came out intact. 

His memory ached with the lessons of dealing with priestesses of the Drui

Powerful, muscular and brave, they all wept like children. Many holding vital parts of their anatomy, limped and breathless in agony.

He was positive that the larger redhead was guilty of some crime against the men who wept afterwards.

But to a man, the ones in most agony, identified the smaller woman as the roaring spirit that fought like a wild cat.

One man, who bled freely from his now broken nose, winced when he sat on the steps leading up the the main house, shook his head. Afraid for those who thought they would try to take the women against their will in that cabin of pain.

“Senior Garcia. I do not think there is enough rum on all the island to make me or any of the others to try to take them women against their will.” He said. The man, named Gawrhum by Roberto de las Planas. “These women will protect the house they are in. But I dare not hazard to try to mate them with anyone against their will.”

Garcia shook his head in disagreement.

“All women seek to have strong men.” He told Gawrhum.

“These women have more soul than ten men. They are far more than you think, they are both like demons when they fight.” The men watched another servant walk by holding a hand to his pants, in an attempt to stop the bleeding from his ruined flesh. “They have not chosen him, either. He is the strongest of us and has many children.”

Four men entered the cabin, sounds of shrieks like two demons emanated from the cabin.

One man almost made it out, before the smaller woman who claimed her name as Fey, flew out and grabbed the man by the hair and dragged him down as if she had a sheep to sheer.

He screamed for help as she pulled him back into the cabin by his mustache.

When the master of the house returned to his plantation, Garcia told him of how the smaller woman, as tall as many men, she beat on the servants as they were sent in. And how the taller woman with fists like a man knocked one to the ground and slammed his head in the door a dozen times.

“He will not work for a week, she has broken his face.” Garcia said.

Roberto held his face in his hands.

“What do we do?”

“Leave them be, use other means to keep them.” Garcia raised his eyebrows. “Find another way to enslave them, if you dare.”

Four years ago. News that spread of children that escaped. Released by the English fool Myngs had begun a new time of destruction against the empire.

Château du Soleil, owned by Frenchman Philippe Cornu, burned to the ground by servants under the command of the children pirates after he freed them like God’s Wrath against the population.

Cornu was slow to rebuild, and that allowed other plantations to expand, including this Casa de Las Canas. The only people who seemed to enjoy the news of such destruction were the Irish slaves. The women who he was successful to breed, he could force them to stay beyond the original contract that was imposed on them.

But the two that kept their pagan names?

No one dared cross them. They performed duties and ruled with an iron hand, the household was safe, clean and always ready for visitors.

The one thing that grated on Roberto’s soul, was their arcane observation of their old religion.

Now, he came from the harbor with news of from the crew of one ship. A new threat of the Caribbean was spoken of in fear-filled whispers. A small fleet of four pirate ships, one ship crewed with children.

The eyes of the Celtic woman glittered with the news.

“Senior Roberto.” She told him, the icy blue of her eyes chilled his soul. “You would do well to release all your servants. Should the child pirate come here.”

“Fey.” Caoimhe interrupted. “Nae speak of those bairns. Walk with me.”

Alone in a room, they spoke in their Gaelic language.

“Do not say you are related to any of them. You will be used to bait Keegan into a trap.”

“That is my son, he comes for all of us. I wish him safe, but Roberto should know what comes.”

“Ach! Keep your head down, cousin, stand with the other servants. We will leave together in time.” The larger woman admonished her older, smaller relative.

“Caoimhe, my son returns.” Fey smiled wide. “They all return.”

“They return for us.” Fey smiled wider still.

Advertisements

Married by Mistake Chapte 49. The Good-Bye Girl

MbM
Standard

Chapter 49. The Good-Bye Girl

Fourteen days at home flew past with a blur.

Kaylee in the meantime recharged, recovered from her shock at Glenn’s immature life choice, was packing for the return to Ocean Bay University.

Her dad made her laugh. She had sat with him on a home-made bean bag chair while she smoked a pipe for the first time with the man she always thought was without a clue about life for the young generation.

The old man had more on the ball than Kaylee ever gave him credit for. She always thought of him as an IT nerd-tech that was only involved with himself.

Instead, dad liked Steampunk music, knew a thousand things she never thought possible of his generation.

Funny, it seemed the older she got, the smarter he was. In fact she viewed her father, Charles Achilles “CAG” Grant, as brilliant, funny, talented and wise.

She didn’t tell him about Tom, however. She started a dozen times and Dad shushed her each time.

‟Your past is in your behind.” He said softly.

‟What?” Kaylee looked up at the man who was the standard she held all other men to. ‟Dad? What?”

‟Sorry, that’s good weed.” He gave a crooked smile. ‟Put your behind in your past, you don’t need to talk about it just now.”

‟You mean that I should put what on my butt?”

‟No.” Dad was trying for a serious moment but giggled. ‟What is done is history. Leave it there for now.”

‟Okay.” Kaylee smiled and took another hit off the pipe. Her parents always dealt with Anders Schroder with his home-grown. It was the best weed in the area.

Mr. Schroder grew enough of the best cannabis to sell to the retail outlets, but little more than that. Fully licensed and inspected, Mr. Schroder kept the businesses going with only enough income to keep his bills paid. The old man just liked the beauty of the plant and wished to make clothes out of the hemp fiber he grew from other species. Often telling Glenn and Kaylee that it was better than cotton.

The weed relaxed her and made the heartache of Glenn seem so much smaller than it was.

*At least I’m not pregnant! Pretty sure.* She laughed to herself.

She began to think of that last time on the plane after she came home.

Tom was weak from spending so much time in the hospital bed, she had grown protective of the soul that thought he was her protector. He cautioned her heart to avoid what Tom said in gentle words, ‟Complicate things”.

Another few days home.

An argument over who’s toe-sock was left out on the porch with her brother ended with mom telling them to go put on their socks.

Kaylee came out wearing hers and Mike, with one bare foot and looking sheepish.

While the kid-brother learned to do his own laundry, at dad’s insistence to prepare him for college. Another requirement of the patriarch of the family.

Dad did not care what each of the children wanted to do, but he did require that they earned the highest degree of education available for that interest.

A strong preference for a doctorate, and no one dared defy dad on this point.

Kaylee worried a lot about trying to earn a doctorate in fine arts, a tall order. But dad was motivational and insistent.

That afternoon, while she packed to return to Ocean Bay U., Glenn pulled up in his car.

Alone.

He walked up to the door, intercepted by Kaylee .

‟Don’t you have a life to attend to? Does Sam know you are here?”

‟Yes, she knows. Our mom’s were talking and she found out you were leaving today, she sent me with this.” Glenn held out a small gift, a compass with an email address taped to it.

“Sam wants to pursue a friendship with you.” Glenn’s voice was almost a whisper.

Kaylee was still unsure, her heart still ached after that day. She had found a kindred spirit in Samantha Schroder, but still envious at the same time.

She took the offered present with a smile that she did not feel in her heart.

‟I know I hurt you, if I say it was an accident, it would be an insult to everyone. But it was not planned, I wanted to stay with you.”

‟Do not tell me that, do not let Sam hear you say that.” Kaylee on the verge of rage shook her finger in his face. ‟You want to work as a member of congress élite and a senator’s aide? You put on a face of a happy husband and proud father. You did this with her without thought or precaution, now you have a child. You had better love that baby, or I swear I will kick you so hard you it will take a year for your breastbone to heal. And you know I can. If you ever break up with Sam, I will use you for my flow-drills. You don’t get a stick, you just have to stand there and take it.”

‟Then I’ll send my dad after you, he’s pissed at you as well.” She added.

‟I can see that. He’s standing in the window, looking at me.” Glenn voice trembled with more than a little fear.

Charles Grant stood in the picture window with his arms crossed, a stare like a cougar lining up for a kill for a full minute then stepped out of sight.

For a single moment of shining terror, Glenn thought the old man was coming out.

‟I’ll keep in touch.” He told Kaylee. ‟Maybe we can get together then.”

‟No.” She shook her head. ‟We have our own lives, lived our own way and our own adventures. Good-bye Glenn. I’m sorry this is how it ended.”

She hugged him awkwardly and walked back to the house and closed the door quietly behind her.

And leaned up against it and caught her breath. It was the single hardest thing she had ever done in her life.

And she was still standing strong.

‟Everything all to rights, sweetheart?” The measured tones of her dad entered her world, the old man was sitting in his chair. Two glasses and a bottle of his favorite fifty-year-old rum sitting on the end-table.

‟Oh. Daddy…”

She sat in his lap for the first time in over a decade, the twenty-something woman left the room while the broken-hearted child wept on her father’s shoulder.

Pouring a splash of rum in each glass, he handed one to his sniffling princess.

‟A toast to accidents. Without them, we’d never know where we are in life and where our strength lies. Some are happy, some are sad, a toast to them all.”

‟A happy accident?” Kaylee said after she took a sip of the spiced amber liquid and coughed. The ethanol burning her throat.

‟Yes, if it was not for an accident, I’d never have met your mom.” Her dad said with a wink.

‟She said she met you standing in line at a store.”

‟Pharmacy, for pain medication.”

‟Same thing.” She sipped more of her dad’s treasured rum.

‟Who do you think gave me the pain.”

‟What?”

‟She worked as a bookkeeper at an office and I was running cable for a network. Wireless networking was unheard of in those days. While I crawled by a desk, she opened a drawer over my head.” He rubbed his head of the memory of it. ‟I broke the drawer when I stood up, scalded myself when a coffee cup on the desk spilled down my back.”

Kaylee broke out laughing.

‟Oh my god. She never told me that.”

‟And I wished he never did either!” Mom hid her face in her hand, she had walked in from the back of the house. ‟I nearly killed your dad with a concussion and wrecked our new computer system at the same time.”

‟The coffee went into the server.” Her dad added. ‟It was awful, blood and coffee everywhere.”

‟It looked like someone got slaughtered by a coffee machine.” Mom admitted.

‟I was talking about my shirt.”

‟I was, too.” Linda laughed.

Parents and offspring talked for over an hour, mom and dad told secrets on each other from the time before children while they shared the bottle of rum until it was all gone.

It was a good end to an otherwise miserable day. With three hours to go, the Grant family took their eldest princess to the airport to return to her life back in Ocean Bay University.

Not for the first time in her life, she was looking forward to seeing her sister.

*Wait until Melanie hears the news of how Glenn really changed his life up, never to return to the house without a wife and child in tow.* She shook her head.

During the drive to the airport, Kaylee spent most of the trip looking out the window of the car to the trees that lined the highway. Lost in thought over the last two-weeks.

She wondered if she could just take double classes and never leave the school. It would take a meeting with her mentor and class coördinator.

The world was rainy when she arrived, but it was a rain of promise and excitement, it washed away her doubts from the summer.

Now, it was just grey and wet.

Married by Mistake Chapter 41. Afterglow and Tables

MbM
Standard

Chapter 41. Afterglow and Tables

Candles, perfumed smoke of a cedar-wick that crackled on the far table wafted through the room with two exhausted lovers relaxed in the soft light.

Tom still had his shirt half-on, he was too drunk to take it off with one arm when they got home, the white material stained from when he fell into a fountain. .

Kaylee kissed Tom’s chest as he slept. Six hours of dance and drink and then home to the penthouse pushed him over the edge of exhaustion more than once, he drank too many cups of coffee to keep going.

Now, with his shoes removed, he was in a deep sleep, despite where he lay his recovering arm.

Small marks on his chest would take a few days to heal where she had bitten him during a slow dance, but between the ice-cubes she dropped down his shirt and kissing, he was sleeping with his arms around her. The pain of his wounded arm forgotten as was the wound in both their hearts while their bodies recovered from the intense celebration.

They were friends and even if her promise had to take them each on a separate path in life, she knew in time that he would relax more.

‟You know,” Tom said quietly, little more than a whisper. ‟If this is what it is like getting  annulled from you, I want to do this once a week, at least.”

Kaylee laughed quietly, the sun was going down and they were about to wake up.

‟There is a private gaming table with our names on it?” She asked.

‟Now you mention it.” Tom snuffled. ‟We do.”

‟You said you like to play blackjack?” She asked and pressed her body against his, she was still in her silk party clothes, too tired the night before to undress. She wanted to remember what it felt like and she wanted to touch every inch of him for as long as she could.

All too soon, this journey of passion and party would be over and she would go back to the life that she had planned since before puberty.

Artist, student, possibly even the wife of a congressman. Elected officials had a more complex life while trying to do their jobs.

Glenn often said they had to make hard choices that might make them unpopular with the voters. So the right thing was the thing that would get them removed from office.

It was a wonderful, great time build a life.

If it wasn’t for Tom and this past few weeks of wonder and passion. An exciting summer of build-up to the wedding and the first years together with Glenn.

She lightly touched Tom’s chest. He twitched with a slightly hysterical giggle. His body was still tingled from the intense excitement of the impromptu party and dances she made him do while he drank expensive wines until his words slurred.

His smooth and, now, hairless chest. Her skill with argument, convincing him on this last night of the thrill and fun to have every hair on his body removed, every strand of stray hair. His control impressed her while the attendant wax his underarms and toes.

Even if he did squeak a couple of times.

*Well, maybe not fun for him, but I enjoyed watching it.* She smiled, on the knife-edge of laughing out loud.

The rewards of his clean-to-the-Nth-degree-body made for better dance-floor teases. She loved his bare, hair free chest.

*He will never forget any of this, I hope he still loves me for having his hair ripped out!*

She knew she would never forget.

Kissing his chest, his twitching making her smile. She stood up and pulled him to the edge of the bed.

‟Oh? What now?” She shut him up with a kiss.

‟Let’s not waste anymore time! Let’s go party gamble for our un-wedding.” She smiled and opened her bag and pulled out a small black dress.

‟What? Do you have a wardrobe in that thing?” He yawned, and made a quiet yelp of pain. “My armpits are sore! Woman, you said this was painless.”

She laughed.

‟Melanie ’s design. Whenever we travel, we keep nice clothes in a kit, I have another one for formal, it is slightly larger with a full length black dress and heels. It fits in a dresser drawer, and I can put it in a bag or purse in a second. She has wanted to market it, but some problems with one seam  or another not lining up and we keep getting creases in the wrong places.” She smiled while she pulled the dress up, pulled her hair out and tucked herself in. Buttoning up the up to the top of her cleavage. ‟We are going to try to roll dresses in the next design in special tubes made for packing. It takes less room and, in theory, does not cause creases.”

‟Quite the invention.” Tom smiled as he pulled on a red-silk shirt.

‟We had plans of being famous designers and do art-level clothing that could be inexpensive, and recyclable. We could keep it as haute couture, with a fraction of the price.”

‟What has stopped you?”

‟Lack of funding and time. Dad is an IT tech and mom teaches accounting. It’s just enough to help us go through college, even with scholarships.”

‟Yes,” Tom took a deep breath let it out slowly and shook his head. ‟This state charges more for education with a high cost of living that prevents many students from going to higher education. It is a weakness in this country. No investments in education on a higher level.”

‟Well, whatever, but I am going to finish what I have started and have my Master’s in fine arts.”

‟Okay, I’m ready. Do you want to go gamble?”

‟Yeah!” She cheered. “Woot!”

‟I don’t know if I want to take you downstairs, there won’t be any eyes not looking at you.” Tom said. ‟I may become jealous.”

‟Yeah, right. You have one quirk. You are the most laid-back man I know.”

‟The most laid on his back, anyway.” Tom laughed. ‟Okay, to the elevator.”

Kaylee walked carefully in her high-heels, wearing the shoes, she was as tall as Tom.

‟You are beautiful.” Tom whispered.

Kaylee felt her cheeks flush.

‟Thank you. I wanted you to enjoy this date.”

‟I have. I’m just sorry it has to end.”

‟Tom, I want to go home to Portland when we get back. Glenn is waiting for me there, he has asked the family about me. Melanie says that he is going to ask the question.”

‟The big question?”

Kaylee laughed.

‟I hope so, if he asks me to borrow my car, I’m going to punch him.” She raised her fist. “Hard.”

They both laughed awkwardly.

The door of the elevator opened and the couple entered.

A direct ride to down, over twenty floors, to the one room with limited access.

Tom handed over his room key,  scanned by a security guard who nodded and then they were in.

‟Let’s go here, you said you like the old-style dollar machines?”

‟Oh yeah, you have no idea.” Kaylee laughed and imitated the clinking of silver dollars falling.

‟Okay,” Tom smiled. ‟Let’s go over here.”

At a cage, Tom chatted a girl who knew him by sight.

‟Hi Tom!” She smiled, a brilliant grin that looked natural. Kaylee felt a pang of jealousy when she leaned in and kissed Tom on the cheek.

‟Five-thousand singles for this young woman here.” Tom said. ‟She wants to play the dollar slots.”

‟Yes, sir. Very good choice.” She smiled again and began to tap on a computer touch screen. ‟And your usual starting stake?”

‟Yes, please.” Tom nodded. ‟And if she comes back, fill her order at a thousand-chip increments, she can carry those without tipping over.”

‟Of course.”

The stack of chips were the size of silver dollars of the Eisenhower era.

‟If you go over there, you can play the giant machine and still watch me. I’ll be here on the table with blackjack.” Tom pointed to the empty table in the middle of a large room with very few people walking about.

‟Wow!” Kaylee boggled. ‟I never knew this place even existed.”

Tom smiled and sat on the stool. He was the only person there.

‟I don’t think this one is open, hun.” Kaylee kissed him. “Maybe we can raise our hands to attract attention?”

‟It’ll be open, give it a half-minute.” His eyes reflected the confident tone in his voice.

Kaylee laughed and went to the one-armed bandit and dropped in a few of the chips that clanged all the way in. Her first pull she won twenty back that clanged in the tray under the two images of cherries and a golden number seven.

An hour later, Kaylee dropped in her last dollar chip. Biting her fingernails she pulled the lever, then the jackpot hit on a minor score.

She won all but two-hundred dollars back in chips. The sound clinked nonstop while machine stayed in dispense mode for five minutes.

Gathering up her Casino treasure in a bucket, she went to see how Tom was doing and found him right where she left him, but now he sat with five other gamblers, plus the dealer. In front of him was a minor stack of chips, she noted, and it seemed smaller than when she had left him, and the chips were different colors.

*Lower denominations.* She tried to look over his shoulder.

‟Tom?” Caressing his shoulder. ‟I’m ready to go see the rest of the town.”

‟Hi, babe. Just a minute. I’ll finish this hand and we can go look at things.”

‟How much are you betting?” She was unfamiliar with the chip colors.

‟A hundred.” Tom did not take his eyes off the dealer’s hands.

‟That’s a lot of money to put down on a single bet.” She said while the dealer went down the line of players. ‟I could have a lot of fun with a hundred dollars than to blow it on a bet. I thought you would bet the regular amount.”

‟It’s not a hundred dollars.” Tom said with a crooked smile.

‟What is it?” She blinked. “Credits?”

‟A hundred-thousand.”

Kaylee felt like she had been hit with a snap-kick in the chest and lost her brain-power to speak, her mouth opened and her lips just twitched.

‟Oh my god?” Tom asked. While he nodded. With a jack and a duece showing, he drew a king and lost the bet. ‟Okay, thank you.”

He rolled a token towards the dealer.

‟Thank you.” The tuxedo clad dealer smiled at the five-hundred-dollar chip given to him.

‟Tom!” Kaylee was able to get the word out. ‟Tom, you lost a bet! That could have bought a nice car, even.”

‟It wasn’t one bet. That was my third loss in a row, that is why it was time to quit.”

‟Wut?” Kaylee got dizzy and grabbed at Tom’s sleeve and looked in his eyes.

‟I lost three bets in a row, it was time to leave.”

‟You lost a hundred-thousand dollars on one bet? You were betting… A. Hundred.” Kaylee couldn’t breathe. “Thousand. Dollars.”

‟Yes. I was there, I know it was a hundred-k bet.”

‟You lost three-hundred thousand?”

‟No, only one-seventy five.”

‟Oh. TOM!” She was about to blow a gasket. Suddenly, she was angry.

‟I’m still up two-hundred twenty thousand.” He shrugged and continued walking.

‟Holy crap!” Kaylee sat down on a stool.

“Well, are you hungry? Let’s go get food.” Tom smiled.

“Now I know why they want your money back.” She got up to follow Tom, her legs still a little shaky. Kaylee was not sure if it was from the shock, dancing or wine.

“They always do.” Tom laughed.

Married by Mistake Chapter 39. Suite and Shower

MbM
Standard

Chapter 39. Suite and Shower

Tom knew how to get to the hotel and told Kaylee not to follow the GPS.

‟That thing is taking you around the long way. I don’t know that route, and through a neighborhood?! That’s nuts. Take the next left, go to the highway on-ramp. Three exits, and left. It’s easy to find.”

‟You have been there before?” She said, after slowing for a slightly wobbly street person who walked across the street in the middle of the block and waved thanks at her.

‟He should know better,” She growled at the scraggly man. ‟That is a good way to die and that would just screw up my day.”

‟Well, deep breath. We have a nice room waiting for us.”

‟It’s just a room.”

‟You used the married name? My name?”

‟Well, yeah.” She nodded. ”I used the card you gave me.”

She thought a moment.

‟I suppose I should give it back to you.”

‟No, keep it. Let it expire in three years and use it for emergencies, getting married, paying rent.” Tom smiled. ‟Especially if you buy books. My books.”

‟Drumming up business, are you?” Kaylee laughed.

‟Well, that would be self-defeating. My, money buying my book? Then I’d pay commission, there is no profit in that.” Tom chuckled. ‟Consider it a gift if you buy one.”

‟I’d buy a bunch and give them away, try to drum up business for you.” Kaylee winked as she merged on to the highway.

A small smile crossed his lips, then a far away look settled in his eyes and Tom looked out the window and remained quiet for a few minutes.

‟I’ll miss you.” She said softly. ‟I know you are unhappy.”

‟You know me pretty well, already.” He said in a soft voice and turned back to look out the window. ‟You will go back to school this fall, probably with an engagement ring. Melanie will stop coming to my movies, she will stop buying books and hold a grudge. The world will end and I’ll drown my sorrows in an overdose of rum and painkillers and fly the Pacific Wizard to a bad landing on the ocean with no survivors.”

‟What? Tom!”

‟Kidding, just poking at the pity-pot for a moment.” Tom gave a crooked smile. But there was some truth that glinted in his eyes. A sadness that he didn’t cover up quickly enough for Kaylee to miss.

It was a horrid sadness of soul, a soul that she cared for.

‟On the subject of the hotel, have you been there before?” She changed the subject back.

‟A time or two for book-signings. They wanted me to play, too. I have a minor weakness for blackjack. I win more than I lose, as well. The casino is always interested in winning back some that I have taken from their tables. Roulette is good, too, but I lose more there.”

‟I like dollar machines.” She smiled. “I might ask you for a few rolls”

‟I bet.” Tom laughed at his own joke.

Kaylee gave him a sideways look.

‟That was terrible.” She said with a crooked smile shaking her head.

‟Made you grin.”

Guiding the electric SUV to a parking slot, she overshot the painted line of the parking stall and began to struggle slightly getting it straight.

Outside, a woman got out of her small hybrid and started to berate them though the glass of the Tesla.

‟You people need to get over your small penis envy! That car is an abomination, sucking down more gas than you are worth! This is what will wreck the world for us all in twenty years! Selfish, stupid whore.”

Kaylee got a look in her eye that Tom had seen once before.

He had seen the look when she stomped a man twice her size nearly to death, and this look was just the same, but this time, he saw it up close along with the white knuckles of the warrior woman.

‟NO! No, Kay! No!” He grabbed at her hand.

‟Lady, go into the casino where you belong. You no clue what you are talking about.” Kaylee’s temper was a nuclear furnace. 

‟I do, you drive that gas-pig around and the rest of us pay for the global warming filth that you create, that movie showed it to us. Inconvenient isn’t it? You drive gas guzzler’s with all your careless abuse of fossil fuels.”

‟Lady,” Kaylee hissed. ‟You get in your fossil-fueled car, take your attitude and get the hell away from my husband…” Kaylee choked. ‟And me.”

‟My car is an all green hybrid. I get fifty-miles per gallon, how much does your pig get?”

‟I can’t tell you, it doesn’t take gas.”

‟Diesel! Foul, nasty, penis envy…”

‟It does not use any kind of oil. No diesel, no gas, no propane.” Tom said.

‟What?” The woman pronounced it ‟wut” and blinked in confusion.

‟It’s all electric, no hybrid. It gets an electric equivalent of over two-hundred miles per gallon.” Kaylee clenched her fists. She was an artist about to paint her version of Dante’s Inferno on this woman. ‟So. Kiss-off.”

Taken aback, the woman shook her head.

‟You lie. There is no such thing.” She looked at the back of the Model X.

‟No tailpipe, witch.” Kaylee called over her shoulder while they left her looking at the dark windowed car with the electric-car tag hanging on the mirror.

“I was this close,” Kaylee held up her thumb and forefinger. “She was about to have a problem.”

“Yeah, I know, she is still looking over the Tesla.” Tom laughed as they walked across the parking lot.

They made their way into the casino and to the check-in desk.

The clerk did not bother to look up when Kaylee stepped up to the counter.

‟Reservation for Harte.”

‟One moment please.”

Another voice from around the corner.

‟Harte? Kaylee and Thomas Harte?”

‟Yes.” Kaylee nodded.

‟Steve, go over there, I have this.” It was a dapper woman with a the air of Captain Watson, all professional.

‟What? Why?”

‟Remember I said of the VIP coming in?”

‟Oh.” And moved off.

‟I apologize for that. I was watching for your limo to come in.”

‟We came by rental car. Miss…?”

‟I have this Kaylee .”

‟Erika, thank you for watching, but we are in a rental car this time. Might go driving later.”

‟Very good. Do you need the rental returned for you and we will arrange a limo for your use later, on the house.” Erika said.

‟That would be most excellent.” Tom nodded. ‟My usual company I use here?”

‟Desert Limo? I’m sorry, but they are out of business.”

‟Oh? Since when?”

‟About three weeks ago, IRS came in and shut them down, the tax-man took out a lot of limo companies. There are only two in town now. A few gypsy limos, but the two that stayed operating for the moment is Deviance Limousine and Gemini Limousine are still in business. Until the IRS gets to them.”

‟Why is the IRS involved?”

‟They are cleaning house around here. It is causing trouble for everyone.”

‟I can understand. In any event, we will be changing and heading out in a bit.”

‟A limo will be on standby for you, Mister Harte. A moment’s notice will be all that is all we will need.”

‟Very good, as you can see, I have a small problem with my arm. Could I get a porter?”

‟Right away.” Erika said, dialing a number. ‟Where are your bags now?”

‟Black Tesla rental, in the electric only parking stall.” Kaylee said.

‟Very good,” Erika nodded to a young man who was standing within earshot, who walked up and took the key from Kaylee and headed out to the car.

‟Your bags will be up at your suite momentarily.”

‟Thank you, Erika. We will wait for the bags in our room.”

‟I will trust you will find the lodgings to your pleasure. You have a panoramic view, the gaming table on the floor is available at any time. You also have access to our private gaming area as you see fit. And as always, this will be comp. Your VIP code was not entered when the clerk took the call, so I will deduct the reservation charges now.”

‟Thank you.”

‟Mister Harte? This way, please.” It was an impeccably dressed man with a Mid-Atlantic accent wearing a name tag Gene Childs, Hotel Manager.

‟Tom. Please, call me Tom.” He smiled. ‟I ask you that every time I arrive.

‟Yes, sir. Tom.” The manager smiled. ‟It’s an old habit.”

Riding the elevator up, Kaylee looked over in front of Tom and tapped his hand.

‟We are going to the top?”

‟Yes, ma’am. This is Mister… er… Tom’s regular place when he stays. I can say that Tom does not bring his family members here often, we are always pleased to serve you in any wishes you might have.”

‟Tom’s family…” She thought for a moment and looked down.

The doors opened, there was no hallway. They stepped out directly into a frosted glass foyer with a wooden door.

‟The normal full security precautions, four-inch-thick glass and polycarbonate panels with electronic privacy. It converts from clear to frost with a press of a button on the remote control and at several panels around the room. The door is all but breach proof. The whole floor is a panic room.” Gene walked around and pointed the features. ‟Limited access to the elevator, staff and the key-holder for this floor only.”

‟Thank you, Gene.” Tom said as the elevator chimed and the young man walked in with their bags.

‟Of course, please call me directly if there is anything you need. Twenty-four hours.” Gene said as he handed Tom his card. ‟The number on the back is my direct line.”

‟Thank you, again.” Tom smiled.

Two hotel staff members stepped inside the elevator and the doors slid silently shut.

‟I thought they would never leave!” Kaylee said. ‟I’m *family*?”

‟He was being circumspect. He could have gone the other way and asked if you were a working girl.”

‟That’s just wrong to assume.”

‟Agreed. But you must admit, we are an odd couple. You are young, beautiful and vibrant. I’m OFU.”

‟Oh-Eff-You?”

‟Old, fat and ugly.” He said as he walked to the door and pressed the button on the key and unlocked the door to the suite.

She kicked Tom in the backside.

‟You stop that.” She started to make a growl then gasped. ‟Shut-up! This is not our room? Oh-my-gawd!”

The walls moved on command when Tom tapped the buttons on the remote control.

Three hundred-sixty degree views of Las Vegas and the surrounding mountains took her breath away.

‟Tom, I swear, I only wanted to get a nice room. I didn’t book a penthouse.”

‟You forget my name carries some influence. They may have thought you were just some any Kaylee Harte, and I wager they mulled that over, and did not clue on it.”

‟How many times have you been here?”

‟A few, I don’t count. Usually, I stay on the Pacific Wizard.” Tom said as he sat down in a sculpted leather chair that looked out over the landscape.

‟Is the bar open?”

‟Everything is. You heard Erika said that it was comp.” Tom said, grunting slightly as he moved his wounded arm to a comfortable position.”

‟Wow. Macallen whiskey!” Kaylee balked. “What? This one is thirty-years!”

‟They should have the full spectrum.” Tom nodded, looking out the window.

‟Holy crap! Do you know how much this is? I saw some in the locked case at the Tower of Liquor in Ocean Bay.” She turned it around in her hand slowly. ‟And I can open it?”

‟If you want. But if you open it, you better drink it. That is about three-hundred dollars you have in your hand.” He said as he kicked his shoes off.

‟I’m going to put it back, I have never held anything that expensive in a bottle.” She poked around in the refrigerator. “I can’t read this except for chocolate.”

“Oh, that would be the old world Luxemburg or German-made chocolates.” He chuckled. “Impossible to say, wonderful on the tongue. Except I don’t like chocolate.”

Kaylee laughed at that. 

‟What are you up to, hun?” She asked while he pulled off his shirt.

‟Thinking about jumping into the pool.” Tom said.

‟There’s a pool?” She turned around, nearly dropping a full bottle of Pyrate Rum, with ‟Cask Special” on the label.

‟Let’s go swimming!”

‟You didn’t bring a suit. Remember?”

‟Skinny dip!” She yelled as she ran through the suite peeling off clothes. ”After that I am going to have a cuddle with you until you cry for a mommy!”

Tom watched her jump in the penthouse pool, her skin shimmered in the ripples of the clear pool water. He didn’t laugh, in fact, it saddened him on a deep level. Until a little while ago, she was his wife.

This troubled him on so many levels, he was not sure he could count them all.

But he was going to have one last night of love with a twenty-two-year-old art student and martial arts master with the moves of a gymnast.

‟You know, you’ll need a shower after this. This is a salt pool.”

‟I’ll give you a body shampoo, before we go to bed.” She yelled from the far end of the pool while he sat in the shallow end, with his arm perched above the water.

Tom chuckled, that was a plus. He had spots he could not reach.

It was a lesson about how important each of his hands were.

*A serious lesson.* He pulled at his earlobe with his good hand while he watched the young woman swim in the private pool forty stories in the air.

Married by Mistake Chapter 37. Las Vegas, Declaring A Medical Emergency

MbM
Standard

Chapter 37. Las Vegas, Declaring A Medical Emergency

The jet punched a hole in the air as it sped over the horizon, taking a direct line to the desert city, shining like a jewel in the barren land.

They had to get down, Tom’s arm was showing signs of decompression illness, a kind of compartment syndrome that blocked blood from circulating in his arm. If it was up to Captain Watson, she’d have an ambulance waiting for him to get him to the medical center emergency room.

Pushing the limits of the rated engine’s power until they could not go any faster, Captain Watson managed to shave a measurable amount of time off the trip. A planned orbit of the city that would give the passengers a view of the beauty of it, even during the daylight the view was glorious. The Captain skipped the flyover and they saved a half-hour to get him on the ground.

Captain Watson would never say it outside of the conversation with her first officer sitting to her right.

“The fool flew too soon.”

“Did he have medical clearance?”

“No, I would bet not.” Regina said as she got cleared for her approach, declaring a medical emergency and ordering a paramedic unit.

The wheels touched with a feather like control that Watson used. A fine pilot, she never bounced the passengers or her planes if it was humanly avoidable.

As they taxied to the private terminal, she heard Tom moan loudly with a profanity.

“We need to expedite this. That medical problem is growing worse back there, Captain.” Kevin spoke quietly.

“Check on EMS, be sure they’re cleared to meet us when we stop.” There was no room for questions. “I will speak with Thomas Harte and see what is going on with his arm.”

“Affirmative that.” Kevin nodded, patting his shirt, confirming the mobile phone that resided there was still in place.

Coming to a stop, Captain Watson stood and walked to the rear of the cabin where Kaylee and Tom sat.

“Everything alright?” The Captain could see it was not, Tom was pale, perspiration shined on his forehead.

“Just a bit of an ache.” He hissed through gritted teeth.

“His fingers have gotten darker red, but they are still warm.” Kaylee said.

“Would you let me call you an ambulance?”

“You can.” Tom moaned when he moved his arm. “But I will always be human. Just don’t call me late for dinner.”

Kaylee looked at Regina and sighed.

“I already ordered an ambulance before we stopped. It is coming now.” Captain Watson said.

“I should have let Kaylee carry the bag.” Tom winced.

“Is that is what is going on?” Regina raised an eyebrow. She observed a light pink stain on the bandages that covered surgical wound. “You have saturated the bandages. Look, I can have you back in San Francisco in under an hour.”

“No.” Tom grimaced. “We just need to change the dressings and take a look. I strained it when we packed and I moved the bag.”

“What did they do for you, Tom?”

“They had to graft a vein they took out of his butt.” Kaylee said.

Regina almost laughed, but no one in the world knew.

“I might have over-stressed it.” Tom admitted. “Maybe you can hold over the next few hours, I’ll pay extra.”

“We have another assignment, Tom. But I’ll see what I can do.” Captain Watson said.

“Okay, we can wait until the morning after we get clear of the courts.” Tom looked like he was feeling better.

“But your arm?” The Captain asked.

“We will change the dressing and see what it looks like…”

“It’s gross.” Kaylee nodded.

“But I have finger movement.” Tom said as he wiggled his fingers with obvious discomfort.

“Well, let’s get you somewhere to get the dressing changed.” Kaylee growled. “We have to get to a doctor where we can check that arm right away.”

“Do you know where you are going?” Captain Watson asked.

“I don’t. But we have a rental car here, somewhere.” Tom moaned slightly. Turning his head to look out the window, the paramedic ambulance was coming down the taxi-way.

“Let me give you a directive. You will go by ambulance to the ER straight away.” The Captain said and turned to the Co-Captain who nodded and dialed the tower.

“Thomas, you do not allow yourself to become a wreck. I have a seven-year-old nephew that loves your books. He even has a model of the flying yacht you have. It’s painted in the colors of the Pacific Wizard.” Her tone betrayed her normal professional façade.

“Seriously. I will come fly your jet for you if you need.” Kevin Nunez said. “I hear you have a twin-engine yacht.”

“With wings. And I’ll refuse service.” Tom added, trying to laugh, failing and moaned out a profanity instead.

“That does it, I’m taking him to the emergency room to get that checked out.” Kaylee said and stood up. “Come on, trouble. The ambulance is here.”

“I’m not trouble.” Tom with a strained grin, got up. “I just write it.”

“Yeah. Trying to lift stuff, you refuse to listen, over exert that wound that we spent a million dollars to put back together.” Kaylee growled.

“It wasn’t a million dollars.” Tom said.

“The final bill has not come in, they were charging forty-five bucks a pill for over-the-counter acetaminophen.” Kaylee grumbled. “And you took a lot of pills. It might be a million dollars in the end.”

Two uniformed people stepped on board, a man and woman, both with patches that said “Paramedic” on their chests and back, kneeled next to Tom and took report.

“Maybe. But that is what I have health insurance for.” Tom said in between questions as they escorted Tom from the chartered jet and he bid farewell to the pilots as they went about securing their race-car of the sky.

Tom sat on the ambulance gurney and Kaylee walked next to him while the medics wheeled their patient to the waiting EMS unit. The medic in charge motioned to the second with three fingers.

The EMT nodded without a word, got out of the ambulance before he finished his procedure and got into the driver’s seat.

It took a moment while he sat Kaylee in the front passenger’s seat and made sure she wore the seatbelt, then got in behind the wheel and made a radio report.

“Medic-27 enroute Med-center code 3, one passenger, one patient.”

The radio echoed his report and confirmed the destination.

“Okay, ma’am. Do not ever drive like I am about to do.” He winked and flipped an overhead switch, she could hear clicks of relays as navigated the ambulance around in a careful turn back the way they came. The EMT never used the siren until they got to the gate and out into traffic.

In the back, she could hear the medic describe the serious medical problem.

“ETA 4 minutes.” The medic in the back could have just told someone when lunch would arrive.

Married by Mistake Chapter 36. Captain Watson

MbM
Standard

Chapter 36. Captain Watson

Without the approval from the Federal Aviation inspector to certify the jet as airworthy, the Sea Dragon was still grounded.  A shrug from Tom and a few phone calls later, he sat with Kaylee, hand in hand while they rode in the limousine towards the parking lot of the charter jet service.

The jet sparkled with a coat of white paint and a stylized sun on the tail sat with the turbine blades slowly in the breeze that blew over the airport.

The muscular arms of Captain Watson were visible to Kaylee when the limo pulled up in front of the private entrance.

Lettie opened the door and let the couple out and touched Tom on the forearm.

‟You two make a good couple. Both of you are artists and compliment each other.” Lettie looked at them both. ‟If it costs me your business, I don’t care, I just had to say that.”

‟Lettie,” Kaylee smiled. ‟It is something I have to do. It’s a promise I have to keep.”

‟Lettie, you’re good.” Tom kissed her cheek. ‟You will always have my business when I am in Northern California.”

Nodding, Lettie told Tom that her number was always open and he could have any car he wanted in her inventory at any time, including a new MRAP-style limousine ready to go into service in the next few weeks.

‟That does not sound like something to take to a book-signing.” Tom laughed.

‟You’d be surprised what people think they like to ride in.” Lettie shook his hand. ‟I supply it so they don’t have to buy one or sign up for three years into the army.”

‟Thank you for your words, Lettie.” Kaylee hugged her. ‟I hope to see you again.”

‟You can find me on Google-plus. Facebook I don’t use anymore, they charge too much.” Lettie hugged tightly back.

‟Same name?” Kaylee asked.

‟Yeah. Or you can look up ‟sexy biker bitch”. That will get you to me.”

‟You bet I will.” Kaylee smiled.

Watching Lettie drive away in her limo, Tom and Kaylee walked inside, greeted by Captain Watson.

‟Hello Tom.” The tanned face of the retired military pilot smiled as the author of so many novels entered the building, followed by Kaylee .

‟And Missus Harte.” The Captain smiled warmly. The most emotion Kaylee had seen the professional pilot express.

‟Kaylee , please.” The younger woman asked.

‟Of course, Kaylee .”

‟Regina, my plans are to do business in Vegas and return by morning.” Tom said, in a matter of fact tone. He did not start with his usual small-talk.

‟Thank you, I learned it was you and where you said you wished to go. The Lear is ready to fly. I have just to file a flight plan. Kevin Nunez is my right-seat and he is on the plane now. Please see him and make yourself comfortable, I will be there in ten-minutes, we will be wheels-up in twenty.”

Kaylee and Tom nodded and walked out the door towards the Leer Jet holding hands.

‟I hear they are going to Vegas to get an annulment.” Another pilot mentioned to Watson. ‟They were talking about it when I was standing outside.”

Captain Watson stood up from the phone where she had filed the flight plan.

‟I have had worse.” She gave a heavy sigh. ‟Mister Harte is a regular customer.”

‟Don’t you know him?” The first pilot, a handsome twenty-something buzz-cut hairstyle co-pilot of mixed race.

‟Why do you use his last name?” The older cargo-pilot said. “He insists on first name.”

‟I use a formal addressing when talking in third-party conversations. It is respectful to Mister Harte and all he has done. I give him all the respect he is due, and when talking to me about others, I would expect the same.” Watson then turned on her heel and walked out.

‟Bitch.” The young cargo pilot muttered under his breath and received a punch in his shoulder by Buzz-cut.

On the jet, Captain Watson stepped into the cabin and smiled at the couple.

‟Tom, I have heard of your plans in Las Vegas. I must say that I could not disagree more with this trip.” The Captain said. “Kaylee here is the  bandage to the scars on your heart and soul. You must know that I had to address that. You always have said to speak my mind, even if you don’t want to hear it.” She did not smile, but nodded in self-agreement, turned to make her way forward and sat in her seat. Captain Watson, after speaking her mind put on the headset for the radio and began her check off for startup procedures in the all glass cockpit.

One at a time, the engines spun up, giving Kaylee the thrill she had the last time of being in a race car of the sky.

‟Tom, this is exciting, I know why you like to fly. But why don’t you have something like this?”

‟Well, I don’t like to stay in one place for very long. The paparazzi start sniffing around, they have already started it with the long-range picture of us on top of the Pacific Wizard.” Tom looked out the window as they taxied to the runway. ‟When I go, I won’t tell anyone my destination. I can upload manuscripts over the internet from anywhere. There are a lot of places in the immediate area that I can put down on — not counting airports — and live there for a while.”

‟You were going to move away when I went back to school?”

‟You would have to learn how to drive a different route each time.” Tom chuckled. ‟I’m not much of an interest to those jackals at the moment, so hiding out is easy. Just moving from one place to another in the area, I have dozens of bodies of water and airports. They would spend too much time looking for me than they would be paid for.”

‟Until they’d find out about me.”

‟Then we would be fodder for the monsters of the tabloids.” Tom frowned. ‟They would hunt us to the grave like they did a princess.”

‟Oh, oh! The engines are wound up to take off!”

‟Wound up?” Tom chuckled.

‟Whatever they call it when they step on the gas pedal.”

‟Uh. There is no gas pedal.” Tom was looking at her sideways. ‟You sat up front with me in the Wizard.”

‟Well, yeah. I just wanted to make you laugh.”

‟You made me worried.” Tom laughed. ‟Early onset Alzheimer’s or some such.”

‟Well, it worked.” Kaylee blinked, the jet felt like it was a horse at a starting gate, anxious for speed. ‟Omy gawd! Here we go!”

The sleek jet began to roll with the brakes off. Gathering speed, the rakish plane with swept wings did not find the end of its acceleration like one would with a car. The faster it went, the faster it accelerated as it overcame its imprisonment of the earth and to the sky like a soul on fire.

Then, suddenly, it rotated up on its back landing gear and quit the earth while Kaylee made noises like a teapot on full boil.

‟I LOVE that!” She laughed hysterically with her eyes closed.

Tom laughed at her squeal while they gained altitude.

After several minutes, they leveled off and banked into a turn towards the southeast, towards Las Vegas.

‟I hope this is fast, my arm aches.” Tom moaned slightly.

‟How long as it been hurting?” Kaylee said, suddenly alarmed.

‟About ten-minutes. Just before we took off I think I bumped it.”

‟Tom. Damn. You cannot do this to yourself.” Kaylee touched his fingers, feeling the tips and making sure they were warm and the correct color, even if stained with the iodine-betadine ‟Bug Juice” (as one nurse called it and made her laugh.) that covered his arm.

Picking up the phone, as she learned to do on the last trip north from Ocean Bay.

‟Captain, can we see you back here, please?”

A moment later, Regina Watson appeared.

‟Yes? Tom?” She focused instantly on the pale writer.

‟It’s nothing, my arm aches a little.”

Captain Watson blinked.

‟How long?” The Captain asked.

‟A few minutes.” Tom was becoming pale from the pain.

‟Like a man.” Kaylee growled. ‟It began to hurt him right before we blasted off.”

Looking around, the Captain asked Tom.

‟What did your doctor say about flying? Maybe I should declare and emergency and put down.” She grimaced. ‟What kind of injury did you have, Tom?”

‟Nothing much, I got stuck with a shard of glass in my forearm.”

‟Say the truth. Regina, it cut his tendons and everything down to the bone. Even cut the bone.” Kaylee said. ‟But his fingers are warm and when I press on the nails, it returns to color fast.”

‟That is serious surgery for a man that makes his life with typing.” Captain Watson was sounding as serious as a sidewinder missile. ‟MISTER Harte.”

‟Kaylee , I am the all-seeing, all-knowing, unforgiving Queen of The Sky here and you will address me as Captain. But my first name, Regina, please feel free to use it when we are on land. You and I will get Tom back into shape.” Regina smiled. ‟What is causing you to go to Vegas to get divorced?”

‟Annulment.” Tom said helpfully, but then cringed when both women looked at him. ‟Crap on a cracker, sorry. I’ll just take the nearest exit.”

‟Just be quiet, Tom.” Regina said. ‟You are an injured party and not thinking clearly. This is obvious.”

‟Well, honestly.” Kaylee said quietly. ‟I have requested to get this annulled.”

‟If I may ask.” The Captain didn’t smile. “Why?”

*Does she ever smile?* Kaylee shuddered at Captain Watson’s intense air of authority.

‟This was not supposed to happen. I have someone at home I made a promise to. Tom is good enough to let me go, so all this is my fault.” Kaylee said. ‟Although I there is a lot of pressure on me to stay with Tom from all sides. Every one of his friends have stood up for him. But still, I have to keep my promise.”

‟I don’t agree.” Captain Watson said. ‟You made a promise with Tom.”

Tom raised his hand.

‟Can I say something?”

‟No!” The women answered in stereo. Then both women laughed while he cringed.

Captain R.M. Watson’s laugh was frightening, a sound like someone might make when shooting down an enemy.

‟I have a boy at home that believed me when I said I would marry him.” Kaylee explained. “When Tom and I did this, it was a kind of crazy party and I had a blackout night.”

‟Were you on drugs?” Regina looked at Tom who held up his hands.

‟Of my own hand. I like to smoke and drink. It makes party life that much more fun. I woke up married to Tom, so we never dated but the one night.”

‟Ah, okay. Princess Anna on a cane. You seriously married him on your first date? Drunk to the point of no memory of the evening?”

‟Yes.” Kaylee tried to look the Captain in her eye, but was unable.

Captain R. M. Watson was quiet for a moment.

Then she laughed.

‟I did the same thing with my first husband. Kaylee, at least you aren’t pregnant.” She pondered for a moment, pulling at her chin. ‟Are you?”

‟Not so far as we can tell.” Kaylee gave a timid laugh.

‟Okay, I understand, you started your contract with each other in the worst way. At least you are friendly to each other. With Tom hurting, I’ll pick the pace up a bit. We will make for maximum speed, it’ll save us some time.”

Nodding with a soft smile. She turned and made her way back to her seat in the front of the speeding jet.

Kaylee looked at Tom.

‟You have more friends that fight for you than any ten people, combined.” She stroked his face.

Tom smiled weakly, his arm was causing him more pain by the moment and he was not prepared to argue.

“Captain. He is getting worse.” She yelled to the cockpit. The Captain nodded as she answered.

“We just got clearance for our flight change.”

Then…

Kaylee did not think possible, but she felt the small jet accelerate.

Married by Mistake Chapter 34. Flight Plans

MbM
Standard

Chapter 34. Flight Plans

Kaylee finished dressing while Tom pulled on his clothes in awkward silence.

“Why are you mad at me?” Tom said as they walked across the tarmac to the flight control office.

“If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.” Her words chilled the air.

Tom rolled his eyes in that way that drives women crazy and would turn Mother Theresa into a club wielding banshee if she had seen it.

Half-way from the office in the three-hundred meter hike, Kaylee started to laugh and took Tom’s hand.

“I’m sorry. But I kind of thought you would be a little heartbroken.” She smiled. “I was hurt you are just okay with it.”

“Kaylee, no, I’m not okay with it.” Tom said as they walked through the door. “But, if I trapped you here, what good would that do? You’d leave anyway and never return. My way, it stings like a slap, but you might decide that you like life on the Pacific Wizard and the need to renew your passport once-a-decade.”

“Renew my passport? What do you mean?”

“You can’t leave home without it. If we went anywhere, like the U.K. to watch Doctor Manga’s installation for example, you will need that silly-assed bit of paper and plastic.”

“Hm. I don’t know, Tom. You make me feel…”

The clerk walked in and Tom pulled a form from the slot and began to fill in the blanks.

They finished the paperwork in ten-minutes, filed with the person behind the desk and walked out, Kaylee felt a pang of sadness when Tom took her hand as they walked back to the Flying Sea Dragon.

“I’m serious, Kaylee. I don’t want to see you go. But there is an old poster about a butterfly or a bird or something, you let it go and if it returns, et-cetera.”

“Yeah. Who knows. Maybe Glenn needs to tell me he is gay and everything is off, because he is in love with some guy named Joe Young or something.”

“We talked about this, I don’t want to think I’m a consolation prize. You make me smile wide because you are my wife.” Tom smiled at her. “But I laugh because I am your husband.”

“What?” Kaylee blinked. “I don’t understand you, you are talking in riddles.”

“No riddle. I smile because I got such a great treasure, if I can count you as such, and in comparison, you got the joke prize. I got a better deal by far out of this whole situation than you did.”

Tom laughed out loud at this.

For a moment, Kaylee pondered what he had said.

Then she began to laugh.

“Tom, you are the treasure. Never say otherwise.” She kissed his hand and continued to swing it in hers.

“Yeah. Ain’t ever going to happen. I’m just a writer, I am not a treasure. You are the gem in this relationship. I’m a damaged diamond, a shattered sapphire, a pulverized pearl, a…”

“Okay, enough. And you are not.” Kaylee said pulling on his hand as they got close to the big jet. “You have had more sorrow than anyone should be allowed, but you are awesome. You make me draw and paint. You keep me turned on, creatively speaking.”

“I thought…” Tom was winking like a dirty old man in a bar.

“Shh. I am being serious and trying to tell you my heart, you are trying to make a joke.”

“Sorry.”

“Men are all alike.”

“Well. Yeah. We’re married at the moment, I’m supposed to act like that, it’s in the rule book.”

“You are changing the subject.” She growled at him. “Is this bothering you?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Okay, well, I would like to go back to my old life, but it is not going to happen. You have already spoiled me.”

“That is a good job, spoiling you. Glenn will have to work that much harder.” Tom said as they approached the Sea Dragon.

“You have raised the bar high on that.”

“I hope so.”

“Where are we going now?” Kaylee asked as Tom walked past the steps going up to the door of the jet.

“Over here to the service office on the far side of the hanger. I need to do a couple of things. first is to make sure the payment for the services is complete and two, that the inspection by the FAA officer clears the Dragon for flight. I want to go over it together with him and make sure that nothing falls off the yacht while we are airborne, that would go into the bad column.”

“What if we took a commercial flight?”

“We could, but then we would be at the mercy of the commercial operators and TSA officers that are tasked with complex jobs that now take hours what used to take minutes when our grandparents traveled. Back in the day of Humphry Bogart and Casablanca.”

“I wish it would be like that. I could so make a charcoal of that.”

“How long would it take you?”

“I… I don’t know, why do you ask?”

“Well, I need to find that pain in my neck FAA agent or we have to charter a plane, or we have to buy tickets and wander over to the terminal and be tourists in Vegas. It may take hours to do that last part, just to leave on a commercial airline, so you might go do some drawing?”

“And leave the business to you while I entertain myself? Hardly, Mr. Harte. I am not just along for the ride, I will help you make this happen, even if it is my choice— right or wrong. I control my destiny.”

“One day, Missus Harte, you will be in charge of your own house of beauty, painting and sculpture. You will be an artist in demand.” Tom nodded. “You have the attitude.”

“Right? Just for now, I have to finish another year of college, get my business admin minor out of the way. Melanie will help me, we keep each other balanced with life’s challenges.”

“I would like to get to know Melanie better.” Tom smiled.

“Tom, do you plan to replace me, already?”

“Heh. No.” He back-pedaled quickly. “She just sounds like a good friend to have. And she likes my movie.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it. She is a true fan and in love with some of your characters. The airship pirates, some of the princes. Her costume for Halloween last year was the red-headed pirate princess, I can’t remember the character’s name.”

“Julia Aquila.”

“Yeah! That’s it, Melanie makes a good Princess Aquila.”

“SteamLand is fun to write.”

“Is? It’s not finished?”

“Heck-no. There are lots of adventures for the Sky-Pirate empire to deal with.” Tom smiled with the memory of writing the novel series.

“I thought you liked to write children books now?”

“Yeah, that is fun, but SteamLand.” Tom smiled wide. “I really enjoy writing. So much fun with that. Roman times, airship pirates, steam-powered arrows, demi-gods. A lot of fun.”

“Demi-god?”

“Oh. Ut-oh. Spoiler-alert.” Tom laughed. “Let’s go over here. This way we can talk without being distracted.

Together they went to cancel flight plans and charter an executive jet, instead of taking the yacht.

Married by Mistake Chapter 26. Papers

MbM
Standard

Chapter 26. Papers

Kaylee left the medical center after they settled Tom back his room. He had been in a bit of pain as the nurses bathed him and gave medications to help him sleep.

She walked across the macadam surface of the airport to the hangar where the Flying Sea Dragon sat, she could barely keep from sobbing the trip from the hospital.

It hurt so much to even think of those papers that sat somewhere inside the plane, waiting.

She rode in silence in a taxi she caught at random to the airport, she did not want to ride with anyone who knew Tom, knew of Tom or had even heard about his books.

She had a serious need to sit and drink wine and smoke a bowl with her sister and talk.

She missed the afternoons with Melanie like they had in their teens. They had barely graduated from high school, but as the best of friends and the worst of enemies, they would be in a furious scream-fest fight for minutes, then would be the best of friends as they settled down for a toke.

But no outsider dare make either of them cry.

Woe be unto the person that faced the wrath of the Grant sisters. It would make for an epic bad day when both sisters would turn on the offending person with fury that only sisters, family, and those of the same heart and soul have.

As they grew older, and although they took different classes and their lives were on different paths, they became closer still.

Opening the door of the big jet, she looked down at the broken glass that still lay on the floor.

And blood! Everywhere, large black clots that cemented fibers of the carpet into a mat with choking copper-smell. It surprised her the amount that soaked into the carpet on the floor. A body-trail in the glass where he crawled to the door and yelled for help at the plane’s technicans and engineers.

She stepped past the gore and glass that almost ended Tom’s life and perhaps did end his life as a writer.

She sat at the chair and looked where the papers in the manila envelope waited, filed in the cubby-hole that Tom told her about.

She thought of Melanie and all the fights they had while she sat in the Flying Sea Dragon and held the annulment papers in her hands.

*Tom said I just had to sign on the lines in the document and mail it with…*

With…

She slumped in the chair and a wept.

*It’s strange, this is just what I wanted four-weeks ago! Now I have a serious temptation to put it in the washing machine, somewhere on the plane. Except, damn, I’m not sure where it is, hidden behind some cabinet door.* Kaylee took a heavy breath, *I’m not sure if this is wise.*

Her hands trembled when she found the place to sign in the back of the document.

She slipped the papers into the manilla envelope they were paper-clipped to, she closed and sealed the package and walked out the door of the big flying yacht.

*The Flying Sea Dragon is not as big as the Pacific Wizard is inside, it’s more cluttered with furniture, bulky items to make it feel close. Still, a comfortable plane to live in.*

*A flying yacht.* She reminded herself as she walked across the airport to the main offices.

She nearly didn’t get to mail it, the woman behind the counter almost gave it back because of Kaylee ’s facial expressions and the slumped-sad way she carried herself.

“Miss, I don’t know what you have in this, and it’s not my place to say. But do you really want to send this?” She looked as if she might have known Ben Franklin when she started for the post-office. Not a trace of color in the great-grandmotherly hair.

With the postage stamped on the envelope, the woman gave Kaylee one more look, a last chance to change her mind, then slowly it into the slot behind her and it was in the US mail with a required a signature on delivery at the court.

Once the clerk of the court received and signed for the papers, in the eyes of the government, it never happened.

It would be as if she was never married.

While Kaylee walked out to the sidewalk she dialed the number on the business card that the Chauffeur Kaikane had given her and told her to call anytime she needed a ride. This time it would be to the hospital. She would tell Tom that she signed the papers, but she was not sure about how she felt.

After breaking the line with Kaikane and his peaceful voice, she hit speed-dial and called Melanie .

‟KAY!” Melanie was always excited to hear from her sister. ‟Where are you?”

‟San Francisco. Tom has had a good run of luck with the doctors since his accident.”

‟You need to come home quick as you can. Glenn is here and he has asked for you, he said it’s important.” Melanie said in a conspiratorial tone. ‟I think he is going to ask the question.”

‟Oh.” Her heart finished the phrase. *Damn.*

‟You don’t sound excited.” Melanie became quiet, shocked at the response. “This is what you have waited for since you were kids.”

‟I just signed the papers and sent them off to Nevada. I stop being married and never was according to the state once the papers arrive.”

‟Oh sis. But this is what you want, right?”

‟I don’t know. Tom needs me.” Kaylee was quiet as she waited for the limo. “You should see his eyes. Mellie, he is a good man, he cares for so many things and he’s in pain because of me.”

‟But he was alone before he met you, and it’s only been a month.” Melanie said helpfully. ‟And you said he nearly crashed the plane with you in it.”

‟He showed the wine country off to me from the plane.” She was defensive all of a sudden. “Melanie , it was beautiful, right up until we hit the birds, scared me so bad I think I nearly peed myself.”

At the other end, her best friend and sister laughed, knowing Kaylee the way she did, for her to say something like that was funny.

They talked as sisters do over the phone. Switching to video chat while she waited for the contract limousine to pick her up.

‟Why don’t you take a cab?” Melanie asked as Kaylee sat on a bench and waited in the shade of a tree.

‟No. If this is my last limo ride I don’t have to pay for, I want to enjoy it as much as I can. Besides, there is a hot Hawaiian that drives it. You’d love him. Surfer type, intelligent as any professor, knows more about sensemilla than a DEA cop.”

Melanie laughed so hard she snorted, then held her hand over the lens while she composed herself.

‟Stringbean? You know I can still hear you.” Kaylee took her turn of laughter, using the nickname that they worked out as children. This only made Melanie laugh that much harder.

Melanie Grant was the only person in the world that could make Kaylee laugh when things were at their darkest.

Kaylee hated her for that…

Which made her laugh all the harder, she loved her sister more than anyone else in her generation. They were, after all…

Sisters.

The Failed Getaway

Hypnos the cat gives a command
Standard

The Failed Getaway

A short story by Dash McCallen

Bodies had piled up around his farm. Malam Plando’s farm was a garden of horrors anywhere the police dug into the ground.

In the end, charged with sixty-two separate counts of murder, it was common thought he had a list longer than the investigators discovered.

His trial lasted over a year.

The Verdict?

Guilty.

Sentence?

Death.

In the six-months after his conviction and his move to Death Row, his turn came. Few people who the courts convicted in recent decades, executions happened quickly. Three appeals, expedited to last no more than two months.

He, it was his name and he was about to scream it out loud in laughter.

Inmate number 1854X-195S5-1-31E walked with confidence to the execution chamber. In a glass-walled room with blinds obscuring the view to the chamber beyond, the guards assigned to his restraint, wordlessly strapped him to a padded, vertical board.

With some effort they rotated him and the board so that he was in a supine position.

*Taking the last bit of dignity I have*

He shook his head.

*Idiots. They don’t even know what is coming.*

Two days before, his wife paid a visit to him for one last “Conjugal” visit.

His brother passed on to him in a video stored in her phone.

“Courage brother! When they think they come for you, we have an answer.”

He laughed.

*The left strap is already loose, it won’t be hard get the arm out.*

A chill from the sterile swab then the sharp sting when the technician stuck the IV catheter in the antecubetal space of his left arm.

Dark humor. They were thinking he was going to die, why did they use a sterile technique?

“Do you have any last words?” A disembodied voice sounded and the blinds opened, revealing a crowd sitting in the gallery.

“Yeah. I’m a little thirsty. When you get the call, I want my water with light ice.”

The sound clicked off and for a moment, the room was quiet except for the sound of his cardiac monitor. An old style display that gave off a mosquito-like whine that he could hear.

He could see a different color fluid creep down towards his arm.

They already began the execution and the clock…

It ticked past the time, they were late! His rescue was not coming!

Then the lights went out, only the setting sun slanted through the high windows in the chamber.

Malam opened his eyes, they did not focus properly for a moment, but there was no noise.

The tubing in his arm pinched slightly when he scratched his nose.

Then Malam blinked.

His arm was free! Someone had released the strap when the techs and guards fled during the blackout.

*Cowards.*

*But I have not heard any alarms. Some of the drug ran into my arm put me to sleep for a little while.*

Malam grinned.

*People thought I died when the power went out.*

Laughing, the thought of his walking out of the room when no one was looking tickled his soul.

He already had plans for the judges and their families as he stalked the hallway down to where the body-hauler would park.

Darkness in the hallways, only the sunlight from the outside filtered in, it was odd, not even the guards were around, prisoners were gone, too.

*There must have been a hell of a scare to evacuate the other inmates.*

And the gates were open, no doors locked.

As promised, Malam walked free, laughing at the power outage orchestrated by his family and caused the sheep to run frightened.

Even the prisoners bolted, maybe even taken by bus, but no matter.

*Screw them all! I’m free, next stop, where Judge Alkar Chronqui’s family was. I’ll break into the home and put his head.*

Malam looked around and frowned, someone might see him cut across the field towards town, but the power was out and the sun set. Darkness was coming and dark thoughts on his first in town grew in his mind.

Malam smiled, it would be full dark before he got through the open area and to the city park to his cache where he hid his kit of tape, knives, drugs, rope and energy bars.

*The drugs would have expired, I can’t use them on my clients, it might kill them.*

More laughter as he covered the ground towards town when he kicked something in the tall grass and tripped.

A body!

eviscerated, still steaming when he stood up. The coppery smell of blood came from his prison issue shirt.

He was covered in blood.

“Gawd Dayuam! Dey’s comin’ outta de groun’s Ostus! Der’s anudder one! Git ‘im!”

He sqautted down, fishing around the body, looking for a weapon of any kind.

The sound of a baseball bat sounded in his ears. A sound of a grunt, a wheeze of a death rattle, he realized that whoever it was had not seen him.

He crawled through the grass carefully, towards the voices.

His heart was standing still, his breath was wheezing in his ears as he got closer to the voices.

If he could get a jump on them, what a wonderful twist of irony, he could kill someone killing someone.

He could see the top if their heads. They carried bats with nails driven into the fat end.

“No’ so easy ta make a soun’ wit yer throat stuck full’a holes, ain’tit a bish!”

The sounds of thumping and the bloody fluids made a mist. Malam could smell the blood in the air and it excited him.

Malam struck, leaping up and grabbing the first one, called Ostus.

His hands were stronger than he thought when he broke Ostus’ neck, taking the bat, he broke the head of the other wannabe killer.

But the look Ostus and his partner had when he came up, bloodied and muddy, they acted as if they saw the dead rising from the graves.

Malam laughed, carrying the bat with him, he walked off towards the town. He saw another man stand up, also wearing standard-issue.

“Thanks, they were doing everyone from the prison.” The darkness hid the convicts eyes, but they glittered with a mixture of anger and fear. “I want to kill the judge for putting me in there. Then find each and every one of the jurors. I’ve not seen anyone for years, they don’t come to visit.”

“Let’s go. What were you in for?”

“They said I was a cannibal. I was not, they were chewed on by rats.” The pair moved towards the town. “I’m N’oi.”

“Malam. What kind of name is N’oi?”

“What kind of name is Malam?”

“It means Evil. It is what my mother called me.” Malam shrugged and the pair moved off into the dark.

A cop car, the officers were looking at something when the pair stepped out from behind the trees.

Malam gasped at the cops when they turned towards the pair’s approach.

Blood stained their faces and soaked the dark uniforms in a slick that glistened in the dark with coagulated blood.

One officer chewed on an object that looked like a forearm, the other had a foot.

Frozen in their steps,  and the officers saw them and dropped the nightmare snacks and walked towards Malam and N’oi.

Looking at his fellow escapee, the huge convict stood there, drooling, his skin ashen and made no other human sound.

Then N’oi looked at him with eyes that were all wrong, then reached out to Malam with hunger and a snarl.

Malam crushed N’oi’s head with the bat in a single swing and took off in a run. Leaving the cop-things to ponder over the body he left behind, Malam fled to the park.

He sat at the base of a tree he had marked long ago and dug with his hands.

*Those cops… I’ve never seen anyone do that before. That was crazy! Holy crap. Cannibals? Shit! Shit! Shit!*

And he could outrun them with the power of fear.

*That’s another thing that’s bat-shit crazy, cops can run and they do not give up. And… Where the hell is everyone?*

Roads were empty, not a single car to wave down. The town would be quiet at the late hour, but this was a total absense of driven vehicles.

Grimacing at the cold shirt that stuck against his body with clotted blood and made him shiver.

*I need a fresh change of clothes.*

Bodies in the park were milling around, a part of the late summer evening with no power anywhere. He could kill one and take the shirt.

*No, first get the hell out of sight and raid the laundromat. No chance of blood on clothes.*

He slipped through the door, among the quiet machines in the dark of the community laundry.

Looking in through the clear windows into the machines, many held suds and water. A few were dry.

One opened when he pulled on the handle and he found two polo shirts and a hoodie sweatshirt.

As he dressed, he disposed of the bloody mess of a prison uniform shirt and found a pair of jeans that fit.

*A little tight, but they will loosen up some.*

He turned around, a person sat in the corner with their back to him.

He slipped out and looked at her in the light of the rising moon that filtered through the glass. He thought he recognized the heavy-set girl by tattoos of roses on her neck.

It was a memory, like a faded photograph from long ago. She had died pleading that she was pregnant while Malam tied a plastic bag over her head.

*No. Impossible, she is long dead. Part of my collection.*

Malam ran through the shadows of the street, heading to the middle of town. Shuffling people began to follow him. Some chewed on finger-food.

*They’re eating real fingers! The insane asylum must have had a break out!*

He almost screamed when he heard another scream nearby. A man’s voice pleading to anyone for help.

He ran around the corner away from the sound, looking over his shoulder and made sure no one followed him.

And into the middle of it.

*Damned echos!*

Bloodied, shredded. The burly man used the broken picket of a fence as a make-shift weapon.

*Damned good use of a stick!* Malam nodded.

The street fighter turned to throw a walking winged nightmare onto the steel pickets of an iron gate when he spotted Malam.

“Shot! gun! Get the Damned shotgun!” He pointed with the stick at the dropped weapon, surrounded by shells of ammunition.

A scream and he fell over a curb when he backed up from the force of the mob attack by the black bat-winged things.

Malam scooped up the scattergun and cleared the chamber, stuffed two shells into the receiver and turned the weapon to the mass of bodies where screams of battle filled the black sky.

“That all you got! Take this! AAAH! Bite me! Bite this!”

The shotgun bucked in Malam’s hands scattering bat-wings and black flesh while he racked in another round.

Second shot freed the big fighting man.

The tatters of his shirt were a uniform.

*Cop!?* Malam shook his head. *I saved a cop.*

The officer tried to take another step and looked down and screamed again, this time with the sound of a man who knew the unthinkable.

The left leg was denuded of flesh below the knee, two bones stuck out were the creatures chewed off his leg. The look of a man resigned, he was bleeding to death.

“Run!” He yelled at Malam. “Too late for me, get out of here.”

*Don’t tell me twice!* Malam ran with his pockets full of shotgun shells and the big pump-action weapon out in front of him.

His last view was some creature that looked like a cat out of someone’s nightmare on the cops head and chewed while the one-legged man fought like a whirlwind of fists.

Then one fist.

The last Malam saw as he turned the corner was a pile of wings where the cop had been.

*Now where the hell to go?*

The police department would be a good place to go, someplace safe!

*Yeah, right.*

Malam walked around the corner towards the center of town and watched a woman fall under the attack of a pack of skeletonized dogs.

*Okay. Police station, good choice. No one will check on me while this shit goes on!*

He turned and ran to the one place he swore he would never go back to.

He ran headlong into the glass doors— Locked!

*Locked? When the hell does a police station lock doors?*

A noise behind him! A group of creatures followed his movements on the steps.

In front of the group, he he recognized the lesbian couple, his first hunt!

*No. Not possible.* He shook his head. *Damn, stop thinking and run! I have to run! What is happening with the world?*

A car, an ancient Ford with the door open sat on the side of the street, he could mess with that and get it started.

Savage panic set in, Malam ran.

He could see more creatures, a cat with eight-legs coming out of the shadows looked at him and screamed his name!

No, not out of the shadows, out of the ground! It lifted up a manhole cover and crawled out of the sewers.

Panting and sweating like a horse. He stopped in the middle of a park, but not a park, it was the rural cemetery.

*How the hell did I get here?* He needed to get back to the center of town, steal a cop car if he needed! He counted the shells to the shotgun. *Twenty. Twenty shells plus six in the magazine and one in the pipe. Not enough. Son of a bitch.*

A cold hand grabbed him from a bush, feeling for a pulse? He was on no one’s menu!

He forgot his shotgun, the mind of the murderer had only one thought.

*Run!*

He pulled his hand free- or did it let go?

It did not matter, he ran! Out of the ground they came towards him. He recognized them. People he cut up, ran over, burned.

He needed to find tools! Break into a shed or a hardware store if need be.

They were coming, sibilant sounds of horrors that crawled in the bushes, wheezes of these creatures that stumbled, shuffled, walked towards him.

*Fuck! I gotta to run!*

From behind, naked cats with eight-arms that ended in black hands and needle-sharp claws, screamed like the tortured victims of his shop, leapt and swung from trees and crawled like giant spiders over headstones.

Into the darkness Malam Plando ran, chased by familiar faces of walking dead, creatures from nightmares he never had.

His mind broke while he ran with the screams that echoed long and loud in the long-dark night.

****

The execution chamber of the prison, unused for so long, no one could remember how seating was arranged. The sun slanting in blinded some, overheated the room and it was stuffy and awkward.

The witnesses watched the last breath of Malam Plando.

“I hope he is in Hell and suffers a thousand deaths for each one he committed.” The father of a princess who he gave away to another princess at the two women’s wedding.

Turning and walking out. Yor Bas’chet got his wish in ways he never knew.

Doctor Drake checked for a lack of pulse to match the flatline on the screen nodded then paused.

“I would swear he pulled against my hand.” The doctor leaned over and looked into the dead prisoner’s eyes. “He was a coward in the end, look at the fear on his face, the jaw set and lips pulled back as if he was about to scream, eyes wide open. I’d say he was afraid to die.”

“Good for him.” The guard said. “Coroner is here. Let them take him out now.”

“Good, have him sent to Doctor Sherlock Quincy, I want him autopsied. Someone like this needs to be studied, we will slice his brain up and study it.”

“You’re the doc, Doc.” The Lieutenant nodded and made a notation on the notepad.

In the core of the world, Malam became aware someone spoke of cutting him apart.

*Fuck that! I gotta hide.*

Malam Plando continued to run.

Married by Mistake Chapter 23. Realization

MbM
Standard

Chapter 23. Realization

She sat in the window seat while Tom slept. It was a strange emotion. She felt empowered, Kaylee looked out the window while Tom slept. He was unaware of the conflict that had just happened between her and the publisher, she needed to tell him that his agent came in and she chased the woman and her broom out of the hospital.

Kaylee ’s heart raced with the adrenalin rush of the collision between her and the business woman who drove Tom to write while in bed and at all waking hours.

Between the machines that beeped and sterile smells, she realized that Tom would not come home from the hospital in time to sign the annulment, she would be married when she went home in the next two weeks.

*Maybe.* She shook her head. *Drat!*

*Why is it, it seems that the world wants me with Tom?* She bit her nails for a moment. Falling back on a bad habit. *In my dreams, I’ve always painted a life with Glenn, I imagined it with all the glitter and hues of happiness. A life of birds, forests, even nights were adventures. Now it is going to pieces faster than I can think, this past three weeks has been fun, but it has been a blur. I don’t know what else to do.*

She ran the memories through her head like a movie, looking for something that she had done right for a change.

All of the memories ended in a rough landing in a river, then Tom’s injury while he carried a large piece of glass out of the plane, alone like a foolish human male when service crews surrounded him after she left and went back to Ocean Bay. It became apparent that he was fortunate that people were there. If he had been alone?

*I could be his widow.* She blocked that out. *I don’t want to think about that.*

As soon as she found about his accident, she felt compelled to come be by his side, to answer questions and sign papers and protect him, this man who lived his life as a bachelor-hermit and would-be-hero.

She laughed even though she felt tears in hear heart. He was a hero.

All from that Friday. That one day that was the domino that caused other pieces to fall in a pattern that now made her focus on how she walked through her life.

Cut tires on her car, those could not be avoided and if it were not for Tom, her tires would still be flat. Then the attack on the beach later that same day.

*Then! OMG! That professor!* If ever she wanted to have a list of people she wanted to break, he was number one.

Kaylee longed for some peace and quiet.

*I just want to paint and have time to sculpt. This is a summer that tops all summers, even when I hitchhiked across Europe and lived in those hostels when I could afford it.*

That was a summer of adventure and excitement that she had sought out, this summer, all the adventure and craziness came at her.

Now, she sat in a hospital room with someone who was her husband with a serious injury, a man she did not know just a few weeks before.

And she was protective of him.

*Like a wife.*

That word again. Wife.

It haunted her, maybe even make her re-think her use of pharmaceuticals and mixing them all to party with people. Sometimes she did not know who she partied with.

She needed to finish college, that much was certain, two years left to go, plus grad school if dad would pay… At least part… of it.

Melanie , her sister and confidant would to go to school at the same time and their parents were always on the verge of not paying the bills. Tuition for school was expensive with the costs of two apartments, they groaned under the costs while running their businesses.

But as a wife, this would have consequences that she could not even dream of. Tom might help, he was that kind of person. But even if his hair was not gray, he was still older than she would normally date.

Covering her eyes in a flash of almost-laughing.

*Date? I’m was married to the man.*

He could even be a wife-beater like the tabloids said.

*No.* She shook her head. *If anything he is the most kind, gentle and generous person that ever tapped a keyboard. Tom is a man who someone could care about.*

He was someone who walked alone after the death of his family, some would say the his experiences broke him, but Tom healed with the writing children books and the novels of passion for the adults.

If anything Tom had, it was heart.

And a good one at that. Kaylee smiled softly to herself.

Slowly stroking his hand, Randy the Nurse came in and checked the pump next to Tom’s bed.

“Tom’s temperature has gone up a little, the Doctor has ordered an antibiotic in his IV pump.” Randy said it as if he it tickled him to do his job. “We got the pizza by the way, everyone did! It was amazing to see so many deliveries at the same time. Tom, thank you.”

Tom, heavily dosed a half-hour earlier mumbled then drifted away again into his narcotic dream world.

Randy leaned over to Kaylee .

“Would you like a slice of pizza? Mister Harte is sleeping, I’ll slip you some before he wakes up.”

“Pissa?” A mumbled voice from the bed. “I sshmeell peet- sa.”

“Shhh, Tom.” Kaylee whispered to his ear. “You need to rest.”

“Oh bull! Someone has pizza!” he was more awake now. “You are sneaky, I thought you were nice.”

“I have a permanent spot on Santa’s naughty list.”

Tom laughed, then moaned.

“Please, no jokes, it hurts when I laugh.”

Kaylee took her turn to laugh and left to get a slice of pizza.

“How long did it take to get here?” Tom asked Randy as the nurse tinkered around the room, setting up the IV pump on a strange-looking pole with wheels. Resembling a metal spider at the bottom with the eight-wheeled suspension that held up the chrome-plated T-topped pole.

“It took a little while, the pizza store called to verify that it was really you. A couple of hours after that, it took five delivery guys nearly an hour to bring it all in. They had to make ten trips!”

“More than 30 minutes, it’s free.” Tom tried to laugh, and groaned in pain again as he moved his wounded arm.

“I don’t think this counts.” Randy laughed as he went about his job.

“Can Tom have a slice of pizza?” Kaylee asked as she came back into the room.

“Yes, no problem about that, he has technically been eating since yesterday.” Randy nodded, a bit of marinara sauce on his upper lip, while he chewed. “Technically, I’m not supposed to eat outside of the back-room, but the Doctor insisted that we get this piggyback set up.”

“I’d buy him a pizza, too. Say, what is his office’s address?” Tom asked.

“They are closed by now, try it tomorrow if you like.” Randy said. “I”ll be back, I have to go to attend to another room.”

“Hey, naughty girl, would you give me a bite or three of that pizza slice?” Tom smiled, he was getting stronger, despite the drugs.

Not for the first time, as Kaylee chewed her pizza slice, Tom made her smile.

Naughty girl?

When the doctor released him, she would show him a new definition of naughty.

Married by Mistake Chapter 22. Treatment Course

MbM
Standard

Chapter 22. Treatment Course

Richard Tribbing, MD, Microsurgeon, specialist in the field that saved both Tom’s life, his professional life and his arm walked in with the team of doctors who all worked to answer their calling as microsurgeons while they made their afternoon rounds.

Looking at Kaylee , he smiled as he and the seven other doctors and fellows entered and filled the room.

Describing the injuries,commenting that the wound was ‟Large shard of glass left the wound clean as if a large scalpel had cut through the soft-tissues leaving the wound with no appreciable tearing or avulsion mid-shaft radius. The weight of the glass was sufficient to cut through the bone without deflection. There were eight-slivers of glass removed during the procedure. Imaging did not reveal any other glass in the arm.”

Kaylee sat and listened, twice she tried to leave as the surgical team made notes, questioned, and spoke in terms that sounded like Greek to her.

Doctor Tribbing chuckled when they spoke later and she referred to the conversations.

‟So how long do you think it will be before he comes home?” Kaylee asked. ‟We live on a flying yacht, there is not much room for putting a hospital bed in the plane, he told me last week he has a deadline to finish writing for.”

‟Well, he won’t be going home until the danger of… ” The Doctor paused and pulled at his chin. “How should I put this? If anything should go sideways against any of our plans to get him home and whole and functioning.”

‟How long?”

‟Depending on how his healing responds, probably two to three weeks, we have not had any problems thus far so maybe on the shorter side of that.”

‟Three weeks.” Kaylee said quietly, thanked Doctor Tribbing and sat next to the sleeping Tom and held his hand again while the Doctor left the room to continue his business.

‟Kaylee ?” It was Randy the nurse at the door. ‟There is someone who wants to see you in the waiting room.”

‟Me? Okay.” This puzzled her as no one of her friends or family knew she was at the hospital with Tom.

Kaylee walked out to the waiting room where sat a middle-aged woman with a quick eye who sat ramrod straight. She was the only one in the room.

‟I am Kaylee .”

‟You? You are Tom’s new wife?” She looked down and bit her lip in a grimace. ‟I am Georgia Hershey, Tom’s agent. I am the one that gets him published and I have been with him for the last decade. I don’t know you.”

She looked as if someone had spit on her.

“How did a young… lady… as yourself marry to Tom? That is so classic. How did you meet?” It was a near accusation tone of voice, followed with a sigh. “No no..never mind. I am here to check on him, there is an installment on the series due on the Weedy Sea Dragon, but you won’t know about that I’m sure. But I will ask anyway. Do you know if he has finished it?”

‟First, I am Tom’s wife. Second, I have heard about you and how you have pushed him to write, I’m not sure of his view of you gnawing on him to get things done.” Kaylee felt something inside of her, an anger that she last felt when she broke a man’s arm. “He has told me that you said it was due at the end of the month, but the contract I’ve read specifies no such deadline. It reads simply ‟As finished.” And third, he has one completed in the last month, I have read it and it is complete but unedited. It will get to you when it he finishes the edit.”

‟And I know that Leonard the Leafy SeaDragon is a series, your attempt to misdirect me is offensive.” Kaylee kept even voice, hiding her mounting rage.

‟I would like to see him.” Ms. Hershey said, matching Kaylee ’s tone.

‟The answer is no. He needs rest, he will contact you when he is ready and not before. He has endured a horrid injury and still might lose his arm. His access is limited while he is on polypharmecutical therapy and external fixation to hold the bones in the normal anatomic positions. ” Kaylee had to clench her fist on her drawing hand until the knuckles cracked. She chose her words with care to show the woman that she was not a simple girl. “You go back to your office, and tell the truth to who ever needs to hear it, Tom has been injured and is now with family in the intensive care department of the finest institution that can be found.” Kaylee felt heat building in her chest. “So you go back to your office or whatever crack you crawled out of and he will send it in.”

‟Well.” Ms. Hershey backed up a step. ‟Tell him to call when it is convenient, but please make it soon.”

The agent walked out amid scattered applause.

An RN smiled at Kaylee as she walked past.

‟That was awesome, she called when you and Tom were asleep, then came in and was treating us like trash. It was good to see her taken down a few notches.” The name badge said ‟Trish” on it. ‟She demanded entry. Then she told us she was Tom’s closest thing to family.” Trish frowned with the memory of the event. “We told her that security would escort her out.”

‟We got married earlier this month. Kind of a surprise for both of us.”

‟What does he write? You said something about a dragon?”

‟That’s a children’s book, he has written stories that have made it to the movies. ‟ Kaylee took a deep breath, she was suddenly cold, not realizing she had started to perspire during the confrontation. ‟His movie, Steamland that is in the theaters now.”

‟Oh? Oh WOW! I have seen that twice! It is a great movie, he wrote that?” Trish’s eyes widened.

‟Yup, he’s the author.”

‟Missus Harte, anything you need. No one will get in without your say-so.” Randy said from the door as he let both women in. Kaylee felt a bit like royalty after that. The young woman with an iron will who took no crap from anyone.

Kaylee smiled, returning to Tom’s side feeling accomplished. She had done something that she felt was worthy of the title of “Mrs. Tom”.

When the expectant niece asks a question…

Standard

She asks in the digital Facebook, “Any last-minute advice?”

My comment, assuming there is not a gender restriction, although I can admit that it sounded like she aimed for those mom’s that have gone through it before, “Don’t get pregnant in the first place? Passing a bowling ball through your eye socket would be less painful.”

Her friends called me the awkward uncle.

Well. No. Just wise. I have delivered 17 babies, most on mountain roads with drive times still greater than half-hour.  I have observed the pain women-folk go through – and I have seen the men-folk panic, and even faint. (I  found out later that one of these passed-out pops played as captain of the football team and was “used to pain.”)

I can speak Awkward, and a few other languages. Gibberish, Klingon, Confusion. Political gives me trouble. I still don’t understand that doublespeak tripe, especially if they say something akin “What is good for me is over your head, so we will take it from you.”

Heh, I still think they should just open a brothel (for men and women) in the capital building so they can get enough of screwing people to get down to real business.

But I digress. Sorry.

Anyway, by the time anyone delivers a baby, they get to a point where they crush the husband/boyfriend/significant other’s fingers (Or mine when I was green-ish, it only happened once – I learned quick) and utter a 3 word demand.

“I want DRUGS!”

(Laugh allowed at this point and the mom’s out there can nod heads with a knowing smile)

But no matter what you say. Any part of the family of phrases “I won’t want to do this anymore.” Has been said since before recorded history, because the baby is coming and you are on a non-stop ride.

Unless c-section intervention, but that is another ball-game.

So ladies, no offense, but those that have one child and don’t learn? Then go ahead and have another? Then another?

You all remind me of George of the Jungle.

“Watch out for that Tree… oOoH.”

Then you get on that vine again and swing for it.

“Watch out for that Tree… That’s gotta hurt.”

Then…

“Watch … never mind.” I’ll just go sit in the backyard with my bow, laptop to write and seltzer water in the shade.

keep telling myself: “Ain’t my circus. I’m just the Awkward Uncle.”

Now off to do compose some fiction.  I have a bunch of voices pop up last night in my sleep, a few were frightening.

I hope to get you a chapter in something.

I’ll have it posted in five hours.

Dash

Computers, Linux, Windows and no want to play.

Standard

48 hours.  Hitting at it.  I had Windows 7 and Ubuntu Linux in a quad-boot, worked well. Long and pleasant relationship.  Windows ignored Linux while Ubuntu Linux, Gentoo and Arch Linux happily looked and could walk through the MS Windows garden of confusion, plus one virus that stubbornly refused to be deleted on the windows level.

In the Windows level, it was not possible to delete it, so then it’s incarcerated in a locked and “Quarantined” file.

Linux – all flavors – Couldn’t care less, I never bothered to worry about it, it was just a reminder that I am safe while I keep myself as a client and non-admin in the world of the Penguin.  I could lose all my novels if there were a logic bomb and wiped the drive in my section, but the computer itself would remain intact.

And I have the main works here.  You all don’t get the one line novels.

” A lizard that watches the truck drive off the road.” and that’s all there is! Lol. So, thems not in WP library.

However, I digress. The computer in question, the hard drive began to have issues.  Crashing or freezing at random.  Saving a file could be a gamble if it would or would not be corrupted.

Diagnostics were definitive, hard drive had read-write problems.  So I bought a hybrid drive.

Not bad!

Then W7 showed me a darker side. Don’t wanna play with the penguins!

Say whut?  I made a rescue disk– Actually a rescue USB, optical disks are so 20th century. 😉 old tech… And I reinstalled it again.

For your information.  The controlling program, the Master Boot Record “MBR” for short, has only 64 K of memory allocated.  Each partition on a drive is kept in the file of 16k.

This leaves a total of 4 partitions possible. (4×16=64) and this new drive with a section of solid state and very speedy. The MBR has four entries already!

  1. For the MBR. 2. OS. 3.Rescue 4. Program Files

No room for Linux.

So I try to make logical extensions.

And I break windows. o.0

I try to install Linux from inside windows. o.-

Yeah, no fly there.

I install Linux and try to install windows over that.

Yeaaaah…no. *sigh*

Okay.  Once again, format, install windows and try to adjust the partitions and combine two.

Disaster.  I am so pleased I do not have anything to back up.  Not putting any files on there.

Then, in forums that I have read and read and read..until I am green with nausea and blue from lack of movement.  (Actually, cyanosis from not breathing, I keep holding my breath)

I read in one forum, to use easyBCD, what a near disaster, if I had a system that I wanted to save.

First!  It would not launch, only took my computer to a website that “Pay $29.95 for a one time change in partitions.” plus it ships out information for “Quality control, your MBR, file structure…” Already lost me.  Do I trust some faceless creature with snooping on my computer system while I try to make it work?  Nope. I don’t trust politicians, why should I trust a snooping program?

Yeah, and if I bungled it and needed to come back in twelve-hours, I have to fork over another chunk of change? …Yeah, maybe. So no.

Here is where it gets interesting.

You CAN’T uninstall it.  Multiple times, spent three hours, booting and rebooting.  It was sitting there as an icon on the desktop, I used various tricks I know of, plus a few I looked up.  Then got down and dirty in the command-line and deleted it.

But, a few minutes later, the computer acted slow, funky and chunky…then the icon reappeared.

So, my opinion?  Do not use this program! It may not be the classical “Malware” but it certainly refuses to leave when I tell it to. Even Avast antivirus couldn’t kill it.

So, I nuked the system- again.  Completely reformatted and reinstalled and that got rid of it.

So after two days (!!? And I am supposed to be smart!  I have BUILT my own desktops, did a few custom ones, installed Windows, OS/2, Linux, even tinkered on Mac’s when there was an aftermarket allowed.) I have an epiphany.

I did a total wipe, and installed Ubutnu Linux. I don’t use Gentoo or Arch all that much, Backtrack and Knoppix only live in my desk for when I built a computer and wanted to harden it from outside influences.

Then I built, with some challenges, a virtual machine and used it to launch windows.  So now I have it at a point where I am close to where I want to be.

But it is not a true dual-boot.

And Slow?  Pfft… Optical disks even at a speedy 16x still has no comparison to a small, quiet, USB stick that fits nearly flush against the computer.

Upgrades? Ain’t gonna happen with this setup.

So, now as I am sitting here, feeling like I have accomplished an aneurysm and I have entertained you folks ..not at all.. my voices have been pushed out into the backyard while I tackle this project.

And it needed to be done by Monday.  Princess #1 goes off to college, I asked her about her preferences of operating systems.  Windows or Linux?

“LInux, please.  I might need Windows for small things, but I like Linux.”

You got it. So that is now the primary operating system.

If only WIndows would play nice.

Hm… Maybe I can change the master boot record to something a little more current.GUID partition?

Yeah.  But I want to get to writing.  Kolo the Dragon and Jona are languishing.

There are folks that want me to do some critique of their works. (I like doing that , by the way, I just took off on a path of “Now what?” part of life the last ..egad.. probably 8 weeks.. Maybe 12 or more.

Papa Dash, Mama Dash, Sister Sledge, ME, THEN… Oh what now?

Yeah, Mrs Dash is sitting across from me, her heart beating around 180 beats per minute.  I have dosed her with a calcium channel blocker and she has begun to feel better.  So here I sit at 2:35 in the AM, watching her being sat on by a 90 pound fur covered pile of love and checking her with my new (actually old, I remembered it from long ago when I assessed folks on a run) pulse checker. I even listened to her lungs for good measure.

Dang my ears are getting old. lol.

So here she sits in SVT, her heart wants to jump out of her chest and run down the street laughing like Batman’s Riddler.

And I still haven’t’ gotten something to tell you other than blog this.

No vampires, no wolves, no dragons, bots, fairies, gorgons, wizards/witches or archers.

Just a shaking of the head. I am wanting to sit and be willing to open a mic on the computer and talk to you while I am writing down an idea, but now I am feeling like I am the only batter on the baseball team.

I have to go to the men’s room and the other side keeps pitching!

That kind of pressure.

Well, Mrs D is going to bed.  I am going to take a shower and then lay down next to her, I’ll keep my hand on her back to feel her heartbeat. (Yes, you can if you lay quietly.  😀 )

For now, I will just say, that the dust is settling near Papa, Mama, Sister, and such.  I am embarrassed about being taken down to my knees by a grain of sand, if I knew it was that instead of food poisoning, I might have stuck it out.  Maybe not.

That stuff hurts. lol. With capital letters.

Anyway, off to the showers for me. I don’t want her to be alone for too long, not when she is trying for a heart attack. (She refuses to go to the ER for the most part.)  I can stop most illnesses, but there is a limit on what I carry and can do with a pocket knife and a pen.

Keep me in your dreams, I’ll keep you entertained.

Dash.

Getting back on the keyboard with the imagination

Standard

Okay, kidney stone passed. Pain receding, so I take my longbow and launch a few pointy sticks out of the house (I remembered to open the glass door, even) at the dangling bottle cap 30 paces away.

Sooooo… Frustration, anger, disappointment in myself at being taken to my knees by a grain of sand, I gave myself a little accomplishment and put the arrow into the suspended cap from a milk jug.

You all may have seen something similar on this page before, so it if it is a bit of a re-run, sorry.

But this shot is new. Mrs. D calls it a lucky shot.

Perhaps. Ponder. So I ask you, how many times do I hit it before it is no longer lucky? I am averaging about a hit on a cap once ever 8-12 arrows. Most times it bounces and flips away- but held by a string, I get another go at it. Which I like. The swing of three dimensions adds a challenge, too.

And with that bit of texture. The latest fun shot. I really should keep shooting. But I worry about hitting the other arrow. Small target, a good chance of destroying an expensive piece of equipment, strip off the fletching at a minimum. So I will go out and free the target from being pinned.

Pinned by arrow

Free swinging cap on string. Pinned by arrow.

The Stone and the Plan

Standard

Well, back home 200 miles later. A trip to the ER after I logged off last night.

I was in agony, no place or position was comfortable, on the floor, feet up, sitting, draped over the foot stool (Yes I tried that position in as many ways as I could bend).

I was wishing I could vomit, do a major colon cleanse– anything.

So at midnight plus 30 – Being as I was at my sister’s house – I sought to unlock a door and drive myself to the emergency room before the food poisoning – which I originally wished it as food poisioning – would just hit instead of having everything ache and inflict such suffering.

My sister (“SIster Sledgehammer” The one that dented the car with her body three years ago, you can read about it in “2 Seconds…”) Would not hear of me getting in my car and driving myself to the Emergency Department at the hospital. So she got up and drove me.

Probably a good thing, I might have taken my four-wheel-drive for a booney-crash fun time in the trip to the hospital.

But the pain does make for irrational thoughts. “I Can” would turn into a disaster of “no you can’t”.

So a Computer Tomography Scan, a sonogram, a few pokes and prods.

Yours truly has a kidney stone.

Blech, I would rather have a moderate case of food poisoning!

Mainly because now I have to come clean and apologize to the restaurant (even though I had not named them last night – I think it was my suspicion it was – indeed – a kidney stone.

Pain on palpation on the flank etc.  I have been in medicine long enough to recognize the symptoms. I just– REALLY just not wanted to have a K-stone.

Is this where I say “FML”:?

Anyway…

I went to the Emergency Department and after the CT?

Yeah, a stone.

Omy it hurt so bad.

Doctor how big is this boulder?

“One millimeter.” Doctor said.

“One…” My jaw hit the floor.

A piece of sand?

Yup.  I was brought to my knees and unable to write because of a grain of sand 1.0 mm in size.

Tonight, I hurt mildly in different areas.

Why do my shoulders hurt? It’s not like I shot a thousand arrows (Figure six hours for that) in a day. Chest? Yeah, aches. Tummy? oh yeah.

Hungry? no, not really. But I did eat some cheese, a few bits of a baguette and dipped it in olive oil and balsamic vinegar – oh and one glass of white wine.

Funny, how I was not hungry, but as soon as I sat near some of my favorite foods, yeah I ate them.

Still, I have flank pain. Will I sleep tonight or will I make a return trip to the Emergency Dept? We’ll see.

A grain of sand. The size of a pinhead?

I am such a wimp. Lightweight.  Wuss. heh.

If a woman can push something the size of a bowling ball through an orifice the size of her eye and then smile afterwards, I should be able to pass a grain of sand.

But Nuuuu… I needed drugs to be able to think rationally.

Unlocking the back door and trying to sneak out the front door that I cannot lock to drive myself to a hospital in the distance and not have anyone know where I was going?

That’s not rational. That’s just pain and panic thinking.

I did talk to my nieces, they and their mom (Sister Sledgehammer) are willing to have their names as sisters in “Married by Mistake” so the other names will be removed and the nieces put in their place.

Anyway – I still carry the stone, I can feel it. it hurts, but I am better than i was, but it still hurts. We’ll see for tonight.

Now… Let me see if I can get a chapter of fiction written for you all in three hours.

Give me a vote by purchasing one of my kindle novels. And a little feedback, privately if you don’t want to

I would like to see if Zela’s artist, J. P. might be interested in making a cover for an anthology. 😉

I hope that is not an irrational thought.

Well, back to fiction!

your favorite up-and-coming author.

Dash

 

Critical Name changes, food poisoning and a meeting with the Doctor

Standard

Well, folks, to bring a non-fiction update.

Yesterday as you know, the Dr’s office dropped the ball for a meeting, last night, Papa Dash took me to a restaurant he eats at  I gave an order of sirloin tips, hash browns and eggs. SOunded good.

Except for the grilled-basted onions mixed with the meat.

not bad, I am not a fan of grilled onions, as a rule, but I plowed through it as it was the only real meal I had eaten in the entire day.

This morning, I got up and began to eat two slices of dry toast, coffee and work on some fiction for you all.

Then it hit.

Agony. Lower left quadrant of the abdomen.  Severe. I was unable to sit, stand. No position was comfortable.

Seriously.

So dad had to go to the Doctor’s meeting with mom, alone. No interpreter for those highly intelligent doctors that forget that average folk don’t understand Latin.

Yeah, I understand Latin. Comes easy, for some reason.

Maybe it was all the Dr. Suess books I have in Latin that I read to the princesses when they grew up. (Cat in the Hat is in Latin, one of the easiest to find, good place to start learning it. 😉 )

But I could not go.  I was in so much pain that I could not focus on writing, decisions or even helping dad with his new smart phone. (Each new gen is slightly different from the one before and his was years old.)

So my whole mission of helping? Fail.

Luck would have it, the MD that was difficult to understand (Soft spoken, big words, heavy accent, mind like a carbon-arc lamp, hates explaining things. Nurses hate him.)  was off the case, and in his stead was a younger MD, plain-spoken, strong voiced, enjoyed explaining things and had a sense of care that the other one seemed to lack.

So I failed, but the Fates intervened and gave dad a break.

Even though I am still burping up onion flavors (YUCK!) and my lower belly hurts like someone used me as a punching bag, things worked out.

If things do not straighten up by tomorrow? A long trip home is in store for me tomorrow.

For the moment, ugh. I hate to do an abrupt sign-off but I am in pain now.  A mild case of food poisoning I think.  or perhaps an allergic reaction? or just the body saying “Blech, onions!”

Up beat note.

Married by Mistake is getting a re-write and the main female lead characters are being renamed. This should be fun.

Podcast meeting is supposed to be tomorrow, but if I am like this, I won’t make it. ugh.

Anyway.  Keep an eye on me and this channel.  More will come.

The word of a Gentleman.

Dash

Differential diagnosis. Or, how do you wish infection on anyone?

Standard

On Weds. it started out with some fun.  the teenager and the nearly teenager went out and we shot the zombie snowman.

Archery Burst01-ANIMATION

 

Lots of fun, this is the “animated’ version.  No video can be uploaded, but you can see the 11-year-old is having a good time.

We had 15-year-old sister with her compound, also having wonderful laughter.  They both would boggle, as i’d shoot and call where the arrows would hit. And hit where I said.

(Psst, I just got lucky a couple of times)

Their ride arrived to take them to martial arts, and away they went. With their mom (My sister) in the hospital after getting plates removed from her previously broken ribs (A total body crunch a few years ago, fictionalized in the story “2 seconds…”) has an infection that now appears to be staph aureus infection and she is on two antibiotics every four hours. I have asked her if it is MRSA, but as of last night she didn’t know. But it is being stubborn.

This leads me to believe I am in Nevada for a longer period of time.

Mama Dash, she twisted her back yesterday (Thus the lack of posting) and something “popped” I palpated her back and found a lump that she and my father said was new.

“Okay, give me a pen.” and I circled it. “Now we go to the ER, if you tore something, it needs to be evaluated and I do not have the tools here. PLUS an Rx for pain.”

Well, she broke a vertebra.  0.o … Otherwise healthy people do not beak bones by twisting while getting ready for a shower.

*sigh* You ever see storm clouds on the horizon and know they’re headed your way?

Yup.

A quick trip to the emergency room and some five hours later, the doctor pulls Papa Dash and myself side.

“Could be an infection but the worse case scenario, multiple myeloma.  It is a kind of bone cancer. So we need to send her to a medical center that has comprehensive testing and personnel abilities.”

So an hour’s drive to Reno to the medical center there for testing.  We were there a long time. Papa Dash and I got home about 2:00 AM.

The up side, sister sledgehammer is about 5 doors down from mom.  Even if sister is under the antibiotic infusion, she can still trundle it alongside her like a nightmarish version of a high-tech pet.

I am going to have to leave you now, and finish this update later.  There is an 11-year-old future Robin Hood in training that is pacing back and forth with a bow in hand. She needs to go out .

Remember my authoring friends.  WRITE ON!  Woot!

And my readers?  Read all you can, laugh live love  and send some my way. 😉 Buy a book? Give me an opinion? Like it? I am pleased. 😀

I need some good news. I have never wished an infection on anyone, but I prefer mom has an infection over the alternative.

Dash

 

Archery, zombie snowmen in the desert and chocolate bars.

Standard

Help! I have been kidnapped by a 60 pound, eleven year old girl who has fallen in love with archery!

I spent a few hours with her talking about parts of the recurve bow, the string. How to shoot and stand.

Her first shot did not make it to the target. (10 paces away) so we moved closer- 5 paces. Next shot. Bullseye!

She was addicted!

Ut-oh! She IS addicted.  I have obtained a new longbow a few weeks ago and I am still working on drawing it after a 24 shot series without trembling.

Yesterday? I thought my arms were going to fall off.  I could not type, my shoulders ached, my fingers of my right hand are SORE. I think we loosed over, well over, 100 arrows yesterday. The only time we stopped, here in the high desert of Nevada. When it got too warm.

So we went inside where she made me some hot chocolate with the multi-use coffeeish maker. (They come in pods.) So..that was okay, I did some coffee in the chocolate, to which she went “eww!”.

So we came in to play xbox until the sun moved- and back out we went!

She got her sister’s compound bow, but after two shots, she went back to the recurve. Sister will be shooting with us today, so maybe not so much shooting?

Hah.  yeah. right.

So, ibuprofen, acetaminophen, cold packs and maybe I can talk them into a Lord of the Rings marathon. (Don’t think that will happen, not when the bows are sitting out.)  So I will attempt to write this AM and get you folks entertained.  I am already working on my third cup of coffee, it is quiet, someone is up, but I don’t know who just yet. But I will take advantage of the quiet of the morning.

If someone can shush that rooster outside that would be great! I’d threaten to shoot it, but I don’t think I can draw the bow right now! Ugh!

Moment of release

Moment of release. Note arrow in flight just in front of the bow.

We still need to work on her form, but we are having lots of fun for now.

Well, SHE is. *I* am in pain…

*Insert emotional music here*

Sister Sledge is doing well, due for release from the hospital tomorrow.  Papa Dash is nearly back on his feet after the surgery. He has been driving around in his truck. Has his leather cowboy hat on. (Seems a lot of his hair has migrated from his head to his back. I wonder… can they transplant back-hair to the head? Would that work? Hmm… AND it still has color. Although a bit darker than his original hair.)

Mama Dash is trying to be stubborn and not go to the Doctor, but the Great King has brought down the hammer. She is going. End of discussion. His eyes got a bit sparkly in that moment where you know that someone is about to be grounded (or worse) as a kid.

Anyway.  I have to keep him from doing too much. I might introduce them both to the world of archery.  It has muliptle benefits.

1. After the initial expense, it is relatively cheap. you reuse the arrows, not counting broken ones. (that’s the main cost)

2. Shooting is good for the core strength. Keeps your mind focused.

3. AFTER you shoot and do the isometric exercise of resistance pulling, you have to go get those pointy sticks! So there is a walk to the target, pulling and walk back. A second benefit!

4. Recurve bows are lightweight. Not like the machines of compounds which I find can be heavy(not always, there are the more expensive ones that are quite light). Plus with a take-down recurve, you can change limbs and draw weights. So if Mama Dash can’t pull, or has gained strength, more limbs and not an entire bow needs be purchased.

So that is the end of my rave for archery. shotgun, Rifle and Pistol shooters? Worry not, I am not dissin’ you. My aim (hah!  Not intended but I like the pun, so it stays) is for quiet and reusability. Difficult to recover your bullet and shot for reuse time after time.

Anyway.  Wish us luck, I hear that Honey the Honey colored dog is moping around, missing me. (I don’t know why, I am not her human. Princess #1 is.)  She is sleeping on the laundry I did but did not put away before I left, just sat it in the basket in front of my dresser. Now the basket has become a bed for a 90 pound yellow dog.

really? Most of my clothes are dark. Guess I get to do laundry again.

Okay, sending this away so i can do fiction before I’m kidnapped again.

Wish me luck!

Dash

PS. Nearly forgot Zombie Snowmen. We piled targets up on each other. A large white “body” with a dark, weather-beaten head.  You can see the body and head in the image, we put it up top after the image was taken. It is a zombie because we are in the desert which is deadly to snowmen. So this one is ‘undead’. lol. part of the story.

Dog, firecracker, panic and home alone.

Standard

Some years ago, the movie “Home Alone” hit the theaters, a lone boy did have panic events, bad-guys and adapted to the situation.

Tonight, such Hollywood adventures and good endings are not possible.  A date night with a stage play and dogs (Count them, TWO) are left home to defend the house and home.

Honey, the honey (or sand-tan) colored dog, is large, powerful and quite laid back. Sudden noises can get her to flinch, knocks on doors get her to bark. Thunder, firecrackers, fireworks, meh, not so much.  The sudden large roll of thunder might get her to raise her head, but that is about all you get out of her.

The chocolate lab, on the other hand. Not so laid back.  She hates the electronic bug zapper, firecrackers in the distance are just wrong.

Thunder? No. Just no.

Tonight, we head out to see a stage play of “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf”, take in a dinner and sit through the long (two intermissions!) production with a total of four actors.

A pleasant Saturday night comes to a close, on our arrival home, we find one of the french doors to the great-room all but destroyed. The door jam is pulled away from the wall, the molding around the doorway has been chewed down and torn.  Wood.  Torn.

Torn?  Big danged splinters torn off, I could fit four fingers in the gap.

Paint is torn away from the wood as if a rough file had been run over it. Not fresh paint, either!  This took some work.

What the heck? Who did this?

Looking at the big dog first, she was first suspect, by all the family, until I pointed out that the kind of damage on the door took time. A lot of time.

And fear.  Something lit off a dog.

“Perhaps a knock at the door?”

No, not enough, they would bark and reset after a minute or two, this took time.

So now, the suspect is the smaller chocolate lab, who has a panic issue. We are coming to the 4th of July and explosives — which are not legal in the area — are a nightly event.

I think a deep panic set in, the cats aren’t talking, but they point little furry fingers at the dark brown one and whisper: “that bitch is crazy.”

*sigh*

Tomorrow, the door is on the list for repaires.  I may have to take it down and begin to prepare it for paint.

No fun to come home to that kind of damage.  But she stresses beyond reason when the pops are close- full fledged beyond sanity panic.

Some (four-legged) kids you can’t leave home without drugging them. I hate thinking that, or alternately, she cannot be left alone. She needs a human to stay with.

Over the 4th of July, we are taking off to a remote area that is 1. dog friendly and 2. having stayed before, they do not do fireworks, only down at the beach. We stay far away from the beach, hiding in an air-conditioned hotel room with thick walls, after we run her to the point of exhaustion on the beach and in the surf.

That is the plan of action, we will still suffer the tail end of the fireworks for another month to come.  But the worst of it will be avoided.

How was your night?

Shock and Awe Chapter 4. Victim’s View

Standard

Chapter 4. Victim’s View

Blinded by brilliant flashes, deafened by intense high and low-frequency sounds and concussions that emitted from the engineered sonic grenade, eight officers followed their watch commander with hands on each other’s backs as they staggered towards the door. The Sergeant calling for immediate backup and EMS over her radio.

“We have a multi-casualty event, I am declaring an MCI. We have ten officers needing help in the foyer of the police headquarters. We have a suspect barricaded inside and we are withdrawing outside the front door.”

Officer Mike U’Dare picked up the ram, following his team bumping the chair it leaned against as he did so.

Something rolled out and a lever popped off.

“OhFUCK! Grenade!”

The grenade burst, but it was different this time.

This time it was a stinger.

Pellets flew everywhere, a few striking two objects stuck into the acoustic tile in the ceiling.

Two more stinger grenades with stuck to the panels, and armed with hair-wires that waited for something to touch them.

Something like a pellet.

Two more explosions of the polymer-bead laden grenades overlapped each other.

The air became thick with noxious smoke and three-thousand randomly directed high-velocity pellets, leaving welts on the officers and clerks convinced, with screams of pain, that shrapnel was shredding them.

Sergeant Leslie Murrie’s left side of her face was on fire as if someone had slapped her, hard. Holding a hand to her face, it throbbed and felt like the skin was falling off.

“Backup! We need backup! We have bombs in the foyer and people down!” She tried to use a controlled, calm voice but it came out as a shriek as she staggered out the doors with the other entry team members as they choked and stumbled into the clear air.

She was the last one to leave, making sure the worst hurt of the clerks and officers that had stumbled or tripped during the fourteen explosions and something that just plain hurt.

“Backup’s responding code-3.” It was dispatch, speaking as calmly as if giving a weather report.”Mutual-aid Sheriff, swat and all patrol units en route to your location. Stand-by for ETA.”

“Disregard ETA update, just get them here.”

“Acknowledged.”

This annoyed Leslie that they were so calm, but then, they were three floors underground and isolated from this bad-guy that made a wreck of the foyer and her team.  

But, she was wrong about dispatch being isolated.

Extremely wrong.

A Boy, His Dog and a Sunday

Standard

Call me WeWa, it is my handle on most forums, short for Welhelm Wassail, IV.  I am a black-hat computer cracker, coding to me is easy, I see patterns, and I am so intuitive on passwords, they banned me from being around computers or even having an internet accessible mobile phone by order of the Judge.

Alas, not even my near-perfect grades could sway Her Honor as she sat on the bench and yelled at me for using the school’s library computer to divert fractional pennies of taxes to an anonymous bank account offshore in the Virgin Islands. Two-hundred bank accounts, they will never find it all.

My dad is quite angry, he can no longer telecommute and needs to leave the house to do work. His official office is a seventy-mile trip, one way.  So he has rented a small space somewhere in town just for the internet.

He says a coffee shop is noisy and distracting.

Pfft. I could open a hundred accounts and flip through them in the time to drink a single mocha.

Old folks are so easy to distract.

So they punish me!  No friends over, I am grounded until the end of the school year, then I have to work for my mom’s office as a file clerk.

Their company is still in the stone age. They even still use DOS!

So they leave me home today, Sunday.  I have the back yard to mow, the dog to wash and dishes to put away.

While they go to an afternoon of wine tasting with some friends. This totally sucks, I have to stay home while they have fun!

Seriously.

So I wash Randall, a curly coated labrador and my only friend, he has no mean bone in his body. My friend Richard, his dog is a big Airedale that is frightening just by smiling, and that dog SMILES.

Rich’s dog is all teeth when he pulls those lips back, and he is not mean. Randall? He looks like he is smiling all the time. The only animals he chases are the birds that try to get his food out of the bowl.

I scrub him and he is all excited about being in the water, he is not so keen on the tile of the shower, but he jumps around, trying to escape and I am as wet as he is.

At least there is no wet dog smell, the shampoo that mom bought is a kind of cinnamon scent.  So it’s not bad. I liked the eucalyptus one best they had before.

So, I change clothes and leave Randall in the house to go outside to mow the back yard, by the time I get to the second pass, Randall has banged the screen door open and is rolling in the fresh-cut grass, right were I went with the mower.

God hates me, too! Dogs, God, Mom, Dad, Judge Judy Justice, no one has a bit of care that I can do so much with a keyboard.

Except the military dude that talked with my dad and handed him a card.  That scares the urine out of me.

By the time I got finished mowing the lawn, Randall is running around the yard as fast as those legs can go, he can do at least THIRTY! For a lab, he is fast.

He is really funny, running and rolling.  I try to chase him a few times, but that dog can change direction faster than the blink of an eye, it is humanly impossible to catch him.

So, chase time is over, and Randall is still making laps, I need to get the lawn watered and go inside to wash my wet clothes and the sweaty ones I have on.

I set the sprinkler and turn on the water, looking around the side of the house and Randall is racing around in the water. (I did mention that he is a labrador? A curly coated one at that, he LURVES the water.)

I walk back, the sliding screen door is standing open where he got out and did not put it back ( I need to train him on that one, still).

Then.

OMG!

THEN! Randall sees me coming and grabs up the hose with the sprinkler!

NO! NO NO! Bad DOG!

He is running around with it and I can’t catch him. I’m not even sure Carl Lewis could, even if he drank a quadruple espresso and ate two snickers bars.

So, I have yelled at the dumb dog and what does he do?

He runs INTO the house!

WITH THE SPRINKLER!

NOOOooooo!

I grab up the hose and try to drag it back out.  Randall now thinks it’s a game of tug-o-war.

NOOO! Water is running, sprinkler is spraying, I weigh a buck-and-a-half, Randall is a buck-twenty.

In my animal husbandry class in sophomore year, I remember the teacher saying dogs are like three times stronger than people.

It takes a long time for me to yank the hose out of his mouth.

I’m a smart kid, really I am.  But WHY did I not just kink the hose or turn it back off?

I don’t know. My only defense, I panicked.

The clean up of the house took me so long, my whole body ached. Mom came home and I had reruns of “Twilight Zone” on the cable channel that does marathons of different series’.

It was all I could watch, my mind was numb, my fingers were numb, my back hurt, my feet hurt, my clothes were all in the wash, or the dryer.

Dad commented that the house looked good, I was busy.

Yeah, and dad? I used your shop-vac to dry the sofa, too.

Mom told me to get off my lazy butt and fold my laundry and put it away.  It was so not fair, I could hardly stand up.

But then, she also said the house looked and smelled good.

Oh! And Randall? He didn’t come out of the dog house for three days after I yelled at him.

It ain’t easy being me.

Saturday Morning: I hate spring

Standard

Under the car

Oil to change

it will be warm today

Spring is Strange

Laying on the back

with the drain plug out

Misplaced the tool

Grumble

Spouse walks by

Ask for the wrench

She kicks the bottom of the foot

She thought I said “Wench”

Plug slimed with oil

twisting is a strain.

Then the sneeze!

Bounce forehead off engine

Occiput off cement

Two points of pain.

will eat some chocolate

Take a shower

go back to bed

Will try this day later.

love antihistamine

I hate spring.

Moved Away

Room of Teen after move
Standard

A room once echoed with laughter

bad dreams and calls for dad

Big bear the protector, always was there

Grew and learned to count

one, two, three

“Cute little girl! at your age your free!”

Sparkling blue eyes corrected the Maitre ‘D

“I am FOUR! Not free!”

Booster seat her favorite place

She found them anywhere she went 

She could sit in “Grownup” Space

Movies too! As she grew

Booster seats for you-know-who

Hair like burnished copper

(It gave her the name) 

runing with boys,

she grew so tall

Sister by her side

they played t-ball

Sat in their room

Voices of princesses 

Playing their part

Tea here with the prince

Nail polish

a new discovery

So fun you think?

In his chair daddy is sleeping

Let’s paint his toenails pink

a color worn with pride

The princess made sure

“Wear Sandals outside!”

Once shorter than the switch for the light

taller she grew

Seeming overnight. 

Taller than the mantel

(The year before she had to hop) 

still would crawl in bed, 

sleeping in between mom’n’pop

One day, the little girl 

no longer comes to cuddle

Too old now you see

That era now is a history

Moved to her own room

she paints on her own

Make it purple!

Ceiling fan is her own

a bed built by dad

strong as stone

Travels she goes on

With her sister 

that should amaze ya

They brought back some of the little island called

‘Straya

Picked up an Aussie twang

Still stuck with a West Coast slang

Australian flag adorned her door

Koalas 

name plates

and pirate too.

But what the heck

She put a sign up

“this room’s a wreck”

Dresses found

and braces worn

the grinning child

loved to be adorned

Halloween she come admire

Lady bugs and a costume found

She wore red and black for a year

Echos of her laughter

and her memories are here

this is the only home she known

now comes the fear.

Standing in her room

the door still with decor

but the room is empty

I watched her go

Stood on the walk,

until she got to the turn

then she was gone

the heart hurt 

the eyes did burn

Standing in the room

empty of toys

on the wall pictures of friends

both girls and boys.

Turned a circle

the walls echoed the noise.

A spooky heart stopping sound 

like the wolf in the wild

an odd sound you see

The howl long and plaintive 

for the missing child 

came from me. 

©2015 Dash McCallen

Pain of the Parent

Standard

The princess arrived one fine day.

Sunrise colored her hair

In amazing ways

Sparkling Tahoe blue eyes

Her laughter and voice was twice her size.

Smallest in her class

But she frightened them en masse.

Eighteen winters have since gone by

She knows all

She has seen it through my eye

Little lost puppies, canis and human

she rides on missions to save them all

Short and four-legged or bipedal

and still not very tall

Pride of the Irish she would be

Mind like a straight razor

and sharp as a tack

Eighteen winters have gone past

She wishes to life with him

Her childhood is past

Listen to dad?

Hardly, you see.

She has smarts, she has listened

for a moment or three.

Explained with math

Budget required.

Mind is closed

This rhyme was not desired.

****

Packed up her dishes

Her clothes she did stow.

Tall father with crossed arms

Words told to the Princess

The move opposed

The move is unwise.

The worst part.

When one’s heart tells the brain

Naught but lies.

The child of sunrise

borrows dad’s car

She takes her dishes

“It’s not that far.”

She is an adult

Yes and true.

Silly rhyme again coming through

Tall like a willow,

smart as a whip

she moves to take on a life

refusing to hear

the wisdom of mom

or dad

To stand and watch her drive away

A fresh hell, nowhere to turn.

Words on deaf ears

Mind of a princess shut tighter

than a drum.

The Curse of the Parent

The eagle watches the hatchling fly

do all the eagle can do.

Say good-bye.

Standard

Dragonmaster University Chapter 34.The Morning after with laughter.

Jona slowly became aware of the sound of a heartbeat. Sprite moved around in his arms on the verge of wakefulness.

He had hoped to sleep late, after yesterday, but the school had burned into his brain the need to be at class, on time, every time.

Professor Vale, he thought, had used the power of the suggestion, to make an alarm clock in his head.

Kolo woke with her hand over Jona’s heart feeling the beat of the muscle all night long. The healing nature of dragons helped the human’s overtired muscles as he slept all night without moving.

Jona slowly tried to extricate himself from Sprite and Kolo, then he became aware that Kolo was awake and watching him try to move Sprite to the pillow covered in a curly, soft hair that reminded him of a Llamadoodle, a hypoallergenic hybrid of a camalid and a wool-bearing canine.

Dreading his exit from Kolo’s bed, he hurt so bad the night before. His feet hit the floor…

And it was as if he had done nothing strenuous at Professor Vuul’s class!

He stretched, a glorious, long, tingling stretch that made his whole body feel ready for anything. The robe caressed his skin as he moved, it was the most comfortable morning to wake up he ever experienced.

“Feel better?” Kolo asked in a soft voice.

Jona held a finger up to his lips, pointing at Sprite. Who promptly jumped up and crawled up his arm with lightning speed, squeaking “Mo-da! Mo-da!”

“Da?” Jona asked.

“Dad.” Kolo laughed.

“OKay, I need to go to my room, any way I can go there without being seen?” Jona looked out the door self-consciously.

“No one cares, at this level.” Kolo opened the door and walked out wearing her nightclothes. “You do not need to worry about the whispers and embarrassment. That is a human invention in some societies. In the dragon society, we sleep together often. Or have you not paid attention to your dragon studies?”

“Well, yeah, I just.” Jona looked out the window. “I never had this happen to me.”

“Jona.” Kolo caressed his cheek. “Nothing happened, you were in a healing cuddle. Dragons do it all the time, how do you think we live so long? Two dragons can heal each other better than one dragon can. If alone, a single dragon spins a cocoon and sleeps, the healing happens there, and we can share the healing touch.”

“I know.” Jona smiled. “I felt no pain when I got up, as bad as I hurt last night, this morning was great.”

“Good, we can do it again more often?” Kolo tilted her head to the side. Her eyes, more human than many dragons, still glittered like cut glass when she was enjoying something. “We could, y’know, see each other daily.”

“I… Uh…” Jona looked like a child caught sneaking one of his mothers fresh cookies.

“Go on, you.” Kolo laughed. “You cannot tell when you are having your mind messed with.”

Jona laughed nervously and walked out into the hall, towards his room, some thirty steps away.

His classes started in an hour, he still should eat breakfast before heading to his class on human-dragon history, then back to Professor Vuul’s smite shop and his turn back at the bellows.

The bellows, buried in his memory cells, was a full body workout. The Professor let him heat up and beat on some metal, but the Professor chose the hammer, a hammer nearly as long as Jona’s forearm. It was another three-hour workout scheduled that proscribed by Hephaestus in his textbook of metal sciences.

It would be a shower again tonight, maybe Kolo was right. Cuddling with her to heal would prepare him for the class five days a week.

THAT was something Jona would look forward to.

Dragonmaster University Chapter 33. After Metal shop

Standard

(Note, this is a rewrite.  There was a missing chunk out of the last third.  So I leave this non-repost for your repast, re-read, review and reply if you care. So this non-repost will replace a non-reblog of the re-imaged rewrite. )

Chapter 33. After Metal Shop

 

Holy crap!

Metallurgical class from the autumn semester was not easy, but this semester, they put to action the chapters they had read out of the Book of Smites and the workbook “Alloy Allies”, written by some hammer-slinging maniac named Hephaestus.

Jona came back to the dorms on the Emerald floor covered in soot and sore to the bones, going straight to the showers, he barely had the strength to take off his clothes and stand there in the hot water as it cascaded over his shoulders.

He hurt so bad, even swear words were not enough to describe the all-day torture. Several minutes passed before he was able to scrub with a sponge that grew on a stick and struggled with that when he saw that the oversized pool of water that served as a bath for larger swimming dragons and thought that it would be enjoyable to just sit in the warm waters.

But it was so far to walk on his sore legs. Professor Vuul, the fire-drake from the south had him pumping the bellows for the forge for the last two hours— after he had swung a hammer on different metals that he learned to heat from barely able to hold it in his hand, to sparkling white-hot.

He shook his head, he had to fill the great tub and even with the massive-multiple faucet, it would take longer than he wanted to wait, and he had hot water now.

With the hot water running over his shoulders and cascading down his body, he felt a great deal better.

He was standing there with his eyes closed, letting the water do the magic of bringing a soul back to the comfort zone when he felt a soft hand slide over his left shoulder.

It was Kolo, the teaching assistant to Professor Vale.

“Let me wash your back. You look like you are in pain.”

Jona covered up as much as he could, yipping like a startled puppy.

“You… I mean… me… I’m…”

“You are naked, yes, and so am I. But relax, I was watching you and you need someone to wash you. We are on the same team, right? We take care of each other.” She smiled, her tail slowly sliding over his hip while the girl dragon rubbed his back with a fibrous sponge that a dragon-team harvested from halfway around the world.

Kona’s hands, covered in human like skin on the palm, had a slightly coarse texture, like the paw of a cat. It was very sensual, but Jona was not ready for sensual.

He was in too much pain with overused muscles that he never thought he had, understanding now, more than ever, why his dad was so strong.

Even with her ministrations of creams and perfect pressure of her fingers, Jona’s body punished him with cramps and heavy, aching arms that could not shut the water off to the shower, his fingers didn’t want to close tightly enough without cramping.

“Jona, you need a cuddle for the night.” Kolo said matter-of-factly as she turned the hammered-bronze and emerald water control to “off” and draped a large towel around his shoulders and tied the belt at his waist, creating a large tunic of soft brushed cloth against his skin.

“What? Are you trying to get me in your bed?”

“You can keep your clothes on, but you should know by now, dragons like to touch and be touched. I will let you sleep in my arms, it will be a help heal your muscles and you can go back to class.” She smiled, her eyes sparkled like nothing else. Kolo did not have faceted eyes like full-blooded dragons, but she had the glint that stopped conversations. “Besides, the cloth in that robe you wear has medicines in the fibers, they do the most work. I will just help you sleep.”

“Aw, I can’t do that, Sprite would not understand with another body in the bed.”

“Sprite is a dragon.” She smiled. “This is what she will desire most as she grows, the more the better in her mind. Dragons sleep together.”

Jona hurt in all his muscles. The thought of having the gentle touch of this dragon that he had a crush on sleeping with her arms and tail around him was beyond his dreams of desire.

“And I have a special nightshirt to wear to bed.” Jona said. “My mom made it for me.”

“Sprite has told me she loves cuddling with you and that shirt a great deal. It’s made of the finest fibers that could be found of Honeytree thread.” Kolo nodded. “When I was little, I had a sleep-ball made of Honeytree thread.

“Honeytree thread?” Jona blinked, it was the first time he had heard of the name.

“It grows in a valley two days’ flight from here. Think of the fur of a long-haired kitten, only as long as your arm and twice as soft.”

“How? I mean…” Jona stuttered.

“I have studied a great deal. I am still learning every day.” Kolo said softly, sitting on his bed, pulling him to her arms.

She was absolutely correct. His aching muscles needed to rest, the girl dragon laying with him, with her arms around him. The three of them lay in her huge bed, Sprite against his chest, Kolo spooned to his back, it was nothing like what he expected, it was like being in a giant kitten hug, without being overheated.

For all their scales, dragons were able to give an immersive sleep. And Jona slept without dreams, in the medicated toga, Kolo’s healing touch, Sprite’s love, his body healed far more quickly than if he slept alone.

Kolo watched the Jona sleep, her parents would fart flames to have a daughter curled up with a first-year student, and not wait until he was ready to graduate.

But he made her smile widely. For all his flaws for being a young human, he had the  pheromones of a dragon, the brilliant mind of the best of humans and the heart of a master.

She just had to mentor him into being what he could be. She had to talk with the Green Man.

For now, however, Kolo the youngest, of the water clan of swimming dragons, closed all three eyelids on both her eyes and slept with the human in her arms who slept against her chest in a wonderful, warm snore.

The edge

Standard

Standing on the edge

Looking down below.

Voices whisper

Just step off, let go.

Turn away from the garish light of day

Embrace the night.

the pain will go away.

I turn and walk

There was nothing to gain.

There is no life

I need it to feel.

I choose to face the pain.

©2015 Dash Mccallen

The Paramedic’s Last Christmas

Standard

The Last Christmas

 

 

He sat on the balcony, a fingerling red potato in his hand, feeling the weight and shape of the hard tuber.

In the previous weeks, after he had completed training for his next level of 3rd Dan black-belt in his martial art and began to feel peaked.

He had tinkered on the potato gun for weeks, the competition leading up to the finals showed a very intense group of people who dedicated their lives and teamwork to launch a tuber the farthest.

One potato, like the one in his hand, flew for nearly two-kilometers, until the controversy erupted that the team had rifled the inside of the PVC tubing that gave a spin to the torpedo-shaped tuber and stabilized it in flight.

He softly laughed at the thought, the most you could get out of him these days, the contest also included contests on how far a pumpkin could be thrown with mechanical means.

Teams built such things as trebuchet, mega-sized elastic slingshots with hundreds of bungee cords attached to the sling, drawn back with an electric winch. One creative team came up with a crossbow monstrosity with a complex, compound shape that exploded when drawn back to full cock.

Investigation into the incident showed the structure was basically sound, but three bolts put in place team members forgot to tighten before drawing tension on the frame of the giant crossbow. The oversight worked for one launch, the next time they cranked the infernal contraption back, the limbs of the bow snapped forward in a dry fire, sending spring powered shrapnel flying for hundreds of feet, hitting people not even watching the giant bow being used.

The following year, the administration added new inspector teams to check everyone’s submission for the contest.

Such was the “Tater Gun and Punkin’ Chuckin’” contests. Two days of laughter, friends, shade-tree engineers and NASA types that got involved.

Including those of his own teams from the local company.

Those were good days, he mused. Since then, two of those friends had killed themselves. One stepped in front of an oncoming truck during a call. There was no proof of intent, other than she spoke of it with one person a year before.

Another, suntanned, handsome, he was out on the ocean beach one summer’s night and went for a swim, never to return.

The Employee Assistance Program, designed to prevent such events, but it was an uphill struggle. Those that sought help for the depression, the chronic pain from sitting in positions that they constantly found themselves in, for depression and insomnia, often were quietly categorised by other EMS teams as lesser value resources. 

“Weak mind.” Some whispered.

For this reason, few if any that activated the EAP or even spoke of it. When they did, it was a deep secret.

He scratched his nose, a medic of decades, the thing he missed most, was laughing.

Sleeping was difficult, too. The paramedic rarely remembered his dreams. But, those dreams he did remember, he wished he forgot before he awoke. As it was, he would wake with the feeling of dread, of darkness and sadness that cast a pall over everything. 

So he increased his caffeine intake and stayed up until the last moment he could. Where things such as turning off a light switch was an effort in decision-making, and then collapse into bed to go straight to sleep.

Maybe.

It was telling on his ability for critical-judgement calls. He began to feel afraid to leave the house and even got to a point of misanthropic frame of mind.

He disliked walking through crowds, a thousand faces he could look into in a single “Arts-&-Crafts” show, knowing that a certain percentage would be on medication for one ailment or another. Many were diabetic, under control and lived lives that no one would be aware that they had any trouble with their blood-glucose levels.

Other people, did not follow their schedule properly and would have a crisis building.

He could see those.

The perspiration, pallor. A lack of focus as they tried to keep up their composure, but failing.

He could see that, to him, it was obvious.

Once, German physicians had ridden with him and his junior partner on the Mobile Intensive Care Paramedic unit, in Germany, doctors rode on the rescue units to do the treatments needed. After witnessing the American version, they declared them slightly insane, in a humorous German way, and went back to their country to change how their system ran.

It mattered not, these days.

His last shift he had the privilege to have a twenty-one-day-old patient that an adult shook to death, a month after a fellow paramedic shot himself.

A darkness grew inside his soul in the weeks afterward until the infanticide call.

The days had come where he would think that his dark side was in control.

A paramedic that wept in the quiet hours when no one was around, driving his massive four-wheel-drive Ford F-450 that was his toy, he often pulled into a farmer’s field that lay fallow for the last four years, and wept. Unstoppably, deeply, until he could not breathe.

A bottle of Polish Rectified spirits sat in the armored lunch box behind the seat, its seal intact. He knew that the one-liter bottle of the fluid that had many uses.

Cleaner, fuel, sanitizer (in a pinch), antifreeze and even drink.

However, a dangerous drink. Ethanol is a poison at those concentrations of more than ninety-five percent pure.

Technically, for sale only in New York, but with connections he had long made, a six-pack of the ethanol laden bottles arrived at his door in a hard-sided case.

Five bottles sat in his house for people to gaze at. One he had opened. The sixth, sat in the truck in the fishing gear.

Not that he ever went fishing anymore, since his wife of a decade left and filed for divorce, saying that he was not home when she needed him. A curse of Fire, Police and EMS. Divorce rates seven-times the rate of civilians, locally.

He shot archery more often, it was less of a problem to get bait and being sure that the fishing license was in reach.

And it was quieter. He also did not trust himself anymore with a firearm in the empty house, it was a dark and empty place.

Still and all, he took steps. He ceased all drinking when on his own, which was frequent of late, focusing with a bow on a small target, he found more peace as he watched the shaft go on target more often than not.

Small targets he found, paper-plates held in place with toothpicks, colored in with sharpies he had around the house, they were the cheapest target he could find.

Today, he finished the potato gun. He wondered about the quarter-pound spud moving at more than two-football fields per second speed that might be a new distance champion shooter.

The other thought that he kept at bay, usually, with his archery and driving in the back-country, if he stood in front of the gun by accident while testing it, if it would hurt.

Shaking his head, he stood up and walked back in the house to get ready for the next shift.

Maybe he might have a traffic accident to help at, then grab at the opportunity to step in front of a semi-truck on the highway like the cute and flirty medic that got waffled by a semi.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

No. He would not do that. The driver would be an innocent in the on-duty suicide and totally unfair.

First rule: Above all, do no harm. It would harm the trucker in countless ways.

Pulling on the jumpsuit with all the patches that indicated his level of training and position as a paramedic team leader.

No, not tonight, he said to himself, finding once again the reason to choose to see it through to the end of the twenty-four hour shift.

A tenuous choice, but it was be another day. Regardless of how it worked out.

This was his last year.

2 Seconds… T-Minus 2 Seconds

Standard

T-Minus 2 Seconds

Passing through the atmosphere, photons interacted with the oxygen and nitrogen, but still straight on to the stalled dark blue car of LucilleMay Sprecks who was frozen in fear.

Photons struck the paint and chrome of Lucy’s car. Instantly redirected by reflection, the photons passed through the air at ninety-thousand kilometers per second slower than in a pure vacuüm. Some colors absorbed by the paint and then reflected the remaining color of dark blue.

Engine 2315 self-dispatched, rolled down the driveway, already the crew had dropped paintbrushes and rakes, running towards the engine. The seasonal firefighters did not know the nature of the call, but the Captain was waving frantically. The Engineer already on the radio. The two men, from years of experience, knew of the impending accident was just seconds from happening and called for a dispatch of a paramedic unit.

“Copy, medics Code-3 to your location.” Dispatch responded.

The photons traveled the distance between the sudden obstruction and passed through the iris of Russell’s eye in twenty-five nanoseconds — 0.000000025 — striking the light-sensitive membrane in the back of Russell’s eyes. Neural pathways reacted to the absorbed photons and processed it to his occipital lobe, in the back of Russell’s head.

T-1.9999955 seconds. Photons streaked past Russell’s head and entered the lens of Lulu’s eyes. The nervous system transmitted the image at two-hundred miles-per-hour to the brain of Mrs. Fletcher.

Russell’s brain transmitted the image to the frontal cortex. One-point-six seconds it took to have the one-hundred billion axioms to recognize the threat, the mind of the skilled rider tried to organize a reflex action.

T-1.99925 seconds. Fifty-miles per hour they traveled towards the immobile car. More than seventy-three feet per second — Already they had covered more than a third of a football field.

T- 1.5 Seconds. Lucy saw the collision coming, her eyes processing the closing motorcycle and her mind locked up. All she needed to do to avoid the impending collision was move her foot to the gas-pedal. But in that moment, she did not know what to do. There were no answers for the panicked soul that only wanted a glass of wine and to save the soul of a lady Druid.

Russell’s brain processed information at the speed of three supercomputers.The most intelligent man on earth was not needed to know that the exit routes were:

Oncoming traffic in front of the stopped car — rejected as death was all but certain.

Forest with big trees, bushes and large pointy rocks: – rejected. The outcome would be equally bad.

Hit car — poor choice, but the debate was moot with the outcome defaulted while the mind of the man searched for safe exit to this disaster. He was out of time for evasive maneuvers.

T- 1.25 seconds. BRAKES! The mind screamed! Russell took a deep breath.

T- 1.20 seconds. BRAKES! The mind begged. The entire world was silent, his soul was deaf to all sounds. All the world was mute.

T- 1.1 seconds. BRAKES! The mind commanded. No bumps, no sound of wind. Silence was louder than a rock-concert in a steel warehouse.

T- 0.9 seconds. BRAKES! The mind ordered. The engine was inaudible.

T- 0.8 seconds. A pleading voice sounded through the earbud of the motorcycles comm system.

“NOoooooo!” It was Lulu.

T- 0.5 seconds. BRAKES! The foot finally responded and jammed down on the rear brake and the hands grabbed for the front brake lever.

T- 0.4 seconds. The brake pads built up pressure. Years of riding, he closed his hand into a fist and crushed the front brake lever.

T- 0.15 seconds. The friction pads moved into contact with the rotating mass of the brake disc and began to engage at fifty-one feet away.

In an instant, Russell did calculations in his head, estimating he needed an extra twenty feet to fully perform an emergency stop.

Twenty feet he did not have.

T- 0.10 seconds. Russell tensed up. Impact was imminent. Pressure in rear brake built up enough to stop rotation of the rear tire. Seventy-percent of the weight of the motorcycle shifted to the front tire.

The shock absorbers on the motorcycle compressed as the big bike did a nosedive. On two tires, patches of rubber the size of a hand of a large man tried to stop a half-ton of steel, rubber and human flesh and bone.

The rear tire of the motorcycle began to skid, the tire locked up and melting from friction with the highway, liquid rubber now lubricating the tire which began to yaw to the right, the front tire slowing faster than the rear. Lulu, sat farthest away from the center mass of the motorcycle and adding more weight to the pendulum. Out of control with the dynamic forces Russell valiantly struggled to stop the inevitable.

Unstoppable, moving towards the immobile car, “Crossed up” as Gertrude the motorcycle yawed and slid sideways, they moved with Lulu making prayers, begging that it would be all right.

“Please don’t let it be bad, Lord, please let it be all right.”

It would not be all right.

T- 0.05 seconds. Russell could see over the top of the car, his mind processed information at a phenomenal rate, he could see the road was clear on the far side of the obstruction.

If only… Was his sole thought.

He could see the eyes of the little old lady, they were wide like a deer in the headlights, with plate-sized pupils.

T- 0.02 seconds. Photons made shadows on the ground. Shadows that merged as the front tire was bound down as tightly as it could be without locking up as the rear brake did. Speed was dropping rapidly, if it was on a graph, it would show the line of the deceleration as nearly vertical on a second by second chart.

T- 0.01 seconds. Russell could calculate his speed was still greater than…

T- 0.00 seconds. Impact! The photons that made shadows, now only made one as the front tire hit slightly ahead of the rest of the hog.

The force of the energy ripped the big bike’s grips from Russell’s hands. The husband’s body became a missile of kinetic energy launched by the impact of the vehicles.

Russell hit, bounced and flew over the top of the car, breaking the windshield with his helmeted head as he went by and landed partly on his face. The open-faced helmet affording him little protection, sliding and rolling down the asphalt. Russell came to a rest on his back. His face hurt, but he was awake.

T+ 0.50 seconds. Russell laid there, taking stock of his limbs. Pain was not overpowering but there was no question he was hurt. Movement at the periphery of his eyes made him turn his head.

The car was on the move. The little old lady was leaving! He could see her tail lights getting smaller as he tried to read the license plate from his awkward position.

Then, he saw his best friend’s body.

She was alarmingly still. Still as death.

T+ 1.5 seconds.

“Lulu…” He whispered a plea. “Lulu, move.”

She lay on the ground, partly under the motorcycle. Unmoving, silent. She lay there with her leg bent in way that was unnatural. He tried to crawl on his arms, leaving a bloody trail back to where his wife, his copilot and his best friend and lover, lay. Russell’s vision became blurred with agony as the pain set in. Blood dripped off his face where the road abraded his skin away with the rough black top.

T+ 5.0 seconds. Pounding of feet and a heavy “Thump-thump” of a huge motor pulling up next to him. An enormous chopper with an even larger rider looking down at him through goggles. A tattoo of the 82nd Airborne division on his forearm oddly was in focus to Russell’s eyes.

“We caught her, brother. We caught that old lady before she got very far. Hang in there, help is on the way.”

“Lulu?” Russel moaned. “My wife?”

“Your old lady’s alive, bro. Hurt bad, but alive.”

“Call 9-1-1.”

“Station is right there, they are coming now.” The giant biker told Russell with a slight Norwegian accent. “They’ll be here in two seconds.”

Two seconds, if only he had seen the car two seconds sooner.

FINIS

Dark Heart, Pure Soul Chatper 11. Hell on Earth

Standard

11. Hell on Earth

It was this demon that had betrayed the battle!

TRAITOR!

It was HIS cause for the failure of the plan. Claw of Hades now sheathed, hummed a warning too late!

The bolt of demon-fire struck him between the shoulders, Claw of Hades took most of the unholy blast, saving the demon. The wounded demon fell down on the path at the base of the raised platform, his body smoking from the fire of the Devil.

Pain! A lot of pain, groaning as he struggled to stand, the sentence was coming. This was going bad quickly. For even among immortal demons, there are fates worse than death.

Then it came.

“If this demon so desires to protect humans, he can live as one!” The Emperor shouted as he passed the judgment .

The Dark One announced the punishment rules. 

The demon only had to bow to what he really was,  and return to this place of punished souls. It would take only a one time use, JUST ONCE,  of his demon powers and he would return forever, not as a warrior, but as a slave.

No name, no power to inflict misery on any of the residents of the race of man. For his would be one of the background agonies that those that have turned their back on the other Master would hear. His own misery would be music for the damned to listen to for all eternity.

As the Emperor read off the sentence, the demon moved suddenly.  A sudden thought,  a plan!  He knew of he had to strike against this wrong, to strike down that which deserved it the most.  With a single movement he threw Claw of Hades directly at the Emperor.

And missed.

Straight and true it sailed, until Claw of Hades was intercepted by Emperor’s personal guard, who then handed the humming, living weapon to the Devil, the six-clawed hand wrapped around the weapon with a sensual, almost sexual stroking of it’s cutting edge.

A pause, and he amended the sentence, the demon was to keep the battle-ax and care for it. If the small demon used for any purpose that was beyond the powers of a human, he would return as a slave, to burn and suffer the exquisite agonies of the damned, he would be music to the lost souls of that place of humans.

No growing old and no peaceful death as a good person. That would make it too easy to get out of it and go to the other side.

He would be immortal still. Living as a human, never growing old, trying to hide his true nature from the weak-minded life that called itself “Human”. They would force him to show his true nature and weaknesses. He could learn how insane humans could be with someone different from themselves. Then, the Emperor was confident on this point, when he used his powers, he would fail and return to serve as one of the lowest caste only. His rank would not be restored.

With this, a shimmer of a blue flame appeared at the hand of the High Demon of All and raced towards the lessor demon.

PAIN! OH Sweet PAIN! He closed his eyes and screamed in agony. Claw of Hades struck him across the chest, the force of the blow knocked him to the ground. Agony… The fire burned deeply, only once did he try to stand, then his right-wing broke off with a hissing crack. His hide, his very flesh was melting off! The center of his soul was boiling in pain and anguish. Nothing lasts forever, but this was non-ending pain.

Then…

Suddenly.

It was over and a weightless sensation overtook him just long enough to let him realize that he was falling. He landed hard on the soil, bounced and slipped over the edge of a ravine, vines and brambles scraped his flesh as he fell. As he slid by the roots and as he became more aware, he reached out and grabbed at them as he went by.

Abruptly he was airborne, he felt the rush of air past his skin was an oddly pleasant sensation until he landed on his back in a shallow pool of a stream. The shock of the cold water stimulated his numb body, he could feel. And his tail HURT! He felt agony as if he had his tail torn out by the root, or burned off. Pain was all-encompassing and he screamed.

Then as suddenly as he grabbed at the root of his tail, he realized it was gone. The pain subsided and he realized he was lying nude on his back in a sandy shallow stream. The pain subsided and he pushed himself up on his hands into a sitting position.

Sound from above. Something was coming through the bushes from where he had come.

He looked up and his battle-ax and companion of lo these many conflicts sailed over the bluff falling like a spear down at him. Making squawking sounds, he kicked hard backwards as the main blade embedded itself half of its length in the sand. Half a hand width closer it would have emasculated him in a way that made him double-check that nothing was missing.

He chuckled, in a nervous-hysterical tone at the nearness of the miss–and then stopped.

The sound was alien, he never made that sound in his memory. It was a curious sound, then he became curious of all the changes of his appearance as he looked at his hands and body. Skin, no scales, no fur.

Just pink skin.

He was not sure in his curiosity, not really wanting to look at his disfigurement, but chose to look anyway. Taking several steps to a quiet pool he looked at his reflection in it, he was far different from what he looked like before. His eyes were forward-looking and deep-set, glittering in the reflected light, his mouth was wide enough for that chuckle that he just heard – and then some. The hellfire that he just sustained had done more than take his armored hide, it changed him into a HUMAN!

Not bad-looking either.

He stood there, looking about himself, shivering. The cold water had chilled him and he was still standing knee-deep in the stream, there were two very steep banks on each side and he could see no path out of the stream bed. With a grunt he pulled his old friend and battle-ax out of the sand and he started to hike downstream to look for a way out of his predicament.

Finding that his walk out was difficult, caused by the slippery stones that lined the mountain stream, he stepped down into a pool of water that was deeper than he thought and he fell in, immediately went in over his head, and a sudden panic set in as he struggled to the surface. In the struggle to get out of the water, he dropped his ax as he grabbed for a purchase on the sides of a large smooth rock. The now-human swept along with the flow of water until he found a grip a short distance downstream and pulled himself up to a flat part of a large rock. He lay there in the sun for several moments coughing retching with his lungs complaining of the water that he had swallowed.

A few minutes of trying to catch is breath, the naked, cold man collapsed face first on the outcropping, The texture of rock was warm to his cheek, for which he was thankful. His sense of time was lost in the warmth of the sun on him, catching his breath and warming. Wonderfully, he was no longer shivering and after several moments, warmed by the sun and rock, exhausted from his recent journeys of battle, pain of having been burned out of hell, dropped thirty-feet through berry bushes, trees, and brambles into a box ravine, becoming badly chilled and then nearly drowning, then warmed by the gentle sunlight, he slept a dreamless sleep on his first day of being human.