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.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, December 1, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
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
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
Friday, November 14, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
A game of scrabble
One tile. That’s all that he put down. Just one tile and I wanted to wring his little neck.
“How on earth did you just get 27 points?”
He just smiled.
“Fine,” I said, “that’s how you want to play it? Bring it on, buster.”
Looking at my tiles, I began to panic. Four a’s, an x, and two p’s. What on earth was I going to do. He was already beating me and I did not intend to lose.
He smiled again. More of a smirk, actually. “What’s the matter? Have to forfeit the turn?”
I began to sweat. Would I have to lose a turn? No! That couldn’t happen. Just then I noticed the lone e all by itself, sitting next to a triple word score. Sweet! I placed two tiles down to spell out ‘axe’.
“Read it and weep, sucker!”
I stood up and did a happy dance, singing “thirty points, thirty points, I just got thirty points”.
My 10-year old nephew began to cry. His little shoulders shook with every sobbing breath as he looked at me like I’d just killed his pet turtle.
My stomach turned. My heart broke. My ego crushed. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” I began. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m so sorry. Look, we’ll stop now and you’re still ahead, so that means you win.” I tried to comfort him and put my arms around him. He continued to shake.
But, wait a minute…that didn’t sound like crying. Moving away from him, I saw the glimmer in his eye and knew I’d been had.
“Now who’s the sucker?”
“How on earth did you just get 27 points?”
He just smiled.
“Fine,” I said, “that’s how you want to play it? Bring it on, buster.”
Looking at my tiles, I began to panic. Four a’s, an x, and two p’s. What on earth was I going to do. He was already beating me and I did not intend to lose.
He smiled again. More of a smirk, actually. “What’s the matter? Have to forfeit the turn?”
I began to sweat. Would I have to lose a turn? No! That couldn’t happen. Just then I noticed the lone e all by itself, sitting next to a triple word score. Sweet! I placed two tiles down to spell out ‘axe’.
“Read it and weep, sucker!”
I stood up and did a happy dance, singing “thirty points, thirty points, I just got thirty points”.
My 10-year old nephew began to cry. His little shoulders shook with every sobbing breath as he looked at me like I’d just killed his pet turtle.
My stomach turned. My heart broke. My ego crushed. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” I began. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m so sorry. Look, we’ll stop now and you’re still ahead, so that means you win.” I tried to comfort him and put my arms around him. He continued to shake.
But, wait a minute…that didn’t sound like crying. Moving away from him, I saw the glimmer in his eye and knew I’d been had.
“Now who’s the sucker?”
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Today's short story
Thanks to the prompt from the Writer's League of Texas, here's this week's story.
It did not turn out the way I thought it would.
Being single, in my late 30s and knowing that crazy statistic about lightening, I decided to try online dating. I thought for sure I’d find someone interesting. And, as a matter of a fact, I did.
We started sending emails back and forth and he seemed like such a great guy. He had a good job, was close to his family, no criminal record. All in all, a decent fella.
So, the emails led to texts which led to phone calls. He’d call and say all the things a lonely woman sitting at home wants to hear. He’d ooh and aah over the pictures I’d post and we’d spend hours talking about our interests. We really seemed to hit it off and I couldn’t wait to go to the next level.
An actual date.
So, the stage was set. He’d picked one of my favorite restaurants even though we’d never discussed it. Was it a sign that we were right for each other? I surely thought so. I began to plan the evening days before it happened. What would I wear, how should I do my hair, what perfume should I use? So many things to think of. I almost took a vacation day to plan.
It was finally time! We had agreed to meet at seven, at the bar. We’d seen enough photos of each other, talked enough and spent more hours online together than most married couples I knew. So, for me, I just knew he was the one.
I arrived at the bar a little early (yeah, I know I shouldn’t have, but I was so excited!). As I ordered my first drink, I nervously scanned the area. There were a few men at the bar by themselves, but they weren’t who I was looking for. As I ordered my second drink, I began to fret. And, by the time I’d finished my third, I was pissed.
He stood me up. How could that be? We were meant for each other. What about all the texts, emails, phone calls. How could he have done this? How could I have been so stupid? I was about to leave, dejected and embarrassed, when the bartender handed me a drink.
“I didn’t order that.”
“From the guy at the end.”
I glanced his way. Nice! I smiled and mouthed, thank you.
Coming over to me, he said, “Would you mind if I join you? My name’s Dave.”
So, like I said, it did not turn out the way I thought it would.
But then again, as Dave and I just celebrated our one year wedding anniversary, I can’t say I’m unhappy about it, either.
It did not turn out the way I thought it would.
Being single, in my late 30s and knowing that crazy statistic about lightening, I decided to try online dating. I thought for sure I’d find someone interesting. And, as a matter of a fact, I did.
We started sending emails back and forth and he seemed like such a great guy. He had a good job, was close to his family, no criminal record. All in all, a decent fella.
So, the emails led to texts which led to phone calls. He’d call and say all the things a lonely woman sitting at home wants to hear. He’d ooh and aah over the pictures I’d post and we’d spend hours talking about our interests. We really seemed to hit it off and I couldn’t wait to go to the next level.
An actual date.
So, the stage was set. He’d picked one of my favorite restaurants even though we’d never discussed it. Was it a sign that we were right for each other? I surely thought so. I began to plan the evening days before it happened. What would I wear, how should I do my hair, what perfume should I use? So many things to think of. I almost took a vacation day to plan.
It was finally time! We had agreed to meet at seven, at the bar. We’d seen enough photos of each other, talked enough and spent more hours online together than most married couples I knew. So, for me, I just knew he was the one.
I arrived at the bar a little early (yeah, I know I shouldn’t have, but I was so excited!). As I ordered my first drink, I nervously scanned the area. There were a few men at the bar by themselves, but they weren’t who I was looking for. As I ordered my second drink, I began to fret. And, by the time I’d finished my third, I was pissed.
He stood me up. How could that be? We were meant for each other. What about all the texts, emails, phone calls. How could he have done this? How could I have been so stupid? I was about to leave, dejected and embarrassed, when the bartender handed me a drink.
“I didn’t order that.”
“From the guy at the end.”
I glanced his way. Nice! I smiled and mouthed, thank you.
Coming over to me, he said, “Would you mind if I join you? My name’s Dave.”
So, like I said, it did not turn out the way I thought it would.
But then again, as Dave and I just celebrated our one year wedding anniversary, I can’t say I’m unhappy about it, either.
Friday, October 31, 2008
About this blog
As a writer, not yet published, I needed a place to showcase some of my work. That's what this blog is about. Sometimes I'll write about myself or what's going on in my life, but mostly, it'll be a place where you can come to read some fun short stories and/or a chapter from my book. Please feel free to leave comments and I welcome good feedback about my writing. Also, I'm trying to get my first book published and so if you know anyone in the field..... :)
Anyway, here's the first chapter of my book, Open Immediately. I hope you like it.
Chapter 1
She felt the lions watching her. They always did. Their cold, grey eyes followed her. She picked up her pace and quickly found herself in front of the Field Museum of Natural Science.
Pushing open the massive glass doors that led into the museum, Reilly Thompson shook the light frosting of snowfall from her auburn shoulder-length hair. She was home. Following in her father’s footsteps, she’d studied archeology and ancient cultures in college. She hoped to one day take his place as curator of the museum, and remembering the reason for his departure, she reached up to rub the amulet she’d worn every day for three years and thought of her parents.
As she stomped the slush off her very practical boots, she looked up, smiled, and gave what had become a daily good morning wave to Sue, who didn’t respond. But what can you expect from a life-size skeleton of a T-Rex.
Humming quietly she looked around the main floor and noted the museum’s daily ritual of getting ready for the onslaught of curious visitors.
The museum shop manager was quickly refilling the stock of stuffed mastodons and posters of King Tut, the clerks at the information desk were counting tickets and stuffing brochures, while the midnight cleaning crew was shuffling out the front door on its way home to cozy beds.
Reilly headed off towards her office.
She made it as far as the ticket counter before she was approached by her assistant, Billy who had the habit of getting to work at least thirty minutes before her. Billy was great at his job, but Reilly suspected his early arrivals had more to do with the fact that, at 24, he still lived at home than with his work ethic.
“Morning, Reilly,” Billy said as they walked to the main offices, “You’ve got three voice mails, ten emails that need immediate attention, there’s a bulb out in the hall of gems, and your sister called twice. Oh, and you got a package delivered this morning.”
“Well, good morning to you, too. Carly called twice? Geez, it’s not even 8:00. OK, first get Bob to fix the….wait; did you say I got a package? Fed Ex doesn’t deliver this early. Who’s it from?”
Billy shrugged and headed off to make the coffee. Reilly turned and opened the door to her office and stepped into what could only be termed as her haven. Thick, dark mahogany furniture was accented by two solid walls of built-in bookshelves, lined with treasures from around the world. Some from her travels, but mostly from her father’s collections.
Behind her impressive and incredibly organized desk the bay windows let in the morning light shining off Lake Michigan. That was one of her favorite parts about the office, seeing the gleam of diamonds off the lapping waves of the lake. Her office always felt so comforting and had a great view of the Chicago skyline. She walked over to the antique lamp her father had found during one of his digs in India and switched on the amber colored light.
As she walked toward her desk, she looked over at the well-worn leather couch in the corner. Whenever she had visited her father in this office, she’d curl up on that couch and listen to him convince a wealthy donor to fund yet another dig in yet another far-away place. But, that memory had to be put on hold because on her desk was the package Billy mentioned.
Reilly’s brow crinkled. She never got a package delivered directly to her. Plus, nobody delivers this early.
The package was wrapped in plain white butcher paper with only two labels on it. One label said “Open immediately” and the other had her name printed in block letters. It was small. No bigger than a business card in shape and size. When she picked it up, she noticed it hardly weighed half a pound. Curious, she began to tear off the paper and nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang.
“Hello? Oh hi Carly. Yeah, Billy told me you called,” Reilly said. “Look, I can’t talk now. What? Well, I’m busy, ya know, running a museum and all…, no,… I’m not implying that working part time at a library isn’t hard work….Look, can I call you back?” Reilly asked.
“Did you get a package today?”
“Yeah….why?”
“Just don’t open it, ok? I can’t tell you more over the phone. Don’t open it and come over as soon as you can,” Carly said.
Reilly hung up the phone and quickly put her coat back on. She was halfway down the hall when Billy came back with coffee. He stared at her receding back, shrugged, and returned to his desk.
Carly unloaded the whites from the dryer and was about to switch the colors from the washer when her oldest son came into the basement.
“Mom, I’m supposed to take a dozen cupcakes for the student council bake sale today.” Brian gave her his best sarcastic smile. “Don’t suppose you happened to make some last night?”
“Um, since this is the first I’ve heard of it, I’d have to say no. Stop by Hammerson’s Bakery on the way to school. Oh, and would you take your brother, too?” Carly said as she turned back towards the laundry.
Carly sighed, she had a full day ahead of her and didn’t have time to worry about Brian’s lack of planning. She needed to finish the laundry, write her grocery list, get to the market and talk to Reilly all before she left for work at eleven.
She didn’t know what to make of the dream, but she knew it meant something. She’d been having these special dreams ever since she was a kid. Her mom called it a gift, but sometimes it felt more like a burden. She remembered the dream she’d had right before her ninth birthday. That had been a good one, her family at the beach, laughing, playing in the water and having a great time. Sure enough, two months later, they all took a surprise vacation to Florida. But, not all the dreams were so happy. She also remembered the one she had three years ago, right before her parents’ plane went down outside Cairo. The dream last night had been like that one. Full of fear and danger. But this one also had mysterious places and unknown people, and it had started with a package.
Carly could hear her boys running around getting ready for school and was heading up the stairs towards the kitchen when she heard her youngest son cry out that his Auntie Reilly was here. Setting the laundry basket down, Carly took a deep breath and walked into the sunlit room.
She loved her kitchen. Full of windows and natural light, it was the centerpiece of her world. Spacious countertops and bright colors filled the work space while the nook held the old picnic table Tom had refinished. It took up the whole space reserved for eating, but Carly loved it. It had a feel about it, warm, inviting, and homey. She had made the cushions herself when Brian was just a toddler and now the wood and cushions both had the worn-in look and feel of a well loved security blanket.
And now, seated around it were her favorite people. Her husband Tom, her sons, Brian and Patrick, and her sister.
“What’s up, sis?” Reilly asked while helping herself to another slice of Patrick’s toast.
“Well, we need to talk. Brian, Patrick, you’re late. Get your coats and backpacks and get going. Tom, I got your suit from the cleaners yesterday, it’s in our closet. Reilly, follow me.” Carly said as she walked towards the living room.
The boys scattered, following the directions of their mom and Tom headed upstairs to finish getting ready for his day at the lab. Reilly shook her head as she followed Carly into the living room. How does she do that, she thought. If I could control people like that, I’d rule the world.
Walking into the living room, Reilly looked over to the mantle. Proudly displayed was the first thing her father had ever found during a dig. It was, however, about as valuable to a museum or collector as a tin can.
As a matter of fact, it was a tin can. Her father found it about ten feet under his back yard when he was eight. It dated back to 1845 and was an original can of Copenhagen snuff.
It was that find that got her father interested in archeology, had him traveling all over the globe in search of what the earth had hidden, allowed him to meet and marry her mom and eventually led to both their deaths. Still, every time Reilly saw it, she only remembered the adventures and the victories of his life and it always made her smile. Her father was her idol. His logic, humor and sense of adventure captivated students and donors alike. He loved teaching and spent most of his days talking to museum goers. Reilly had wanted to be just like him and believed that she was. Her only fear was that she couldn’t live up to the expectations she believed he’d had for her.
“Ok,” Carly began, “I know you never really believed in my dreams, but I had a doozy of one last night and I think it’s about you.” She moved over to the sofa and curled her stout legs underneath her as she sat. “I can’t remember all the details right now, you know how sometimes they come to me later, but it was clear that you would receive a package this morning and that it was dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?” asked Reilly as she stretched her long, toned legs out.
“Um…ya know how mom always said she was a witch?”
“Right and how I never believed her. I mean, come on, Carly, a witch? We’re supposed to believe that mom had magical powers handed down from some ancestral grandmother that we’ve never met or can find any record of? Plus, if she did have powers, why didn’t she use them to stop the plane from going down?” Reilly hated the idea that her mom was a witch. It just sounded so contrived. Seriously, witches are best left for story-telling around a camp fire, she thought. It was bad enough that her mom and sister claimed to have “powers” but they kept trying to convince Reilly that she was also gifted. Yeah, right, she thought. I have witch’s powers. If that were true, I wouldn’t have had my heart broken more times than I can count. I would’ve just turned them all to frogs.
Coming back to the moment, Reilly tried to focus on what Carly was saying.
“I don’t know, maybe they weren’t those kinds of powers. All I know is what she told us and that my dreams have always come true. Why does it always upset you talk about?”
“Look, I’m not upset; I’m just busy and have to get back to work. I don’t have time to debate whether or not our mother was a witch.” She took hold of her amulet.
Every time Reilly touched it, the dark purple stone seemed to glow. A starburst of light and mystery radiated from the center. It was as if the sun was trapped inside the stone and its rays were beating against the surface to be let out.
Carly remembered the story. Their father had found the stone in Egypt. It was supposed to be their honeymoon, but Dad could never miss a chance to dig in the dirt. He found it on the first day of the autumn equinox and Mom used to say it was blessed. She had it made into a necklace and never took it off, for thirty years she wore that amulet. Yet, as they left for another dig in Egypt, she had placed it in a box lined with velvet and left instructions that it should be given to Reilly.
“Well, why do you think Mom left you the amulet before their last trip?”
“What does the amulet have to do with your dream?”
Carly shifted in her seat, “Nothing, never mind. Here’s what I remember of the dream. You were in the museum and opening a package. I could feel your excitement about it. I couldn’t see what was inside, but all of a sudden, you were gone. Then, I was flying over a castle on a green hill. In the courtyard there was a commotion. They were burning a witch. I couldn’t make out anymore detail, but could smell the stench of burning flesh and hear her crying for help. She kept saying that they were wrong and that she didn’t belong there. The next thing I knew, I was back home and at your funeral. So, what do you make of that? You got a package this morning, didn’t you? That’s why you’re here. You never would’ve come otherwise.”
Reilly tried to swallow the incredibly large lump that had manifested in her throat and simply nodded. She had to admit, she was scared. She didn’t believe her mom was a witch, nor did she believe that Carly had magical powers of premonitions, but she did believe that Carly’s dreams usually came true. And, that worried her just a little since she had no intention of dying any time soon.
Anyway, here's the first chapter of my book, Open Immediately. I hope you like it.
Chapter 1
She felt the lions watching her. They always did. Their cold, grey eyes followed her. She picked up her pace and quickly found herself in front of the Field Museum of Natural Science.
Pushing open the massive glass doors that led into the museum, Reilly Thompson shook the light frosting of snowfall from her auburn shoulder-length hair. She was home. Following in her father’s footsteps, she’d studied archeology and ancient cultures in college. She hoped to one day take his place as curator of the museum, and remembering the reason for his departure, she reached up to rub the amulet she’d worn every day for three years and thought of her parents.
As she stomped the slush off her very practical boots, she looked up, smiled, and gave what had become a daily good morning wave to Sue, who didn’t respond. But what can you expect from a life-size skeleton of a T-Rex.
Humming quietly she looked around the main floor and noted the museum’s daily ritual of getting ready for the onslaught of curious visitors.
The museum shop manager was quickly refilling the stock of stuffed mastodons and posters of King Tut, the clerks at the information desk were counting tickets and stuffing brochures, while the midnight cleaning crew was shuffling out the front door on its way home to cozy beds.
Reilly headed off towards her office.
She made it as far as the ticket counter before she was approached by her assistant, Billy who had the habit of getting to work at least thirty minutes before her. Billy was great at his job, but Reilly suspected his early arrivals had more to do with the fact that, at 24, he still lived at home than with his work ethic.
“Morning, Reilly,” Billy said as they walked to the main offices, “You’ve got three voice mails, ten emails that need immediate attention, there’s a bulb out in the hall of gems, and your sister called twice. Oh, and you got a package delivered this morning.”
“Well, good morning to you, too. Carly called twice? Geez, it’s not even 8:00. OK, first get Bob to fix the….wait; did you say I got a package? Fed Ex doesn’t deliver this early. Who’s it from?”
Billy shrugged and headed off to make the coffee. Reilly turned and opened the door to her office and stepped into what could only be termed as her haven. Thick, dark mahogany furniture was accented by two solid walls of built-in bookshelves, lined with treasures from around the world. Some from her travels, but mostly from her father’s collections.
Behind her impressive and incredibly organized desk the bay windows let in the morning light shining off Lake Michigan. That was one of her favorite parts about the office, seeing the gleam of diamonds off the lapping waves of the lake. Her office always felt so comforting and had a great view of the Chicago skyline. She walked over to the antique lamp her father had found during one of his digs in India and switched on the amber colored light.
As she walked toward her desk, she looked over at the well-worn leather couch in the corner. Whenever she had visited her father in this office, she’d curl up on that couch and listen to him convince a wealthy donor to fund yet another dig in yet another far-away place. But, that memory had to be put on hold because on her desk was the package Billy mentioned.
Reilly’s brow crinkled. She never got a package delivered directly to her. Plus, nobody delivers this early.
The package was wrapped in plain white butcher paper with only two labels on it. One label said “Open immediately” and the other had her name printed in block letters. It was small. No bigger than a business card in shape and size. When she picked it up, she noticed it hardly weighed half a pound. Curious, she began to tear off the paper and nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang.
“Hello? Oh hi Carly. Yeah, Billy told me you called,” Reilly said. “Look, I can’t talk now. What? Well, I’m busy, ya know, running a museum and all…, no,… I’m not implying that working part time at a library isn’t hard work….Look, can I call you back?” Reilly asked.
“Did you get a package today?”
“Yeah….why?”
“Just don’t open it, ok? I can’t tell you more over the phone. Don’t open it and come over as soon as you can,” Carly said.
Reilly hung up the phone and quickly put her coat back on. She was halfway down the hall when Billy came back with coffee. He stared at her receding back, shrugged, and returned to his desk.
Carly unloaded the whites from the dryer and was about to switch the colors from the washer when her oldest son came into the basement.
“Mom, I’m supposed to take a dozen cupcakes for the student council bake sale today.” Brian gave her his best sarcastic smile. “Don’t suppose you happened to make some last night?”
“Um, since this is the first I’ve heard of it, I’d have to say no. Stop by Hammerson’s Bakery on the way to school. Oh, and would you take your brother, too?” Carly said as she turned back towards the laundry.
Carly sighed, she had a full day ahead of her and didn’t have time to worry about Brian’s lack of planning. She needed to finish the laundry, write her grocery list, get to the market and talk to Reilly all before she left for work at eleven.
She didn’t know what to make of the dream, but she knew it meant something. She’d been having these special dreams ever since she was a kid. Her mom called it a gift, but sometimes it felt more like a burden. She remembered the dream she’d had right before her ninth birthday. That had been a good one, her family at the beach, laughing, playing in the water and having a great time. Sure enough, two months later, they all took a surprise vacation to Florida. But, not all the dreams were so happy. She also remembered the one she had three years ago, right before her parents’ plane went down outside Cairo. The dream last night had been like that one. Full of fear and danger. But this one also had mysterious places and unknown people, and it had started with a package.
Carly could hear her boys running around getting ready for school and was heading up the stairs towards the kitchen when she heard her youngest son cry out that his Auntie Reilly was here. Setting the laundry basket down, Carly took a deep breath and walked into the sunlit room.
She loved her kitchen. Full of windows and natural light, it was the centerpiece of her world. Spacious countertops and bright colors filled the work space while the nook held the old picnic table Tom had refinished. It took up the whole space reserved for eating, but Carly loved it. It had a feel about it, warm, inviting, and homey. She had made the cushions herself when Brian was just a toddler and now the wood and cushions both had the worn-in look and feel of a well loved security blanket.
And now, seated around it were her favorite people. Her husband Tom, her sons, Brian and Patrick, and her sister.
“What’s up, sis?” Reilly asked while helping herself to another slice of Patrick’s toast.
“Well, we need to talk. Brian, Patrick, you’re late. Get your coats and backpacks and get going. Tom, I got your suit from the cleaners yesterday, it’s in our closet. Reilly, follow me.” Carly said as she walked towards the living room.
The boys scattered, following the directions of their mom and Tom headed upstairs to finish getting ready for his day at the lab. Reilly shook her head as she followed Carly into the living room. How does she do that, she thought. If I could control people like that, I’d rule the world.
Walking into the living room, Reilly looked over to the mantle. Proudly displayed was the first thing her father had ever found during a dig. It was, however, about as valuable to a museum or collector as a tin can.
As a matter of fact, it was a tin can. Her father found it about ten feet under his back yard when he was eight. It dated back to 1845 and was an original can of Copenhagen snuff.
It was that find that got her father interested in archeology, had him traveling all over the globe in search of what the earth had hidden, allowed him to meet and marry her mom and eventually led to both their deaths. Still, every time Reilly saw it, she only remembered the adventures and the victories of his life and it always made her smile. Her father was her idol. His logic, humor and sense of adventure captivated students and donors alike. He loved teaching and spent most of his days talking to museum goers. Reilly had wanted to be just like him and believed that she was. Her only fear was that she couldn’t live up to the expectations she believed he’d had for her.
“Ok,” Carly began, “I know you never really believed in my dreams, but I had a doozy of one last night and I think it’s about you.” She moved over to the sofa and curled her stout legs underneath her as she sat. “I can’t remember all the details right now, you know how sometimes they come to me later, but it was clear that you would receive a package this morning and that it was dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?” asked Reilly as she stretched her long, toned legs out.
“Um…ya know how mom always said she was a witch?”
“Right and how I never believed her. I mean, come on, Carly, a witch? We’re supposed to believe that mom had magical powers handed down from some ancestral grandmother that we’ve never met or can find any record of? Plus, if she did have powers, why didn’t she use them to stop the plane from going down?” Reilly hated the idea that her mom was a witch. It just sounded so contrived. Seriously, witches are best left for story-telling around a camp fire, she thought. It was bad enough that her mom and sister claimed to have “powers” but they kept trying to convince Reilly that she was also gifted. Yeah, right, she thought. I have witch’s powers. If that were true, I wouldn’t have had my heart broken more times than I can count. I would’ve just turned them all to frogs.
Coming back to the moment, Reilly tried to focus on what Carly was saying.
“I don’t know, maybe they weren’t those kinds of powers. All I know is what she told us and that my dreams have always come true. Why does it always upset you talk about?”
“Look, I’m not upset; I’m just busy and have to get back to work. I don’t have time to debate whether or not our mother was a witch.” She took hold of her amulet.
Every time Reilly touched it, the dark purple stone seemed to glow. A starburst of light and mystery radiated from the center. It was as if the sun was trapped inside the stone and its rays were beating against the surface to be let out.
Carly remembered the story. Their father had found the stone in Egypt. It was supposed to be their honeymoon, but Dad could never miss a chance to dig in the dirt. He found it on the first day of the autumn equinox and Mom used to say it was blessed. She had it made into a necklace and never took it off, for thirty years she wore that amulet. Yet, as they left for another dig in Egypt, she had placed it in a box lined with velvet and left instructions that it should be given to Reilly.
“Well, why do you think Mom left you the amulet before their last trip?”
“What does the amulet have to do with your dream?”
Carly shifted in her seat, “Nothing, never mind. Here’s what I remember of the dream. You were in the museum and opening a package. I could feel your excitement about it. I couldn’t see what was inside, but all of a sudden, you were gone. Then, I was flying over a castle on a green hill. In the courtyard there was a commotion. They were burning a witch. I couldn’t make out anymore detail, but could smell the stench of burning flesh and hear her crying for help. She kept saying that they were wrong and that she didn’t belong there. The next thing I knew, I was back home and at your funeral. So, what do you make of that? You got a package this morning, didn’t you? That’s why you’re here. You never would’ve come otherwise.”
Reilly tried to swallow the incredibly large lump that had manifested in her throat and simply nodded. She had to admit, she was scared. She didn’t believe her mom was a witch, nor did she believe that Carly had magical powers of premonitions, but she did believe that Carly’s dreams usually came true. And, that worried her just a little since she had no intention of dying any time soon.
My favorite childhood toy
Quickly, I jab with the left and punch him squarely in the shoulder. He counters, but he’s not strong enough, I throw a one-two punch and stun him into silence. Just as his hand comes up to connect with my jaw, my fists fly into a flurry of punches and jabs and suddenly – his head pops off.
I am “The Red Rocket”.
My opponent, The Blue Bomber, otherwise known as my sister, sits defeated. She knows the odds are against her. But she likes to play the odds.Sitting up straighter in her bean bag, she cries for a re-match.
“Two out of three.”
In the corner of our wood-paneled, shag carpeted basement, sits the long forgotten game of Pong. All the focus is on the ring of our Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots.I, The Red Rocket, am up for the challenge. Afraid of no one, especially The Bomber.
I roll my shoulders back, get a nice loose grip on the joystick and start the countdown for the match to begin. “Let’s have a good, clean fight.” I say. My sister cocks her head and tells me to shut up.
Suddenly, I’m hit. I never saw it coming. Checking to make sure I still have my head, I let loose a barrage of punches and counter attacks. Sweat pours down my nine year old face as I try to keep my head on. My sister, older and therefore used to winning, begins to smile.The bomber hits with such a force that my hand shakes from the impact. I’m still upright and still in the fight, but I fear it’s not for long.
Sure enough, The Bomber sneaks an uppercut into the melee of arms flying and I watch horrified as my head flies to the side of the ring.
I’m down.
I’m out.
But, do I give up? Does that dissuade me enough that I’d throw in the towel and go play with my Barbie Dolls and EZ Bake Oven?Never! Vengeance would be mine.I slowly lock my head back into place and say those important words.
"Two out of three.”
I am “The Red Rocket”.
My opponent, The Blue Bomber, otherwise known as my sister, sits defeated. She knows the odds are against her. But she likes to play the odds.Sitting up straighter in her bean bag, she cries for a re-match.
“Two out of three.”
In the corner of our wood-paneled, shag carpeted basement, sits the long forgotten game of Pong. All the focus is on the ring of our Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots.I, The Red Rocket, am up for the challenge. Afraid of no one, especially The Bomber.
I roll my shoulders back, get a nice loose grip on the joystick and start the countdown for the match to begin. “Let’s have a good, clean fight.” I say. My sister cocks her head and tells me to shut up.
Suddenly, I’m hit. I never saw it coming. Checking to make sure I still have my head, I let loose a barrage of punches and counter attacks. Sweat pours down my nine year old face as I try to keep my head on. My sister, older and therefore used to winning, begins to smile.The bomber hits with such a force that my hand shakes from the impact. I’m still upright and still in the fight, but I fear it’s not for long.
Sure enough, The Bomber sneaks an uppercut into the melee of arms flying and I watch horrified as my head flies to the side of the ring.
I’m down.
I’m out.
But, do I give up? Does that dissuade me enough that I’d throw in the towel and go play with my Barbie Dolls and EZ Bake Oven?Never! Vengeance would be mine.I slowly lock my head back into place and say those important words.
"Two out of three.”
Another short story
The Writer's League of Texas has once again chosen one of my short stories. I've linked to the webpage (it's also a blog for the WLT) and have copied the story here. The premise of these stories is that WLT gives a writing prompt (the first sentence or concept) and writers go from there. In this week's story, the first two sentences were given. Enjoy:
Alma wanted nothing more than to tell him how she really felt about him before he died. She held the gun steady while she looked for the words.
She looked around the room she had deemed “hell”. Everything was perfect. Not a dust speck in sight. No dirt on the floor. Not even a loose hair from the dog could be spotted in the foyer. Martha Stewart had nothing on the décor. It was exactly the same set-up as last month’s cover of The World of Interiors. Even the white roses on the table were arranged in such a way that each petal was in perfect proportion to the other.
Below her feet, the gleaming white marble tiles shone like the sun and blended in with the lustrous mother-of-pearl banister. The expensive white pine -wood on the stairs was polished daily and looked new. Above her, the crystal chandelier dazzled the eyes with over 100 bulbs. Even the walls shone. They were painted snow-white with a white trim and molding.
To her right, she could see her reflection in the silver mirror. Standing at 5’, she seemed so out of place. Dark skin the color of molasses and her long black hair seemed to scream her presence in the opulent white room.Looking back at him now, she saw his fear. It almost made her laugh.
There he stood. All 6’5” of him. Shock white hair, white shirt and suit. Freshly polished white leather loafers on his feet. But his face, oh, his face. Finally his wildest dream had come true. Everything about him was white. The color of his skin had paled to almost translucent. It was too bad he couldn’t see himself. Oh how much he would have loved that!
Finally she spoke. As she pulled the trigger, Alma finally told him exactly what she’d wanted to say for years. “I’m NOT cleaning this up.”
Alma wanted nothing more than to tell him how she really felt about him before he died. She held the gun steady while she looked for the words.
She looked around the room she had deemed “hell”. Everything was perfect. Not a dust speck in sight. No dirt on the floor. Not even a loose hair from the dog could be spotted in the foyer. Martha Stewart had nothing on the décor. It was exactly the same set-up as last month’s cover of The World of Interiors. Even the white roses on the table were arranged in such a way that each petal was in perfect proportion to the other.
Below her feet, the gleaming white marble tiles shone like the sun and blended in with the lustrous mother-of-pearl banister. The expensive white pine -wood on the stairs was polished daily and looked new. Above her, the crystal chandelier dazzled the eyes with over 100 bulbs. Even the walls shone. They were painted snow-white with a white trim and molding.
To her right, she could see her reflection in the silver mirror. Standing at 5’, she seemed so out of place. Dark skin the color of molasses and her long black hair seemed to scream her presence in the opulent white room.Looking back at him now, she saw his fear. It almost made her laugh.
There he stood. All 6’5” of him. Shock white hair, white shirt and suit. Freshly polished white leather loafers on his feet. But his face, oh, his face. Finally his wildest dream had come true. Everything about him was white. The color of his skin had paled to almost translucent. It was too bad he couldn’t see himself. Oh how much he would have loved that!
Finally she spoke. As she pulled the trigger, Alma finally told him exactly what she’d wanted to say for years. “I’m NOT cleaning this up.”
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