Been awhile, eh

So, I know I've been offline for quite a while now, but have no fear. I'm back. Below is a short story I wrote recently. Hope you enjoy it.

Talking Bones

It was huge. Much bigger than I’d imagined. I mean, I knew it would be scary, but nothing like this had ever crossed my mind. I stepped off the bus and took a deep breath. Shrugging on my backpack and grabbing my two other bags from the driver, I moved towards the small group of people standing on the corner. Biting my lower lip, I stood on the outskirts of the group and quickly swept my eyes in every direction. A maze of white sidewalks, lined with lush green trees, led towards tall, authoritative buildings. It overwhelmed my senses as I watched hundreds of people walk with purpose down the paths.

Signs hung along the paths indicating the various directions we could take towards the dorms we’d been assigned. I looked at the paper in my hand and followed the signs toward Bailey Hall. As I approached the towering, white-brick building, I wondered what my roommate would be like. With a swoosh of energy, the front doors opened and led me into the worst 1970s décor I’d ever seen. Orange and brown colors dominated the walls, carpet and furniture. I hoped I wouldn’t have to spend too much time in this room as I walked over to the desk and waited for my room assignment.

“Abigail Von Heisling.” I said when the bored, highly pierced girl finally looked up at me. She handed me a key for room 2107 and pointed towards the elevator. On the second floor, my room was easy enough to find. Straight out the elevator, three doors down on the right. I opened the door and gaped. I had a feeling my recently purchased “dorm-room ensemble” of matching bedspread, sheets and floor covering wouldn’t fit in with the already decided décor. I glanced around the room and immediately realized my roommate was out. Stepping into the room, I shook my head.

“Great.” I thought, “Now I’m stuck rooming with a vampire.” Black spewed from every area of the room. From the curtains to her bedspread to the rug to every item in the closet. Nothing but black. Sighing, I unpacked my Indian-inspired bed sheets and hoped the mixture of reds, yellows and tans would give the room some light. I was standing in the doorway of my small closet when I heard the door open.

“What the hell is that?”

I poked my head around the door and saw my roommate pointing to my bed. “Hi, I’m Abigail. But most people call my Abby.”

She looked over at me and raised her eyebrow, “Abigail? That’s an old lady’s name.”
I tried to smile, but the years of memories of the playground taunts swirled in my mind.
“Whatever, I’m Rickie. My real name’s Margaret but don’t ever call me that.” And with that, she put back in her ear-buds and laid on her bed. I assumed our conversation was over and went back to unpacking my clothes.

A week later, I anxiously sat in my first Anthropology class and waited for my new life to begin. I had always wanted to work with bones. I loved the history and stories bones held. Ever since my parents took me to see the King Tutankhamen exhibit eight years ago, I knew my destiny. At that time, I immediately got hooked on the ancient stories of bones.

By the end of the first class, I was even more in love with bones. The professor, Dr. Red O’Connor, fascinated us with stories of his excavations and finds. He showed actual artifacts that dated back to the times of the ancient Aztecs and Mayans. And then he talked about his forensic lab. He explained that part of his job was to identify, catalog and try to put back together the broken bones that other Archeology digs had found. He also wanted volunteers. My hand shot straight up.

Later that afternoon, sitting in O’Connor’s lab, I looked around at the other volunteers. Only two other people had signed up and they were twins. Engaged in their own private world, they seemed to have little interest in widening their circle. I sighed. So much for meeting new people, I thought. Turning my attention back to the bones, Dr. O’Connor told us that the bones he wanted us to work on had been found recently just a few miles from the campus. The state police had asked him to try to identify them in hopes of solving a cold case from years ago. Then, he showed us how to identify and catalog the bones and I got to work. I really enjoyed it. At least, until that day when the bone spoke.
The Friday after Thanksgiving, I was sitting in the lab pondering my pathetic life. I couldn’t go home for the holidays, and I still didn’t know anyone on campus. I had eaten dry turkey and lumpy gravy in the dorm cafeteria last night and got to bed early.

Fortunately, Rickie had gone home and so at least I didn’t have to deal with her. We still barely spoke to each other and anytime she did talk to me, it was to tell me to move my stuff or turn out a light. Needless to say, we hadn’t become the best of friends. So, here I sat, wondering if college was really for me. Should I come back next semester? And, if so, why? Lost in my own pity, I almost didn’t hear it. The faint whisper climbed into my head and repeated itself until I paid attention.

“Help me.”

Dropping the bone, I looked around the room. No one was there. Shuddering, I figured it was my imagination and picked the bone back up.

“Help me. Please.”

I jumped back and dropped the bone again. Had I really just heard that? What was going on? Was someone playing a joke on me? I looked around the room again. This time, however, I got up and walked around. I was looking for speakers or a video camera or anything that would indicate that I was the brunt of a practical joke. Seeing nothing, I slowly approached the table again. Cautiously, I touched the bone with my pencil.

Nothing. Using my pencil lead, I flipped it over. Nothing. Using the same pencil, I pushed it back and forth across the table. Nothing.

Sighing, I sat back down. Must just be my imagination, I thought. I’m lonely and sad and maybe I just want to be needed. I picked the bone back up.

“Please. I need your help.”

I stared at the bone. Was it really talking to me? Looking around a third time to make sure there was still no one in the room, I said, ‘How?”

“Find the man who murdered me.”

Dropping the bone for the third time, I raced out of the lab and back to my room. Laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling I tried to erase from my memory the chill that crept up my spine in the lab. I almost jumped out of my skin when our door opened. Rickie stormed in and slammed her suitcase on her bed, “I hate my new step-father. He’s such a jerk!”

I stared at her, speechless. She turned towards me and I could tell she was about to spew her wrath on me when she suddenly said, “What the hell happened to you?”
Not knowing what else to do, I told her about the bone. I don’t know what I was expecting, especially since I didn’t even believe my own story, but she just listened and then said, “So, if you can identify the bone, you might be able to help the police solve a case?”

I nodded. “I guess so. But, the bone spoke to me. What about that?”
“That’s awesome. Just think about it. What if we found out who died and who killed him? We could become famous.”
“Her. The bone belonged to a woman. And, what do you mean, we?” My eyebrows shot up at the pronoun.

Rickie started pacing around the room, “Well, I’m home early from break with nothing to do and you’re obviously weirded out by this thing. So, I’ll come along to help.” She shrugged. As if bones spoke to people all the time.
Knowing there was no way in hell I was going back in that lab alone, I agreed.
When we got back to the lab, Rickie took some things out of her backpack: a candle, incense, and a crystal pendant. Raising my eyebrows, I wondered if she always carried that stuff with her. We sat down at the lab table and looked at the fragment of bone. I explained that based on its size and structure, I knew it composed a part of a woman’s cheekbone. I watched as Rickie placed the bone in the center of the table, drew a circle around it in chalk, lit the candle and incense and began swinging the pendant over it.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Clearing the bad spirits.” She spun the crystal around it a few times. “There. Now you can talk to it.”

Shaking my head in confusion, I walked over to the table and picked up the stone. Almost immediately, I felt its warmth.

“Help me.” The same whisper came into my head.

I replied, “We want to try. Who are you and who killed you?”

“Eyes of violet. Tall and white. Very tall and very white. As white as I am now. Find him. I beg you.”

“Who are you?” I asked again.

“Belinda. Sweet little Belinda. Thought he would give me cookies-just like always. Never wanted to hurt my mamma.”
I put the bone back on the table and looked over at Rickie. She stood there with her hands on her hips. “Well, what’d she say?”

“Come on, let’s go to the library.”

On the way over, I told Rickie that we were looking a murder victim named Belinda. She was less then excited about our chances.

When we entered the library, the woman at the information desk sat hunched over a large tome. Her white hair flowed down her back and when she looked up at us, her eyes almost got lost in the rolls of wrinkles. We asked about a murder that took place two decades ago involving a girl named Belinda. I doubted she’d know anything about it, but I was wrong. Pulling out an old newspaper, she found the article about the murder.
According to the papers, the murder of six-year-old Belinda Morris had been the worst case this county had ever seen. Based on the interview from the girl’s mother, Belinda had been playing out back when the phone rang. The woman stepped inside for about ten minutes and when she came back out, Belinda was gone. No one knew if she’d been kidnapped or had wandered off. They searched for two solid weeks and never found any clue of the girl. The case had gone cold and no one had any answers.

Rickie glanced over at me. “Now what? We know who she is, but not who killed her.”
“She said he always gave her cookies. What if it was a neighbor or someone else she trusted?”

Rickie shook her head. “Nope, there’s an interview with the man from across the street. His name’s Melvin Hopplinger. Man, that’s a crappy name. Anyway, he claims he saw a man sneak into the backyard and take Belinda. It must have been a stranger. He even helped in the two-week search for her. He said the guy was a short, black man with long curly hair.”

“That’s not right. That’s not at all how Belinda described him. Let me see the article.” I took the paper from Rickie and inhaled sharply. There, staring back at me was a tall, almost albino man. I read the description of him. The reporter remarked about his height (almost 6’5”) and his stark violet eyes.

“This is him.” I pointed at the paper. “We’ve found him, Rickie. Now what do we do?”
Rickie stood up and began to pace. “If we go to the police, they’ll never believe us. We need proof. Let’s go.” She grabbed my hand and practically pulled me from the library.

The next day, I found myself crouched down behind the most scratchy bushes I’ve ever seen, trying to look nonchalant while staking out the house of a sixty-year old man. He seemed so harmless, making mulch from his rose bushes and humming to himself. I started to doubt that he could be the killer. Just then, Rickie pointed towards the roses.
The bush was gigantic and led all the way into the back yard.

“I bet he used the mulch machine to get rid of her body.”

I nodded and tried to remember something O’Connor had said.

“Wait, I’ve got it.” I crawled away from the bushes and stood up. Rickie’s eyes popped open wide. I walked towards the old man.

“Excuse me,” I began. “Have you seen my dog? He’s just a puppy and I think I saw him run into your backyard.”

The old man turned towards me and I tried not to show my fear when his vivid eyes bore into mine.

“Nope. Haven’t seen ‘im.” He went back to pruning the rose bush.

“Can I go look?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll take a look. You stay here.” He threw his gardening gloves and shears down and rambled into the back yard.

I quickly grabbed one of the gloves and started running towards Rickie, who stood shock-still with her mouth agape. “C’mon!”

We ran all the way to campus and burst into O’Connor’s office.

His kind eyes looked up from the paper he was reading. “Can I help you girls?”

Rickie asked, “Can you get DNA from this glove? And from a bone in your lab?”

His brow crinkled. “Yes, but why would I do that? Abigail, what’s going on?”

I took a deep breath and told him everything. He sat back in his chair and mumbled, “I wondered who’d be next.” Pushing up from his desk he added, “So, you think you’ve found the killer, eh? Let’s find out.”

Two weeks later, as I was packing to go home for the winter break, the story broke.
Turned out the old man had been the kidnapper and had killed that poor little girl. Professor O’Connor got a nice big promotion, and I got an A in my Anthropology class.

Rickie thought I should have gotten more recognition, but I was happy with the outcome. Dr. O’Connor had put me in charge of his lab and I was beginning to make friends. I was actually looking forward to coming back next semester.

I turned as Rickie came into the room. “You ready?” She asked. “I can’t wait to meet your family.”

I nodded and smiled. “Let’s go home.”

All in a day's work

The suspense was killing me. Well, ok. The razor sharp dagger had the actual pleasure, but still, I hated waiting.
The question that kept coming to my mind was, “How did I get myself into this mess?” and the answer was simple.

A woman.

I thought back to what started it all. It was a nice day. A pleasant day, even. The sun was full in the bright blue sky. Wispy clouds floated by randomly as though skipping through the sky. Birds sang out in joyful glee while a light breeze picked up the smell of jasmine and honeysuckle. As I walked the two blocks to work, I thought the day couldn’t be more perfect.
I believe that’s what the superstitious ones in the bunch will call “jinxing it”.

Sure enough, as soon as I got to my antique shop on the corner the skies started to cloud up. The birds fell silent as though hushed by an unseen conductor. Not paying much attention to it, I opened my store for business.

Thirty minutes later, the door flew open and a large figure stood in the doorway. Behind him, the skies let loose a barrage of thunderous claps and flashes.
“For goodness sakes, George, close the door.” I said to my brother.
“Have you seen the weather? Changed on a dime, it did.” George came around the counter and shook the rain off his overcoat.
“Haven’t really noticed, but hope it doesn’t affect business.” I went back to dusting off the Queen Elizabeth armoire.
“You never notice anything.”
“That’s not true. I’ve noticed that you’ve gained about ten pounds since Christmas.” Smiling at him, I continued. “Have you seen the dagger I left on the counter last night?”
“The Incan sacrificial one?”
“Yeah. I was doing research on it last night and left it on the counter. Turns out it belonged to one of the only Incan priestesses that ever ruled. It was said that she had magical abilities and ruled her kingdom for over three hundred years.”
“Hmm. Not sure if living to be three hundred is so magical. But, yes, I put the dagger under the counter.”

Hours later, as I was about to close down for the day, I heard a faint rap on the front window. My gut told me to ignore it. Probably just the wind. But, my head thought of business and I turned.

That’s when I saw her.

I was mesmerized. Long black hair swirled around a face that looked like an Egyptian princess. I slowly walked to the door, never taking my eyes off her. I couldn’t have if I’d tried. I was smitten. So smitten in fact that I didn’t notice her eyes following my every move like a bird of prey ready to dine.

The rain pelted against the window and the trees shook in horror at the wind and sleet. Yet, my only thought was to get this angel, this perfect specimen, out of the rain.

When I opened the door. She rushed into the store.
“Oh thank goodness you’re still here. I must speak with you.”
I couldn’t for the life of me think why this magnificent creature would need to speak to me.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound as pathetic as I thought.
“I’m looking for a dagger. My father gave it to my mother years ago. After their deaths, my brother sold it. It’s a family heirloom and I really must have it back.”
“Well, we have a nice selection of daggers over here.” I showed her the way. My feet felt like lead balloons tied to each other, but fortunately, I somehow managed to make it to the counter.
“No, no, no. None of these will do. Are you sure you don’t have any others? I was told it would be here.”
“No…I don’t think…..oh, wait.” I reached under the counter and lifted up the dagger that had come in last night. “I’m sure this can’t be what you’re referring to, as it only came in yesterday.”

She grabbed it from my hands and ran out the door.
Dumbfounded, I simply stared at her back. What in the world? I couldn’t believe what had just happened. It took about another five seconds for me to register what she had done and then I dashed off after her.

Outside, I glanced in both directions and saw the flap of her red overcoat swing around the corner to my left. I charged after her. “Wait, stop.” I called. She continued running. She flew over Main Street, ducked behind the diner, and fled up the trail towards the woods. What on earth was she doing, I wondered?

I ran after her. Was I still after the dagger, I thought, or had this become something more? My breath became labored and I realized I had left without my coat. Sweat poured down my back while sleet pelted my front. I could see the puffs of breath coming from my mouth in bursts, yet I never thought to stop.

At the top of the hill, she ducked down behind something and I lost her. I ran to the top and looked around. There! On the left. A small crevice. Was it a cave? Somewhere for her to hide?

Without thinking, I lowered myself into the crevice. It was a cave. Big enough for me to stand up in. I could see the flicker of lights at the far end and followed them like a moth to a flame.

Peering around the corner, I saw her. Naked, lying on the altar. The dagger raised high above her chest. The flicker of the torch light caressing every curve of her body. The sight stopped me dead in my tracks. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

Then she looked at me.
I burst into action. I ran to the altar and just as the blade sliced into her heart, I grabbed her hand.

I awoke to the sound of drums. Where in the world was that coming from, I wondered. It was dark, but I could see the stars. Ok, I thought, at least I know I’m outside. I tried to move, but my arms and legs were as heavy as cement. I looked down at my hands. They were tied to holes in the stone slab I was lying on. What in the world was going on?

A soft brush of a hand had me looking in the opposite direction. It was her. Standing above me. Dressed in feathers and leather. And pointing the dagger at my chest.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” She murmured. “You weren’t meant to be here.”
“Where is here?” I whispered back.
“My homeland. Peru.”
“How did we get here?”
The drums started to beat faster and that’s when I heard it. The chanting. Low and strong. Like a song on the wind that you’re not really sure is there. I looked back at her.
“I’m to be sacrificed, aren’t I?”
“Yes. When you travelled back with me, the king was frightened. He said it was a sign from the gods and that we should honor them with your blood. I’m so sorry.”
“You’re the Incan priestess, who owned the dagger, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
“Then do what you must.” I whispered. I closed my eyes. And I waited for the heat and the pain from the knife.

I really do hate to wait.

6 months

“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“Really, really sure? No way there’s a mistake?”
His cold fingers patted the back of my hand. “I’m sorry. There’s no mistake.” With his head down, he left the room.
Slowly, I got up from the examining table. I grabbed my shirt and put it on. Damn, inside out. I tried again. This time my arms got stuck in the sleeves.
The flood gates opened.
Falling into the closest chair, the tears fell from my eyes like a torrential downpour. I couldn’t stop myself. I just bawled.

Six months, I thought. Six months. What in the world am I going to do?

And that’s when it hit me.

Six months. Just six months. I had better get busy.

Standing up from the chair my mind starting racing. So many things to do. So many places to see. So many people to love.
I rushed from the cold, sterile office out into the warmth of the summer sun.
Tilting my head towards the heat, I closed my eyes and thanked the heavens for the opportunity to know my fate. To know how much time I had.

I had to make a list.

First stop, the bank. I closed all my accounts, took out all my money and liqudated all my assets. Ok, so in reality, I didn’t have any assets, but at least I wasn’t broke, either.
Next stop, the travel agency. A three month cruise around the world for me and my husband, please. Yes, we need to leave immediately. Yes, I want first class. Yes, I realize it’ll cost me.
Back home, I start making calls, sending emails. Gonna throw the biggest party the world has ever seen. I figure once I get back from the travels, I’ll spend time with the rest of my family and friends. Three months is probably enough for everyone. And then, right before I go, the party of the century.

I couldn’t wait. Wait a minute, was I really enjoying this? Was I really finally “living”? Had it taken the promise of death to realize what was important?

Sadly enough – Yes.

I realized that my life had been a regurgitation of daily habits, common experiences, and a comfort zone so invisible, not even God could see it. But now, now I intended to live. I planned to enjoy my days, to love openly and to have fun.

And that’s when it happened.
In mourning for my previous life, I cried.
Sad that I only had six months to live.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As director of the board of Chicago’s third largest bank, Samantha “Sam” Worthington finished this month’s meeting. The nine other board members all convened around the coffee urn to finish their conversations about basketball and the weather while Sam went directly to her office on the 25th floor of the Worthington building. It was only when she closed the double French styled wood doors to her three room office suite did she finally begin to breathe normally again.

Man, I hate board meetings, she thought. All those stuffy old men just lying in wait hoping to catch me mess up. They’re worse than the big bad wolf that Red had to handle. But, at least that’s over for another month and I can get back to business.
The confidence came easy now, but it wasn’t always like that. Having grown up the only girl and the youngest of four in a strictly patriarchal family, she had to prove herself at every turn. Her mother never understood why she couldn’t just be happy with tennis and volunteer work. But that wasn’t good enough for Sam. She wanted a piece of the action.

Her father and brothers had all laughed when, at nine, she announced, at the country club annual event, that she would take over the family business one day. Even worse than their laughter, were the jokes and taunts at her expense for the next ten years. But, she knew it had made her tough. It didn’t matter that her father owned the bank; she had worked her way up from teller, and she was damn proud of it. So, when her father stepped down from Director of the Board, she outwitted, outsmarted, and outdid all of her brothers and won the position.

And now, that toughness translated into her everyday actions. Nobody messed with Samantha Worthington.

She headed towards the full bathroom to the right of her main office, splashed some water on her face. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she thought, let me at those numbers.

An hour later, she glanced at the clock and smiled. She was meeting Reilly at her favorite restaurant today. The morning had flown by and it was already 11:30. Grabbing her bag from the bottom drawer, she buzzed her assistant and told her she was going to lunch.

The cold blast from Michigan Avenue had the maitre d’ looking up from the reservation book. His eyes widened.
“Ms. Worthington, I had no idea you’d be dining with us today. Welcome.”
“Thank you Pierre. The reservation is in my friend’s name. Reilly Thompson.”

As he led her through the restaurant, every eye in the place followed. Unfortunately, Sam was used to it. Considering herself more striking than pretty, she was one of those women that everyone noticed. She had high cheekbones, wide lavender eyes, and lips so full other women wanted referrals to her collagen doctor. Plus, standing at 5’11” and proportionally built for her size, she called attention to herself no matter where she went.

Looking over the menu at the Grand Lux Café, Sam was trying to decide if she should order the Greek salad and follow her diet, or go for the steak mushroom and cheese sandwich with extra crispy fries when Reilly sat down.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Sam said as she handed her menu to Reilly.
“I think I have, one minor problem, though…it’s me.”

After Reilly had filled Sam in on the details of her morning and included the fact that she’d gotten the brooch dated, Sam not only decided to pick the steak sandwich, but ordered a very large merlot to go with it.
“So, it dates back from the 1500s?” Sam asked.
“1567 actually. The frame is dated back to 1558, but the limning process revealed that the brooch was done in ’67. As a matter of fact, we were even able to tell that it was made somewhere in Northern Europe, probably England or Ireland. I still can’t believe it. How does it look so much like me?”
“Honey, it doesn’t look like you…” Sam handed Reilly her wine glass and gestured to the waiter to bring another. “It is you.”
“But how? How is it possible?” She absently rubbed her brooch. “How could someone in the 1500s create a perfect portrait of me?”
The two friends spent the better part of the next hour trying to figure out that very confusing question, but came up with nothing. Frustrated, Reilly changed the subject.

“So, what’s new in your world?”
“Oh, not much. Had our monthly board meeting today. I swear I can feel the hatred coming off some of those guys. Oh, my aunt’s birthday is tomorrow. I’d love for you to finally meet that side of the family.”

“You mean, you want me to finally meet your cousin.”
“Sure. What’s wrong with trying to set you two up? You’re perfect for each other.”
Reilly sighed. “You know I’m not into dating right now. Not since what happened with the ex.”

“Yeah, from what you’ve told me, that was harsh. Strutting over to your table to brag about his new wife and baby. I wonder how he knew you’d be at that restaurant. It sounds like he planned it. But, still. It was three years ago. Don’t you think it’s time you move on?”

“I can’t. That was also the night my parent’s plane went down. I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but I feel somewhat guilty about their deaths.”
“Look, you didn’t cause the crash.”

Reilly took a sip of her wine. “How can you be so sure? It was like I was there. What if my thoughts actually made it happen? I thought it was a dream, but it wasn’t. I was wide awake. I could feel the horror and the fear my mom experienced as their plane dove into the mountain range. My body felt as if it had been in the wreck. There was so much pain. And then, it was calm and I knew. I just knew they were dead. How can I not be the cause?”

Sam looked at her friend and put her arm around Reilly’s shoulders, “It wasn’t your fault, hon. You need to let it go.” Then Sam smiled the grin she was known for. “And the best way to move on is to take a lover…and speaking of my cousin….”
Reilly smiled and shook her head. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to kick your butt in karate class tonight.”
“Yeah, like that could happen.” They laughed and finished their lunch.

Back at work, Reilly hit the right corner of her desk twice; opened and closed the middle left drawer; opened the center drawer and voila, the hidden bottom in that drawer just opened right up. She remembered when she’d first found it. She had been eight and her reward had been her father’s stash of chocolate caramels. According to her father, the desk was dated back to the early 1500s and he claimed had been used by Mary, Queen of Scots.

She wasn’t sure about that, but it did have its own charm, like an old book or worn down stone, that reeked of ancient documents and important treaties being signed on it. Dark, imperfect wood gleamed from years of polishes and the desk even spoke of romance. Carved into the wood, hidden under the top were the initials IM + R something.

Reilly used to imagine the handsome lord who’d carved his initials into the rich wood. Who had been his lover? Was it someone of high lineage or a simple maid? She would spend hours sitting under that desk and dreaming of the handsome couple giggling while they made their mark. It made her feel like she was back in some fantastical romance taking place in medieval Scotland.

It was almost seven by the time she came up for air and realized she was going to be late for her Karate class if she didn’t leave now. They were sparring again today and that was Reilly’s favorite part. On the drive over, she remembered the first time she sparred for her black belt.

Reilly and the tall blond woman in the dojo had beaten every other opponent, men and women, and were set to challenge each other. The Sensei looked at them both and knew this was going to be exciting.
Both hard driven.
Both determined.
Both tough as nails.
Both ready to do whatever it takes to win.
Both equally matched.
They sparred for a total of forty-five minutes before the Sensei called it a draw. Exhausted and beaten up, they bowed to each other and smiled. Sam crooked her head towards the door, “Don’t know about you, but I could really use a drink.”
They became instant friends.

Reilly walked into the dojo smiling at the memory of that first meeting three years ago. She spotted Sam and walked over.
“Hey, girl.”
“Hey! So, how’d the rest of the day with the spooky brooch go? Any news?”
“Nothing really. Billy did some more research. He came up with a couple of famous artists from that time, but nothing concrete. I read through some of it today, but that had more to do with a sport called curling. I’ll finish reading it later at home. Maybe he came up with something we can latch onto. ”
“Well, if not, give Billy time. He’s a whiz with research, and will go to the ends of the earth to help you.” Sam winked.
“Quit it, Billy’s my assistant, he’s 24 and he’s not my type. I’ve already had this conversation with you about thirty times. C’mon, let’s spar. I’m ready to kick your skinny butt.”

A few hours later, Reilly was back at home and reading all the information Billy had gotten from the internet earlier. Although she knew a lot about the time period, clothes and customs, Billy’s research hit on topics she was less than familiar with. He had gotten information about artists specializing in limning. There was one in particular that caught her attention. Ian MacDougal.

The sketch of what he was supposed to look like had her doing a double take. Strong jaw line, long black hair tied back from his face, eyes that even in 2-D made you want to confess to anything. He was definitely the epitome of the “sexy artist”. Looking over his biographical information, Reilly learned that he was from Scotland and had made a name for himself by not only painting portraits but through revolutionary inventions.

Thanks

I just wanted to take a minute to thank everyone who has been reading my blog. I hope you're enjoying the stories. So far, I've been featured three times on the Writer's League of Texas blog page for my short stories (all posted here). That's been very exciting.

So, keep checking back as I'll continue to post short stories and chapters from my book. Also, feel free to leave comments after any one of my postings. I really appreciate your feedback and suggestions.

Cheers,
Shannon

The next installment of my book...

Chapter 2

Sitting at his desk, jamming out to his favorite album from U2 on his iPod, Billy was researching Celtic art from the 1500s. One of the things he loved most about being Reilly’s assistant was the chance to do some of the research she didn’t have time to do herself. He loved finding out about ancient artifacts and art.

It was almost like being there, he thought, I get to look into the past, its secrets and its mysteries, and for a moment in time I can pretend to be the valiant knight and save the damsel or I’m the brave Mayan king at war with the neighboring tribe. That’d be really cool.

He continued to tap his foot in rhythm to the music. Not that my life is so bad, he thought. A great job, some really cool friends and I finally grew into my head. At least I don’t look like a giant cantaloupe on top of a stick anymore. Plus, he thought, I get to work with Reilly. That, in and of itself, made life worth living.

She was amazing. Tall, athletic, shoulder-length hair, a face that he thought would stop traffic and she always smelled like honeysuckle. Oh, man, did he love honeysuckle. Yeah, all in all, not a bad gig.

As U2 spoke of the atrocities from the terrible battle on Bloody Sunday, Billy was delving into the mysteries of the 16th Century in Edinburgh, Scotland. He thought the music fit the research and often tried to match the two. Of course, this song didn’t have much to do with Scotland, he realized, but hey, Ireland was close enough, right?

His research led him to an odd article about curling. He’d never even heard of the sport before and was amazed to find that it not only was popular way back then, but was an actual Olympic sport today.

“Hey Reilly, check this out.” He said as his boss rushed through the door to the office.
“Sorry, no time. Where’s that package from this morning?”
“Should still be on your desk.” He followed her into her office. “Seriously, have you ever heard of curling? Ya know, that sport where they push a big rock down a patch of ice while some guys run ahead of it with brooms? Can you believe they do that in the Olympics?”
“Yes, I mean no, I mean…what are you talking about? Now, where the hell is that thing?” Right then, she noticed that it had fallen under the chair when she dropped it this morning. Bending to pick it up, she felt a shiver of cold run up her spine. “Look, I can’t talk right now, ok. Just leave me whatever it is you’re babbling about and I promise I’ll read it later, ok?”

She hadn’t meant to be short with Billy, but she was spooked from Carly’s dream and needed to see what had been delivered. Was it really the beginning of her end? Could it possibly have something to do with her upcoming and untimely death? Or was it simply another donated artifact that needed to be catalogued and displayed?

It’s just another donation, it’s just another donation, she repeated to herself as she removed the wrapping. And, by the time she’d gotten to the box inside, almost believed it. She was about to laugh at herself for being so superstitious but didn’t have time because the second she saw what was in the box, she screamed.

Billy had never been so scared in his life. Not even that time when he had to give a speech to hundreds of professors and had forgotten his notes. This kind of scared was worse.
When he heard her scream, his legs couldn’t move fast enough. He went racing through the door.
“Reilly, Reilly, what the hell happened?
“Oh my God, oh my God. The brooch. The little miniature brooch. Did you see it? Where is it? How could…” Reilly started to babble as Billy handed her a glass of water.

“What brooch? Is that what was in the package? Let me see.” Billy answered and took the box from Reilly’s clenched and pale fingers. “What’s so scary about a….holy cow…that’s you! Cool! When did you have this done? It’s a really good replica of those miniature brooches they used to do in Europe, what did they call it? Oh yeah, limning. Yep, this is really cool. What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

Reilly took the box back from Billy, unsure how to tell him she’d never sat for this portrait and she was pretty darn sure it hadn’t been done any time in the recent past.