Aunt Estelle

This short story is based on the June 2021 image prompt for Writers Unite! Write the Story’s project. I hope you enjoy it!

D. A. Ratliff

My earliest recollection of Aunt Estelle was in the summer of my sixth year. My parents took my younger and annoying brother and me to visit our grandparents in a small south Georgia town.

We lived in Los Angeles, and the trip was memorable as it was my first time on an airplane. My grandparents had visited us until then so that my parents didn’t have to lug two small children—did I mention my four-year-old brother was annoying—through airports. Or so I overheard them saying.

Cameron and I—I’m Samantha—were excited about being on the plane. Although Cam did get scared on takeoff and cried, I loved how the plane went faster and faster until it lifted from the ground. Seeing the trees and roads and tall buildings of LA get smaller until I could no longer see them was exciting.

The flight was long, and Cam became fussy, but the captain came to the passenger cabin and calmed him. Our father was an Air Force pilot, and he and the captain had served together. Cam and I finally fell asleep a couple of hours from the Atlanta airport, and it was dark when my parents woke us. As we walked through the nearly deserted airport, I wondered if we had arrived in another world. Funny how that thought would come back to haunt me.

My dad rented a car, and off we headed to my grandparents’ farm. Cam and I fell asleep again, and I vaguely remember arriving at the farm a few hours later and my grandfather carrying me into the house. He smelled of Aqua Velva aftershave, and I felt safe in his arms.

The following morning my grandma cooked the biggest breakfast I ever had, and afterward, we headed outside to play in the yard with Nutter, my granddad’s Labrador Retriever. That big black dog was only about a year old then and became our best playmate over the years. As I write this, Nutter’s great-great-grandson, Sirius, is lying on the deck beside me. And no—I named him after the star and not a wizard from a fiction story.

Later that morning, we were playing, under the watchful eye of our father, on a trampoline that grandpa had put up for us when our great-aunt Estelle arrived carrying a basketful of something that smelled quite tasty. We stopped jumping as she approached. Holding out the basket, she removed a cloth napkin, revealing a pile of cookies. She had our attention.

She hugged my father and then us. “Children, I am your great-aunt Estelle. Let’s go inside and have some milk and cookies.”

We needed no further prompt. Cam and I climbed down from the trampoline with our father’s help and followed her into the kitchen. It’s funny now, thinking back on those days. We knew so little then and now—well, now it’s only my story to tell.

We spent two weeks on the farm, wandering the peanut fields, pecan groves, and the acres of watermelon and cantaloupe. Cam and I feasted each day on a watermelon that our grandpa would pick for us. He always whispered to me in the morning after breakfast, want to pick something pink and green? That phrase became one he whispered to me until he died. Cam’s favorite treat was grandma’s soda biscuits with butter and honey from beehives on the farm. I liked watermelon better.

Aunt Estelle was my grandfather’s sister, and she lived in a cottage just a stone’s throw from our grandparents’ home. The path to her house led from my grandma’s flower garden to a wrought iron gate set in a hedge and into a flower garden in Aunt Estelle’s yard. At six and for many years later, I imagined I was walking through the world of the fairies when I visited her, and we would imagine fairies in the garden and tell each other stories.

We spent a lot of afternoons at Aunt Estelle’s house during that first visit and later ones. She loved to play games with us and taught us to make kites. We would take the balsa and silk kites to the peanut fields and run between rows to watch our colorful creations fly. She took us walking through nearby groves of trees and taught us about plants and birds, and over the years, Cam and I became quite the ornithologists and botanists. And did I mention, she made the best cookies ever.

There was, however, one item in her house that always intrigued me. On a cabinet in her living room sat an old-time radio. My mother called it an art deco piece which I didn’t understand then, and she marveled at how beautiful the radio was. It was shiny black with gold trim and in pristine condition as if she had never turned it on. She once asked Aunt Estelle if it was a reproduction and my aunt just smiled. “Oh no, my dear, it’s an original.”

It wasn’t until my tenth year that I felt something was amiss. We had come for another summer visit, and it was the first time Aunt Estelle did not meet us with a basket of cookies. We didn’t see her until the third day after we arrived. My grandma said Estelle was traveling, as I had learned she often did. When she came to see us, she was carrying two large boxes wrapped in shiny paper and ribbons and a basket full of chocolate chip cookies, our favorites.

“Children, I am so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. However, I have a surprise. I was in Germany, and I brought each of you a present.”

Excited, we opened our gifts. Now eight, Cameron was the proud owner of a tree fort with tiny platforms, branches, a staircase, ladder, a bridge, elf-like figurines, and a crow’s nest on top. After seeing his gift, I was anxious to see my own but carefully untied the ribbon and peeled away the paper. Inside the box was a miniature fairy village. There were five houses, patterned like an acorn, honeycomb, tulip, pinecone, and mushroom, along with five fairy girls and five fairy boys.

“Aunt Estelle, I love it. I have just the place in my room for this.” I hugged her, and she squeezed me tightly.

“My darling, I wanted something for you to treasure and remember me and our fairy walks by in years to come.” 

Her eyes glittered as she looked into mine. I would remember that look as even then I realized there was more to Aunt Estelle than I knew.

Wonderful memories filled the years to come. When I was fourteen, I begged my parents to spend my school vacation in Georgia. With Cam going to camp, my parents allowed me to spend my summer at the farm. Looking back, it was the best summer of my life.

My grandmother, Aunt Estelle, and I made jams and jellies, relishes, baked cakes and cookies, and tended the personal garden. Thank goodness I had taken up running, or I would have gained a hundred pounds. We wandered the countryside, visiting antique shops, and had lunch at quaint little cafes. I fell in love with the area and the two women sharing the experience with me.

One week, in late July, my grandparents traveled to Chicago for the wedding of a close friend’s grandchild, and they decided I would spend the days they were gone with Estelle. That was the week my journey to my present life began.

The first evening, Aunt Estelle, after dinner and yes, cookies, took me outside. There were no security lights in the area, and the sky was midnight blue and sprinkled with glittering stars. We settled into reclining lawn chairs, and while sipping peach tea, Estelle took me on a tour of the Milky Way spanning the sky above them.

She spoke of the constellations Sagittarius, Scorpius, Ophiuchus, and Scutum and the wandering comets glistened with ice in the reflected light of distant nebulas. She described them as if she had seen them with her own eyes, and her words filled me with wonder.

I had always had an affinity for space and excelled in science as Cam did. Now, listening to my aunt, I felt a growing need to learn more about space and the wonders it contained. It wasn’t until the second night that I discovered a secret about my aunt, and that secret sealed my fate.

We had remained outside until nearly one a.m., and then Aunt Estelle shooed me to bed. I was too excited to sleep, and thoughts of my future spun in my head. I sat, legs beneath me, on the window seat in my room, staring out at the night sky. When I heard a whining sound, I worried my aunt was in trouble. I rushed from my room and down the stairs stopping on the landing to see into the living room. Estelle stood before the radio with only dim light from a single lamp illuminated the room. She wore a pale green gossamer scarf over her head and held a small metal disk in her hands.

I knelt on the landing, peering through the banister, afraid to move. My body became rigid, and all I could do was watch.

Aunt Estelle touched a dial on the radio, and it began to glow. Within seconds, a voice spoke from the radio. Unlike any I had heard before, a voice spoke in a sing-song language as though it was part music and part speaking. Stunned, I watched as Estelle spoke into the metal disc using the same language. The conversation went on for several minutes before Estelle touched the dial again, and the amber light faded. It was then that Estelle turned toward me, and the room went black. I wouldn’t remember the radio incident from that night for a long time until she allowed me to remember.

My high-school years were a blur. I only saw my grandparents on the holidays as I spent my summers in science camp. My attention was solely on science and my desire to attend the Air Force Academy and become a pilot or an astronaut. The day I received my acceptance letter from the Academy, I called Aunt Estelle after I celebrated with my parents and my still annoying brother. She was as excited as I was.

“My darling Sam, I felt your connection to the stars from our nights gazing at the sky. I had a feeling you would want to visit the Milky Way.”

“You instilled that desire in me long ago when we sat in your front yard under the stars.”

“I did, didn’t I? And for a good reason, it is where you belong.”

I ended the call full of wonder and something else, an awareness of Aunt Estelle’s sing-song voice. I wondered why I had never noticed it until that day.

Five years later, I was an Air Force Academy graduate with a physics and aeronautical engineering degree, and I could fly aircraft. I had just come off a training mission when word came that Aunt Estelle had died. My heart shattered as my family and I left for Georgia.

We spent sad days there, as so much had changed. My grandfather had suffered a minor stroke only a few months before Estelle died. After the funeral, my parents talked him into selling the farm and my grandparents moving to California with my parents, including two handsome dogs that were the late Nutter’s offspring.

The day before I left to return to Nellis Air Force Base, my grandmother told me that something was waiting for me in Aunt Estelle’s cottage. I walked the path between the gardens, now lusher than when I was a child. Memories of fairies and twinkling stars fill me with nostalgia.

I walked into her home for likely the last time, and tears streamed down my face. I loved all of my family, but Aunt Estelle filled a piece of my heart that I knew would now remain empty. I found a package wrapped in shiny paper and ribbons. My heart pounding, I sat on the couch and opened the box.

I gasped at what was inside and, with trembling fingers, lifted the beautiful clock from the box, along with a strange metal disk and a letter. Day turned into night as I sat in Estelle’s home, processing what she had written.

Now, years later, I pulled the letter from a zippered pocket on my uniform and read it once again—my heart both breaking and full of love simultaneously.

My dear Samantha:

  First, I must tell you. I am not dead. The body I left behind was a non-animated clone. I knew this day was coming from the moment I met you, and I will admit I refused recall until you graduated from the Academy and your future set. You see, Sam, I am not truly your aunt. I am not from Earth. I am from a solar system that your planet has yet to discover. Our sun is much like yours, and my planet is very similar to Earth.

  We have visited Earth for many generations, but we are not little gray beings, as we look very similar to you, only requiring minor alterations. We observe your species by becoming part of your family for a while. Then we leave and erase the memories of our existence from those we interacted with but not with you. I petitioned for the right to remain in contact with you as I was certain that you would reach for the stars one day.

  You will not be able to discuss me with your family as they will no longer remember me. In a matter of days, they will not remember me at all—but you will. As you might have guessed, the radio is a communications device, and the metal disk is how to operate it. There will come a time when we talk again.

  The one thing I did leave with you was the fairy village, as the myths of fairies are common in your world. They are also common in mine. A love that we shared from our childhood.

  Samantha, whatever life brings you, remember I will be with you. And we will meet again when you are among the stars.

  Aunt Estelle.

I wiped the tears spilling from my eyes. As Estelle faded from my family’s memory, it was so difficult not to scream she was here, she was real, but it was futile. I gazed across the cramped captain’s office where the fairy village sat on a shelf, the radio on the shelf below. I had refused to leave Earth without either item or Sirius. Earth Space Command had given in, they wanted me, and I wanted Sirius and Estelle with me.

The comm crackled. “Captain, helm informs me that we are about to cross the boundary of our solar system.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

I scratched Sirius’s head and rose. Before I stepped onto the bridge, I touched the radio, still shiny and new. “Don’t worry, Estelle. I will be calling soon.”

The Write the Story project is a monthly prompt provided by Writers Unite! It is intended to give authors writing experience and outreach to grow followers to their Facebook pages, blogs, and website. Visit Writers Unite on the Web at:
https://writersuniteweb.wordpress.com/
and on WU! Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/145324212487752/

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A Thousand Nights

This short story is based on the April 2021 image prompt for Writers Unite! Write the Story’s project. I hope you enjoy it!

Please note: the images used are free-use images and do not require attribution. Image by Dimitis Vetsikas from Pixabay.

D. A. Ratliff

Amir Farsi was a happy man.

Blustery icy wind from the churning Irish Sea sprayed the sleepy village, empty of summer tourists. The winter weather was so unlike the warmth of his homeland, yet he was happy.

He sat at a table next to the window watching the sea and the few souls braving the outdoors, with Finn, his five-year-old Golden Retriever, at his feet. The pub would open at eleven a.m., and he still had an hour before the regulars arrived. While revenue during the summer tourist season kept the pub in business, Amir loved the winter months with the lads who lived in the village year-round and came by for a pint and a chat. In the forty years he had been in Ireland, he remained enamored with everything Irish.

He smiled as he turned to look at the portrait hanging over the bar. The Red Fox was the pub’s name, but the painting was of his beautiful wife Colleen as she was when he met her—fair of skin and red of hair. Lovely then and lovely now, and he loved her as much as the first time he met her. He missed her as she had left the day before for an archeological symposium in the States. He poured another cup of his favorite Bewley’s Dublin Morning Tea as his mind wandered to the day his fate changed.

Colleen O’Hara was an archeological student on a dig in his homeland when they met. He had been passing through the valley when he found the dig site. He had been alone for so long, enduring a life not worth living. Then he emerged into daylight and found his Irish beauty.

She had been a sight that day. Knee deep in a trench, face soiled with dirt and sweat, bright red tresses contained in a red bandana. Curious, he approached the trench to see what she was doing, and the moment she looked up at him, her eyes the color of sapphires, she captured his heart. A warmth he had never felt swept through him, only deepened when she spoke, in an accent he had never heard and one that gave him joy. He closed his eyes and remembered.

Amir hadn’t realized he had kicked dirt onto the area she was sweeping with a brush. She stood with her hand on her hips. “Feck off…don’t be bothering me work.”

He had taken an awkward step backward, never taking his eyes off of her. “I am sorry. Forgive me for disturbing you.”

She continued to stare at him as a grin crossed her face. “You can stop gawking.”

He responded, confused. “Gawking?”

She laughed. “Not from Ireland, are ya?” She reached out a hand. “Help me up out of this hole.”

He pulled her up, and for a second, they were standing close. At that moment, he understood love. At a loss for words, he muttered his name. “I am Amir Farsi.”

“Glad to meet you, Amir. I am Colleen O’Hara.” She wiped the sweat from her brow. “Your country is scorching hot. I need a cold drink—come with me.” 

He had followed her that day and would for the rest of his life.

Lost in thought, he jumped when Ray, his bartender, tapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry, guv, but time to open. You look like you are a thousand miles away.”

He rose and grabbed his tea mug. “This weather will do that, lost in the sea.” That was only partially true. He had been lost in time as well. “Come on, Finn, time to go to work.”

~~~

Amir unlocked the front door a bit after one a.m. With Colleen gone, he had remained at the pub until it closed. Finn ran toward the trees as soon as he jumped from the car, and Amir stood in the doorway waiting for the big dog to make his rounds.

He shivered but not from the cold. The shiver emanated from his core, and he attempted to shake it off, but the tremors remained, leaving him anxious. He yelled a bit louder for Finn than usual, and once he had the dog inside, he closed the door quickly.

There was never a question that he felt as if part of him was missing without Colleen, but this was different. Something else was happening, a sensation creeping into his soul that he didn’t recognize, and it filled him with fear.

Finn whimpered and nuzzled his hand. “It’s okay, boy. Let’s go to bed. I’m likely just tired.”

He woke at five a.m. from a restless sleep. He thought perhaps the storm awakened him, but he knew better. Dreams had invaded his rest, blurred images, random sounds, nothing clear, and nothing made sense. He lay in bed until nearly six before a persistent Finn managed to get him up and outside.

When they came in, Amir was making tea when his mobile rang. It was Colleen.

“Amir, good morning, my love.”

“What time is it there?”

“Almost eight-thirty in the evening. We just got back from dinner, and I am exhausted. Going to try and sleep. I will call you later.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. Oh, something came up at the last minute, and I need to tell you… Hold on.” Amir could hear muffled voices before she came back on the line. ”Darling, gotta go, just found out an old colleague is here. I haven’t seen him in many years. I’ll call you again as soon as I can. Love you.”

He held the phone to his ear for a few seconds before he put it down. He missed Colleen. Perhaps that was why he felt so out of sorts. Maybe it was loneliness. He needed to shake off his doldrums.

“Finn, let’s have breakfast, and then off to the pub.”

His day was long and tedious. At least it was delivery day, and he insisted no one help him put away stock. His skin was tingling and felt as if there was a coiled spring inside him. He hadn’t planned on staying late to close and clean the place, but he sent everyone home again and did everything himself.

Driving home, pellets of icy rain struck the windshield, and despite turning the heat up in the Land Rover, he shivered. Finn, asleep in the passenger seat, stirred and turned his belly toward the warm air blowing from the vent. Amir chuckled. That dog loved his creature comforts.

Turning onto the narrow cobblestone drive leading to the house, he shook off a feeling of dread that washed over him. The reason he should feel so anxious wasn’t apparent. He missed Colleen, but she had gone on digs for weeks at a time before, and he had not felt this way. He hated to go to the doctor. Always in fear that they would discover…. Well, they hadn’t yet. If he didn’t feel any better soon, he would go.

The imposing stone house loomed in front of him. A sight that always made him feel warm inside but not this time—if anything, he was colder. He and Finn dashed to the front door, the dog much faster and pawing at the door by the time he reached the stoop.

“Finn, you are one spoiled dog.”

Once inside, Amir decided a hot shower might help. He poured a double of Irish whiskey and headed upstairs, surprised how winded he had become when he got to the top of the stairs. He stripped and turned on the faucet. As the bathroom steamed up, he glanced in the mirror, surprised to see how pale his olive skin appeared—his crystal green eyes dull. He shook off his worry, downed the whiskey, and stepped into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, Finn beside him, Amir slipped into sleep.

~~~

For the second morning in a row, he woke after a restless sleep, but this time in a cold sweat. He struggled to sit up, his head was spinning. Finn was gone, no doubt gone outside through the doggy door. He pulled on a robe and made his way downstairs to make tea.

The light in the kitchen drew Finn back inside, and as his tea steeped, Amir fed the ravenous Golden Retriever. A pang of hunger hit him, but he shuddered at the thought of food. However, he had to eat and pulled a hunk off of a loaf of soda bread, poured his tea, and sat at the breakfast table. Images from dark dreams floated in his memory.

The images were fuzzy but familiar ones from his youth. Why would his past be haunting him? It had been forty years since he left that existence, never expecting to relive it. He missed Colleen more than usual and thought that had to be the reason for his unease. He finished his tea and hurried upstairs to dress. Better to be at the pub and busy than sitting around the house brooding.

As he left the house thirty minutes later, Finn didn’t follow him. He ducked back into the house. “Finn, where are you?” He walked into the front parlor, where the dog sat in front of the library door. “What are you doing? Mum’s not in there, she’ll be back in a couple of days, and all will be well. Come on, let’s go to the pub.” He turned to leave, and Finn followed but not before looking back at the library door. Amir shook his head—yes, boy, I miss her too.

By mid-day, Amir was so weak he couldn’t take another step without nearly passing out. He told his staff that he hadn’t slept well, and he was going home to take a nap and would be back. On the drive home, he wished Finn could drive. Arriving home, he could barely crawl out of the Land Rover, and when inside, knew he would never make it up the stairs. He stumbled to the parlor, dropped onto the couch, and fell asleep immediately.

His ringtone shattered his sleep and he awakened abruptly. In the darkness that had fallen, he groped toward the glow of his phone screen. He exhaled —it was Colleen. He had been avoiding her calls because she would know he was not feeling well from the sound of his voice.

“Darling, how are you? I hate that we keep missing each other and voice mail is not enough.”

Mustering all the energy he could, he responded. “Been busy, love. Sorry. How’s the meeting going?”

She hesitated, uttering a short grunt as if she wanted to say something else but spent the next few minutes telling him about her presentation. He was getting weaker by the moment, and when she finished, he decided he needed to end the call. He managed to say, “Darling, no problem here. Let’s… talk tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong, Amir? Tell me.”

“I’m fine, just been busy.” He took a breath. “You know me, love, hate the cold, but I have to go.”

“Okay, but I want to talk to you later.”

“Of course, I love you.”

He fell back against the cushions, his breathing shallow when he realized that Finn was sitting in front of the library door, nose against the door frame. He struggled to stand. “Finn, she isn’t in there. I’ll show you, boy.”

Opening the door, Finn’s reluctance to enter surprised him. The dog sniffed the air, a deep growl coming from this normally gentle creature. Amir flipped the switch to turn on lamps and walked in, Finn close on his heels.

The house they lived in had been Colleen’s ancestral home for several generations. She loved this house and this room in particular. Bookshelves lined the walls, leaving only a few spaces for family portraits. Amir stood in the middle of the room as hairs on his neck bristled. Something felt wrong—something was missing.

Amir turned toward the one thing in the room connected to him—the earthenware jug. It was gone.

The alcove Colleen had constructed to hold the vessel was empty. He had told her it was a precious family heirloom, an earthenware water jug handed down through generations of his ancestors. It was not.

That it was aged was a fact Colleen confirmed, but he had hidden the actual use of the jug from her. It had not housed water. The jug had been his prison.

He stumbled to an armchair, sagging onto the seat as fatigue overcame him. Where was the jug? Did someone steal it? Was that why Finn seemed so interested in the room? He glanced at Finn, now leaning against his legs, the hair on his back ruffled. What did Finn sense?

His head felt too heavy to hold up, and he rested it against the chair back. He should have told her. The Master warned him that he needed to remain connected to the jug. He could be gone from its proximity for short periods, but the transformation would dissipate if too long, and the jug would trap him forever. He had feared traveling with Colleen as she begged him to do, until one day, when cleaning the jug, a small piece of the handle chipped off. He dropped the piece into the jug for safekeeping.

Colleen was traveling to his old home and pleaded with him to come. How could he tell her that he could not go unless the jug went with him and not tell her everything? Then he thought of the small fragment of the jar—would it be enough to protect him? It had been. Now he traveled with her to digs, they vacationed, and all was well. When he returned, he hid the small piece in the jar until the next time he needed it. Now, everything was gone.

Memories overwhelmed him as he thought back to those days—when he was a jinn or genie as some knew them. Amir was a mischievous spirited genie, often in trouble because he loved to create havoc by possessing humans or haunting the places they dwelled or worked. He had relished the fact that humans were afraid of him, but once he took his revelry too seriously, and the Master imprisoned him in the jug as punishment. Once granted his freedom, the Master required that he keep the jug with him at all times as a reminder to behave.

Then he met Colleen when he was on a walkabout, trying to stay out of mischief. He had never been in love. Although jinn could live as a human, marry, have children, and die, he had never found anyone that made a settled life seem more exciting than his wanderings.

Colleen changed that with one look into her blue eyes. He wanted to spend his life with her, grow old with her, but he feared his jinn ways would lure him again, and he couldn’t risk losing her. He petitioned the Master to banish his skills, and the Master had agreed but warned him. The jinn soul was powerful, and his life only sustained if his jinn essence remained close. Amir had agreed, and the Master cast out his jinn and entombed it in the jug which he must keep close.

Exhaustion overtook him, and he fell to sleep. Finn’s guttural growling woke him up hours later. Moonlight streamed through the trees, casting shadows in the room, and for a moment, he didn’t see the figure standing near the alcove. When he did, his blood ran cold.

The Master.

Amir shushed Finn, who obeyed but continued to lean against him as he rose as if to offer support. He bowed.

“Master, I am honored to stand in your presence.”

The figure stepped from the shadows. Tall, muscular, his olive skin glistening in the moonlight, the Master folded his arms across the silk vestment covering his chest. Adornments of gold and silver disks jangled as he moved.

“Amir, you were warned. Explain yourself.”

“I have little to explain, Master, as I do not know what has happened. I have honored your command that I keep the jug close by, but I will admit, I tested its limits to find out how far away I could travel. Then a small piece chipped off the handle, and by keeping it with me, I was able to travel anywhere I chose. I do not know where it has disappeared or why.”

“You were always quite resourceful, Amir. You could have continued to live as jinn and accepted a moral life without the purge of your spirit, but I understand your fears. We have changed over the eons and allowed others to rewrite our story. We would have never caged our kind in vessels if that French writer had not translated the mythology of our kind and added his special twist. Since we are shapeshifters, the idea of a tiny genie in a bottle was humorous. Thankfully, we do not do it often. The stories of a thousand Arabian nights were enough to tell our history, but as myths to many, embellishment is expected.” The Master sat in the other armchair and motioned Amir to sit as he continued.

“I have maintained a connection to you all these years. I came to warn you, but I can do little to help you. You have forty-eight hours at best to reunite with your jinn spirit, or the life that it sustains will cease to exist.” As he began to vanish into the air, the Master said, “The jug is not lost. That I do know.” With that, the Master of all jinn was gone.

Amir struggled to get to the couch in the living room, and as he collapsed on the cushions, he noticed his phone. A missed call from Colleen, but she left a voicemail.

“Darling, I am worried about you. Please, please call me. I have so much to tell you. I tried to tell you the other night that I took the jug with me to show to my colleagues on a whim. They were so excited and impressed with the artifact. Call me.”

His heart seized. Colleen had the jug. Perhaps there was hope. He called, nearly too weak to talk, and when she answered, he stopped her. “Bring the jug home, now. I need it to survive.”

The fright in her voice was evident as she reacted. “Survive? What do you mean? Of course, I will be home as quickly as I can. Amir, I love you. What is wrong?”

“Just bring the jug.” He hung up and willed himself to last long enough for her to arrive.

~~~

The sunlight was glaring in his eyes as he slowly raised his lids. He was breathing and felt stronger. Finn whimpered, and he realized the dog was lying next to him on the couch. But who was holding his hand?

He turned his head to look into the beautiful blue eyes of his love. “Colleen, you made it.”

“Yes, and I have the jug right here.” She picked it up to show him, and he brushed the fingertips of his free hand across it, feeling his energy rise.

“Thank you… I needed it here.”

“I don’t understand. What is happening? Why do you need this jug with you?” Her voice trembled and her eyes wide with distress.

He smiled as relief washed over him. “I will tell you all, my love, but it will take a thousand nights.”

The Write the Story project is a monthly prompt provided by Writers Unite! It is intended to give authors writing experience and outreach to grow followers to their Facebook pages, blogs, and website. Visit Writers Unite on the Web at:
https://writersuniteweb.wordpress.com/
and on WU! Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/145324212487752/

D. A. Ratliff: A Special Ride

A second story from the image prompt for Writers Unite! Write the Story’s December 2020 project. I hope you enjoy it!

A Special Ride

D. A. Ratliff

It was a fluke. Jake Riley was supposed to be at this friend Will’s house for the afternoon, but Will’s mom was baking Christmas cookies and said she needed their help. A phone call from the hospital sent his mom, a Cardiac Cath tech, to work for an emergency, so Will went to his grandparents, and Jake walked home.

Icy snow was spitting in the air, and he picked up his pace, hoping his mom would take pity on him and make cocoa. He was a few houses away when he saw a delivery van from the local sporting goods store parked in front of his house. The driver raised the truck’s roll-up door as his mom walked out of the garage to join him. He ducked behind a tree, hoping his mom wouldn’t look around.

Jake’s heart thumped in his chest as he saw a bicycle in a rack on the truck—not just any bike. It was the black mountain bike he had wanted for months. The driver took the bike out and rolled it into the garage. His mom signed a receipt and closed the garage door. He waited until the truck left and then continued home.

He dropped his school bag on the entry floor. “Mom, I’m home.”

His mother appeared at the kitchen door. She appeared flustered. “What are you doing here? It’s only six. I thought you were at Will’s making cookies?” She glanced toward the door to the garage.

“She was on call and had to go to work. She dropped Will off at his grandparents, and I walked home. We never got any cookies baked.”

“Oh… well, so sorry, no cookies, honey. Maybe we can make some tonight or tomorrow. Take your bag upstairs. I know you left it in the entry hall. Your dad will be home in a bit, and we’ll order our usual Friday night pizza since you’re here.”

Jake trudged upstairs, took a quick shower, and managed to play a bit of a video game. When he heard the garage door come up, he knew his dad was home. He closed his laptop and headed downstairs.

He stopped short of the kitchen door when he heard his father. “He came home early? Did you get it hidden?”

“No. I came in to check the washer, and then go back to put it in the storage room, but I didn’t want to go into the garage and have him come looking for me. So, I thought better to wait until one of us can keep him out.”

“Yeah, smart move, Leigh. Glad we decided to get him the bike this year.” He paused. “I remember when I was fourteen, I got a new bike for Christmas. My dad and I took a ride together after breakfast. He died the following winter, and we never got to ride again.”

“Jeff, we should’ve gotten you a new bike too. Jake would love it if you rode with him.”

“I don’t need a new bike. I guess I should drag my old bike out of the shed, but….” He took a deep breath. “Never rode it again after my dad died. Just couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.” He smiled and kissed Leigh. “Gonna change now… order that pizza, I’m starving.”

Jake raced up the stairs and into his room before his dad had a chance to leave the kitchen. His heart raced as he thought about his dad’s words. He had seen that old bike in the shed—chain rusty, seat cracked, and tires flat. He had no idea his dad hadn’t ridden his bike since his grandfather died. He sat down on his bed, angry that he rarely thought of his biological grandfather. His grandmother had remarried, and Pops was the grandfather he knew. Pops had adopted his father when he was sixteen, and he changed his name to Jeffery Dawson Riley to keep his real dad’s name too.

Thinking back, he always thought his dad didn’t have time to ride bikes with him. He was just a kid, and he had Will to ride with, so he’d never considered his dad might want to ride with him. Will’s dad was a doctor and rarely home, so it worked out for both of them.

He went back to playing a video game when his mom texted him. Pizza will be here in a bit. Come on down. He found his mom in the kitchen.

“Hi, honey. Can you take the plates and napkins into the den? We’re going to eat in there and watch a movie.”

“Sure, Mom. Where’s Dad?”

“Uh…. He’s in the garage, putting away the paper towels and toilet paper I bought this morning.” She reached for her purse, which was sitting on the small desk in the kitchen. “Here is five dollars for the tip. After you take the plates in, wait for the pizza. Should be here any moment.”

The pizza arrived as Jake heard his dad enter the kitchen. His mom told him to take the pizza to the den, and his father followed with drinks. They settled on a new action thriller movie on a streaming site while they ate.

Jake’s thoughts kept drifting to the mountain bike in the garage. He was excited. He wanted to join a bike club at school, and the bike was perfect. But his dad’s words echoed in his head. “Never rode it again after my dad died. Just couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.” He wished he could ride with his dad.

Late that night, as he drifted to sleep, what he needed to do came to him. Sleepily, he decided that tomorrow, he would put his plan into motion.

~~~

Will followed Jake into the kitchen. “What was so important that I had to get over here now?”

“You have to help me get Dad’s old bike out of the shed.”

“Why?”

“Because he got it for Christmas when he was fourteen, and he only got to ride it once with his dad. Then his dad died, and he never rode it again. I want to fix the bike up so he can ride with me.”

“Why don’t you get him a new one?”

“I can’t afford a new one. Not even sure I had enough money to get this one fixed. But I wanna try. Come with me and help me get it out while Mom and Dad are gone shopping.”

They left footprints in the dusting of snow on the ground as they walked to the metal storage building sitting next to the rear fence. Jake had taken the key from the keyboard in the laundry room, and after fiddling with the lock for a bit, he got the door open.

“Darn it, dark in here. Will, turn on your phone light. I think the bike is in that back corner.”

The light showed Jake that he was right, but there was a lawnmower, snow blower, and a lot of garden equipment in front of it. “Gotta move this stuff. Help me. We need to do this quickly.”

After a few cuss words that their moms would yell at them for and a skinned knuckle or two, the boys managed to get the bike out and everything put back. Will had leaned the bike against the shed while Jake relocked the door.

“Man, Jake, this bike is a mess. It’s rusty, paint peeled, tires cracked.”

“Yeah, I know, but I want to get it to the bike shop and see if Mr. Mason can fix it.”

“It’s a week until Christmas! He can’t fix this in a week.”

“Gonna try. Now, how do we get it downtown?”

“Call Uber?”

“No… how about Ray? He’s home from college, isn’t he? You think he would take us? Can you ask, please?”

“Sure.”

Will made the call and twenty minutes later, his brother Ray drove up in a red pickup. He helped them load the bike, and they headed to town. On the way, Jake texted his parents they were going to get burgers with Ray.

The City Bicycle Shop sat on a tree-lined street on the outskirts of town. Jake and Ray got the bike out of the back and went inside. A small brass bell attached to the door tinkled, bringing the owner out from the back room.

“Hey, boys, what can I do for you?”

“Mr. Mason. This is my dad’s old bike, and I want to get it repaired before Christmas. Can you do it?”

Mason didn’t say anything as he walked around the bike. Jake’s heart was beating out of his chest. He had $247 in his savings account, and he was scared that he wouldn’t have enough money. He managed to eke out, “How much will this cost?”

The shop owner smiled. “You getting this fixed up for yourself?”

“No, sir. It was my dad’s. He got it for Christmas when he was fourteen like I am now. But his dad died, and he only got to ride with him once. I accidentally found out that I got a new bike for Christmas.” Jake took a breath. ”I want to get his bike fixed so he can ride with me.”

“You got a budget you can spend?

“I have 247 dollars.”

A slight smile crossed Mason’s face. “I can probably do it for under 200. Want the original color?”

“Yes, sir. Can you have it done by Christmas Eve?”

“Gonna be tight, but I’ll try. Let’s get some info before you leave.”

~~~

Christmas was in two days, and he was supposed to pick up the bike on Christmas Eve. Ray was going to drive him, but he needed to get the money from his savings account, which meant going to the bank. Since he was on vacation from school, he didn’t have to worry about skipping, but getting downtown was another. He told his mom he was going to Will’s and then walked seven blocks to the main road and waited for a city bus to take him to a branch bank.

He walked into the lobby, his stomach churning. He had never been to the bank by himself, but he was here for a reason. He stepped up the teller window and presented his bank book and his school ID. As grown-up as he could, he announced his intentions. “I would like to withdraw the money from this savings account.”

The teller looked up the account. She shook her head, a woeful smile on her face. “I am so sorry, but your father and mother are on the account, and it requires one of their signatures to withdraw these funds. I am sorry.” She pushed the bank book and ID back to him. “Perhaps one of them could come with you.”

Jake’s heart was in his throat. He only nodded, grabbed the items, and fled the bank. Once outside, he sat on the curb, fear overwhelming him. He had to figure out how to pay for the bike. But how…. He was staring into the distance, racking his brain for what to do. He didn’t hear the soft footballs of someone approaching.

“Jake?”

He looked up to see Pops standing over him. “Pops, I uh…“ He scrambled to his feet. “Hi.”

“I don’t see your parents’ cars. Are you here alone?”

Jake could only nod, and his grandfather pressed him. “What are you doing here?”

Tears welled in Jake’s eyes, and the story spilled out. His grandfather listened without comment until Jake finished.

“So, the bike is now at the shop, and you are going to need to pay for it?”

“Yeah, I—I just wanted to do something for him so he could ride with me.” Finally, the tears spilled from his eyes, and Pops pulled him into a hug.

“Let’s go see what we can do. I’m your grandfather. Maybe I can be the other signature.”

Inside the bank, Pops told him to sit in one of the chairs while he talked to the manager. To Jake, the wait felt like an eternity as fear overwhelmed him. The sense of dread faded a bit as Pops motioned him to join him at the same teller window. Pops was smiling.

“I told the bank manager the money was for you to buy a present for your father, and it was a secret, so he’s going to let me sign with you.”

Five minutes later, they walked out of the bank with the money Jake needed and his nerves intact.

“Let me take you home. But before we do, do you have a present for your mom?”

“I got her a scarf and hat. Haven’t done any more shopping, and I don’t have the spare money.”

“Get in the car. I’ll spot you the money for another gift for your mom.”

~~~

Jake was pacing the floor. Mr. Mason told him that he would have the bike ready at four-thirty and be there on time as he closed the store for Christmas Eve. He told his Mom that Will’s mom wanted him to stop by and get his present and some cookies, and Ray and Will were going to come to get him. Fact was the gifts were already in Ray’s truck.

It was just after four when Ray pulled up. Jake called out. “Ray’s here, back soon,” and rushed out the door. He nearly slipped on the side as an icy rain was falling. He jumped in the cab.

“Wow, thought you weren’t coming?”

“Sorry, dude. This weather is getting worse. Let’s get there so we can get back.”

A sinking feeling came over Jake, scared they had waited too late. The icy rain turned into sleet, and the road was becoming slicker by the minute. As they passed by the park where there was little traffic, the truck began to slide. Ray tried to keep the truck under control but hit an icy spot. It careened off the curb and over the embankment into a thicket of bushes, landing on its side.

~~~

Pops and Jeff’s mother, Emily, arrived, followed shortly by Leigh’s parents, Gordon and Cheryl. They were placing gifts under the tree when Jeff’s phone rang. His shocked expression told all something was wrong.

“That was the police. Ray’s truck skidded on the ice near the park and landed on its side. Officer said the kids are fine but on the way to the hospital.”

Leigh began to cry, and Jeff hugged her. “They’re fine, a few scrapes and bruises, but fine. Just taking them to the hospital to get checked out. We need to go get him.”

Pops spoke. “We’ll finish dinner and get the rest of the presents under the tree. You go get our boy.”

The grandmothers busied themselves with finishing dinner while the granddads got all the presents under the tree. They had finished when the doorbell rang. Pops opened the door and smiled broadly. “I am happy to see you.”

An hour and a half later, Jake and his parents returned. He was sporting a bruised shoulder and cheek and a small cut above his eye. His grandmothers fussed over him until he blushed bright pink and pushed them away.

“Stop, I’m okay. It wasn’t Ray’s fault. The roads were getting icy.”

His mother nodded. “We know it wasn’t his fault, but we don’t know why you were out near the park?”

Jake glanced toward Pops. “Ray was going to pick up something.”

She hugged him. “Just glad you are okay. Hungry?” He nodded. She kissed him gingerly on the forehead. “I’m so glad you are okay.”

Jake held back as the family headed to the dining room to talk to his grandfather. “Pops, we didn’t get to the shop in time.”

Pops put a finger to his mouth. “I have it on good authority that Santa took care of it.”

“What?”

“Mr. Mason had to go home, but he wanted you to have the bike, so he dropped it off here. I hid it in the bedroom we’re sleeping in.”

“Pops!” Jake threw his arms around his grandfather. “Thanks.”

~~~

Christmas morning was a surprise for Jake. The bicycle he expected was not under the tree, nor was his dad’s. He woke up and remembered he hadn’t paid for the repairs, so he had tucked the money from the bank into his robe pocket. He suspected Pops had paid Mr. Mason.

They opened presents, and Jake was pleased but confused. When there were no more presents, we looked toward Pops, who only winked at him. Then his mother approached and handed the savings bank book to him, which he had returned to the drawer without marking the withdrawal. He swallowed hard. He was in trouble.

“Jake, we know that you were saving money to get a new bike, but we had other ideas. We want this savings account to go toward a car for you in a couple of years. Your dad and I and your grandparents have contributed to the account. You now have a thousand dollars in the account, and all of us, plus what money you earn, will keep depositing to the account so that we have a down payment for a car for your senior year in high school.”

He couldn’t breathe. “Mom, no—no, I can’t…”

Pops interrupted, “Jeff, Leigh, don’t you have something to show Jake?”

“I believe we do.” Jeff left the living room and returned with the shiny, black mountain bike adorned with a red ribbon. “Merry Christmas, son.”

Jake hugged his parents and sat on the bike. “Wow, I love this. Thanks.” He looked for Pops, who had left the room.

“Dad, Mom, I have a confession to make. I overheard you talking about the bike last week and Dad, about how you got a bike for Christmas when you were fourteen but only rode with your dad once. So…” His voice broke. “I decided to do something… I took your bike from the shed and had it fixed.”

Pops rolled Jeff’s bike into the room to surprised gasps. Jake was shaking, so afraid his dad would be angry. He watched as his dad walked to the bike and ran his hand along the handlebars. “It looks like it did when I first got it.” Tears streamed down his face, and Jake ran to his dad, who hugged him tightly. Jeff looked over his son’s head toward his stepfather. “Pops, you have been my father longer than I had my real father. You have given me nothing but love and care over the years, and that means so much. Please forgive me for this moment when I can bring my father’s memory to my son.”

“Jeff, you are my son, but this is the right thing to do, and know that this was Jake’s doing.”

Jeff hugged his son again. “Might be a bit icy this morning, but it’s going to warm up this afternoon. Then we go for a ride.”

~~~

After breakfast, Jake found Pops. “The money, that day at the bank…” He pulled the money from his robe pocket. “This was from you and not my account, wasn’t it?”

“They weren’t going to let me help you, so I did the next best thing.”

“You paid Mr. Mason last night.”

Pops laughed. “No. When he found out you didn’t get there because you were in a wreck, he told me he never intended to charge you. He was a boy who rode bikes with his dad, and you brought back those memories for him.”

Jake handed Pops the money. “Hold this for next Christmas. Who knows what we might need to buy?”

~~~

The sun was out around two p.m., and father and son rolled their bikes to the sidewalk.

“Ready, Jake?”

“I sure am, Dad.”

And off they rode.

The Write the Story project is a monthly prompt provided by Writers Unite! It is intended to give authors writing experience and outreach to grow followers to their Facebook pages, blogs, and website. Visit Writers Unite on the Web at:
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My English Rose

From the image prompt for Writers Unite! Write the Story’s December 2020 project. I hope you enjoy it!

Author’s Note:  I love murder mysteries of any kind, detective or cozy. While I write detective novels, I love to dabble in cozy mysteries, and I offer this story as an homage to the talented cozy authors who entertain us. 

D. A. Ratliff

Vicar Addison Wakefield was not a fan of modern technology. One of the reasons he chose to relocate to Hampton Green was its quiet lifestyle and charm. However, technology caught up with the village, two hours by train from London, and it didn’t make him happy, especially when he was on his bicycle for an early morning ride.

The ding of a text message interrupted his daydreaming as he pedaled down Serpents Lane toward the weir on the river near town. He loved to sit on a flat rock on the bank, listen to the water cascading over the dam, drink his thermos of tea, and enjoy the early mid-summer morning. The only quiet time he had.

The message from his wife, Muriel, read: Mrs. Marcum called. She isn’t feeling well and would like for you to stop in when you can.

He sighed, texted Muriel he was on his way, and turned the bicycle around, heading toward town. As he sped toward the village, he considered what he knew about Edith Marcum. She was the widow of greengrocer Jasper Marcum and had taught botany at the local college. She owned the local florist and lived two blocks from the village square in Hollyhock House. The fragrance wafting from Edith’s garden reached him while he was several meters away.

Addison leaned his bike next to the gate and walked along the narrow cobblestone path, admiring the hollyhocks, pinks, delphiniums, phlox, and the other flowers filling the front garden. The hint of honeysuckle permeated the air. He rapped the door knocker on the heavy wooden door and heard a feeble voice respond to come in.

The parlor drapes remained closed to block out the early morning sun. Edith was lying on the couch, a knitted throw across her lap. Addison pulled an ottoman close to the couch and sat.

“My dear Edith, I am sorry that you feel ill. Have you spoken to Doctor Andrews?”

“No, he would just tell me to rest.” She paused. “I am glad you came, Vicar. I have to tell you that I feel my time on Earth is nearly over.”

“Now, now, Edith. That’s no way to talk.”

“Just a premonition, but I am rarely wrong.” She closed her eyes as a grimace crossed her face. She reached out for the vicar’s hand. “I am having serious headaches… dizzy… sick to my stomach. It is only getting worse. I have been trying to write my paper to send to the horticultural society about the new rose I created, but I was simply too sick.” She gestured toward her dining table covered with notebooks, papers, and a shiny purple laptop. “I need to finish that before….” She was too weak to continue.

“I insist on calling the doctor.” She protested, but he pulled out his mobile. “No argument.”

The doctor arrived within fifteen minutes. Addison waited outside while Andrews examined her. When the doctor exited the house, his expression revealed concern.

“Not certain what is wrong, Vicar, but I am glad you called me. She said she had been feeling poorly for about a week, and it is getting progressively worse.” He patted his black leather bag. “I drew some blood and gave her some medication for the headache and nausea.”

“Should someone stay with her, William?”

“Yes. She had me call her friend, Imogen Smyth, who’s coming over now.”

The vicar nodded. “Ah—good. She owns the florist along with Edith.” He stepped toward the door. “I should say goodbye.”

“No, she was getting drowsy as I left. Let her sleep. I’ll check on her this afternoon.”

The doctor was not the only one to check on Edith. Later that afternoon, the Vicar called, and Imogen said she was resting comfortably.

The call that she was not, came at three a.m. the following morning.

~~~

A misty rain fell as the Vicar raced on his bike from the vicarage toward Edith’s house. He pulled the slicker hood over his head and pumped faster, crossing the mile’s distance in record time. As he arrived, in addition to the doctor’s SUV, he saw two yellow and blue checkered police cars and a lone ambulance, blue lights illuminating the night. The ambulance crew sat inside, out of the rain. A sinking feeling in his chest told him the outcome could not be good.

Nodding to a policeman standing inside the doorway, Addison entered. Edith remained on the couch, but her pale face and blue lips confirmed his fears. Edith Marcum was dead.

Dr. Andrews turned, gesturing toward Imogen, sitting at the dining room table. “Imogen said she took a turn for the worst about two-fifteen a.m. and called me. I called the ambulance on the way, but by the time they got here, she was gone.”

“Doctor.” A voice from the doorway caused the men to turn around to find Detective Chief Inspector Gordon Winston entering.

He shook the doctor’s hand, then the vicar’s. “Tell me what happened here.”

The Vicar and doctor recounted the events since the Vicar first arrived. The detective had them step into the dining room while he spoke to the ME and then to Imogen.

Addison pulled out a dining chair and sat wearily. “Any idea what happened to Edith?”

“Could be a lot of things. A virus, but she didn’t have a fever—not sure. Blood work I sent off yesterday will be back in forty-eight hours, and the ME will likely do an autopsy, so we should know in a few days.”

An hour passed before DCI Winston released them. The vicar asked to say a prayer before the ME removed the body, then watched in silence as Edith Marcum left her garden for the last time.

~~~

Edith Marcum’s son, Liam, arrived later in the afternoon and called on the vicar. Muriel escorted him to the vicar’s office, then excused herself to make tea.

“Liam, it has been a long time.” Addison crossed the room to meet him. “My deepest condolences on your mother’s passing.”

“Thank you. It’s been quite a shock.”

“Please sit.” Addison motioned to a chair and returned to sit behind his desk. “How are your wife and daughter?”

“Good, but as confused as I am. My mother was a good woman, a healthy woman. We did not expect her to be gone so soon.”

“Have you spoken to DCI Winston?” 

“Yes. He feels that her death is from natural causes.” Liam stared out the window into Muriel’s garden.

“I see mother’s roses in your garden. That yellow rose with the orange edges was the one she created for my father. He was able to see it bloom before he died.”

“Your father was a good man, as well.”

“Yes.” Liam sighed. “Vicar, the medical examiner said that it might be a week before he will release my mother’s body. I have a predicament. My wife has accepted a yearlong teaching fellowship in Sydney, and I’ve taken a job at the university as well. Our flight leaves in three days. We were coming to see my mother two days from now.”

“I am so sorry that you were not able to see her.”

“I’m not sure how to ask this, but I would like to have a memorial service before we leave. I have no other close family, but my wife’s parents have agreed to handle the situation when Mum’s body is released.”

Addison nodded. “That’s not a problem. We can arrange a memorial for your mother in two days. Do you have some ideas about the service?” Liam nodded, and the vicar continued. “Let’s get started.”

~~~

The morning of the memorial service was unseasonably warm and sunny. Addison breathed in the sweet fragrance of roses and other flowers that adorned the sanctuary. Imogen Smyth was standing next to an easel that held a large photo of Edith and her husband. She was placing flowers in a tall arrangement.

“Imogen, I am so sorry for your loss. I know you and Edith were best friends.”

She blinked away tears as she turned toward the vicar. “Thank you. I miss her greatly. This is why I asked Liam if I could use flowers from her garden to honor her.”

Members of the village filled the sanctuary for the service. Edith and her husband were well liked, and many came to say goodbye to her. After the choir sang and the vicar spoke, Liam rose to make brief remarks.

He stood at the podium beside the photo of his parents. A wreath of yellow roses adorned the easel. Fingers gripping the edges, Liam cleared his throat, then spoke.

“I chose this photo of my parents because they were inseparable in life and now joined again in death. As shocking as my mother’s unexpected death has been that they are together brings those of us who love her peace.”

He talked briefly about his life growing up and ended talking about Edith’s love for her family.

“The wreath you see below the photos is created from the beautiful rose that my mother developed, and the UK Horticultural Society recognized it. She named the rose Jasper’s Love after the love she and my father shared. My father called her My English Rose. May the rose live as a symbol of their love and of how we loved them.”

After the service, the vicar and his wife offered a light lunch to the family and mourners. Having refreshed his tea, Addison stood in the vicarage doorway, his eyes on Imogen and Liam, who appeared to be having a quiet but intense argument. He watched as Imogen angrily spun and walked away toward the village. He was surprised to see Liam spot him and head in his direction.

“Vicar, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Of course. What can I do?”

Liam pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “My in-laws are returning to Cambridge with us and are taking us to Heathrow tomorrow. Would you be so kind as to look after Hollyhock House as well as the floral shop until my father-in-law can return?”

“Of course, I will.” Addison hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should question the conversation he had witnessed. “Liam, you seemed to be arguing with Imogen. Is everything okay?”

Liam blew out a deep breath. “My mother had told me she was unhappy with Imogen for some reason. We were going to talk about it when we saw her.” He seemed uneasy. “Imogen wanted to know what we were going to do about the shop. I told her that as far I was concerned, it was business as usual. I said we would have to see what my mother’s will says. Thankfully, my father-in-law is an accountant and will oversee my mother’s interest. Imogen doesn’t seem to want any interference.” Liam shook his head. “The timing couldn’t be worse, but I can’t send my family half-way around the world without me.” He handed the keys to Addison. “Thank you. You have all my numbers, and I’ll text you my father-in-law’s mobile number.”

 ~~~

Addison woke with a nagging feeling he was missing something about Edith’s death. The fact that Liam revealed that his mother was unhappy with Imogen had triggered unease. After breakfast and attending to church business, he kissed Muriel goodbye and headed to the Hampton Green Florals shop. 

A white wreath with a ribbon bearing Edith’s name hung on the front door. He pulled the door open to the tinkle of a small bell. Imogen was putting an arrangement together and looked up as he walked in.

“Vicar.” Her eyes widened. “What brings you here?”

He noted her glance toward the small office behind the counter. The door was open, and he could see the desktop.

“Just wanted to check on you. I know you and Edith have been friends for years. This must be quite difficult to be back in the shop so soon.”

“Oh—yes, awfully hard. We—we were friends since childhood.” She looked away. “However, we have two weddings this weekend and several other orders. Martha has gone to the flower market for me this morning, and I have a part-time person coming in this afternoon to help. Business goes on.”

“Yes, it does, and while it is good to grieve, life must go on. If you need my counsel, please call me.”

“Thanks, Vicar, I will.”

The tinkle of the door faded behind him as he walked toward his bicycle, which he had leaned against the florist store’s marigold colored wall. Now he knew why he felt unease. The night Edith died, when he sat at the dining room table with the doctor waiting to talk to DCI Winston, the table was clear. Only hours before, the table was laden with numerous documents and a unique purple laptop. That purple laptop was now sitting on the desk in the florist office. Why was Edith’s computer from home, sitting on the business desk along with a desk computer and another laptop? Why indeed?

Addison rode quickly to Hollyhock House and let himself inside. He hated the pall of death that he felt walking into a room where a soul departed. Chills passed through him, and he prayed for the dead before he began to walk through the house. Perhaps the laptop he saw in the floral shop was not Edith’s, but he needed to find out. Room after room, no laptop and no sign of the papers and notebooks. He hesitated to call Liam but decided he needed to do so.

“Liam, so sorry to bother you, but I have a couple of questions.”

“No problem, we’re on the way to Heathrow. What questions?”

“I need to know if you removed your mother’s laptop from her house?”

“No, don’t remember seeing one. I know she had one, did all of her horticultural work on it and personal correspondence. Why? Is it missing?”

“I’m not certain. When I saw your mother the afternoon before her death, it was on the dining room table along with a lot of paperwork. When I returned upon learning of her death, it was gone. It’s been bothering me. Do you know what she was working on?”

“I do. She had created another hybrid rose and was applying for recognition from the Society. She was excited and told me that she had a surprise about the rose. My wife and I suspected she was going to name the rose after our daughter. Vicar, I’d appreciate it if you could locate the laptop and her notes. I want to see if I can register the rose in her honor.”

“I’ll do my best.” He took a breath. “Do you know if Imogen had any part in developing the rose? Could that be why your mother was upset?” 

“I don’t know, but Mum was quite upset with her.”

“I’ll let you know when I find the laptop.”

Ending the call, Addison experienced another chill. This one, however, was more sinister. He was beginning to believe that evil was afoot.

~~~

Addison had resorted to pacing in his office. Muriel was chairing a meeting for the upcoming village fete, and while he was looking forward to the event, the chattering was annoying. He had called DCI Winston, but the detective chief inspector was testifying in court. He would have to wait.

What was he going to tell the detective? Well, sir, I suspect Imogen knows more about Edith’s death than she let us think? Edith’s computer is now at the floral shop? Edith was unhappy with Imogen. Was that enough to tell Winston he thought Imogen at the very least stole the laptop? No doubt, the detective would think him mad. Maybe he was. When his mobile rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

The ID screen revealed Winston’s name. Addison took a deep breath and answered, telling the detective exactly what was running through his mind. The detective listened and surprised him.

“Vicar, I must say I may share your concerns. I spoke with the ME this morning, and he decided to run a few more tests as he was also concerned about the cause of death. It doesn’t appear natural. Calling him now and then I’m coming to Hampton Green.”

Addison sat for a moment, staring out at the garden and Jasper’s Love rose bushes. He couldn’t sit by and decided to visit Imogen again. As he rose, his phone rang. A congregant needed him, so he detoured first to visit the caller and then go to the shop. He needed to know why the laptop was there.

 ~~~

It was four in the afternoon before Addison walked into the shop. A customer was leaving, as was the part-time clerk as he entered. Imogen again looked surprised to see him. 

“What brings you back, Vicar?” 

He noted her tone was sarcastic. He sucked in a deep breath and asked God to forgive him for telling a bit of a lie. “Liam asked me to locate his mother’s computer. There are important documents on it as well as personal photographs. In the chaos of Edith’s death and the need to leave the country so quickly, he forgot to look for it.”

“I wouldn’t have any idea where it is.”

“I believe it is an unusual color, purple. It was on the table with some papers the morning before she died. It wasn’t there after she died. The table was clear.”

Imogen held his gaze for a moment, then smiled. “Would you like some tea? Perhaps, we can think of where her laptop could be.” 

There was a small seating area in the showroom, and she asked him to wait there. He sat where he could see if she went into the office. She didn’t but remained in the small area where there was a hotpot.

Minutes later, she brought two cups of tea, sugar, and cream on a tray and sat at the small table. “Hope you don’t mind that I poured your tea before bringing it. Please help yourself.”

While he added sugar, she chattered on. “Honestly, I don’t have a clue what happened to her laptop. I will say this. I had rushed over and realized I forgot my medications. I went home to get them. I didn’t notice the laptop, but she must have put it away while I was gone.”

“Was she strong enough to do that?”

“She must have been.”

He lifted the teacup. “Do you have a purple computer as well? I thought I saw one in the office this morning.”

“No, you must have seen some purple tissue paper. Drink your tea before it gets cold, Vicar.”

The cup was inches from his lips when a loud voice rang out.

“Don’t drink that, Vicar.”

DCI Winston stood in the doorway, an officer with him.

“Mrs. Smyth,” he handed her a document. “I have a search warrant for these premises and for your home.”

She stood. Her hands clenched. “How dare you.”

“I dare. And I…” A constable holding a bottle with an aged label arrived and a purple laptop tucked under his arm. Winston smiled. “Let me rephrase that. I’m here to arrest you for the murder of Edith Marcum.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “Yes, I killed her. She took my favorite rose from my garden and created her new hybrid. She told me when she started working on it that she would name the rose for me. But no, her son had a daughter, and she decided to name it the Pink Eloise. I pleaded with her, but she said it was final. Then she said, I think it’s better that I buy out your part of the business. No—this business is mine too, and I wasn’t going to allow it.”

Winston told the constable to read her rights and take her away.

Addison found his voice after stunned silence. “How? How did she kill Edith?”

“The same way she was about to kill you. Arsenic.”

Addison stared at the cup, then at the detective.

“I believe you arrived just in time.”

_____________________

The Write the Story project is a monthly prompt provided by Writers Unite! It is intended to give authors writing experience and outreach to grow followers to their Facebook pages, blogs, and website. Visit Writers Unite on the Web at:
https://writersuniteweb.wordpress.com/
and on WU! Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/145324212487752/

The Quiet Wood

From the prompt for Writers Unite! Write the Story’s April 2020 prompt. I hope you enjoy!

Please note: the images used are free-use images and do not require attribution.

By D. A. Ratliff

The ahu sat where I remembered, a stack of round polished stones each slightly smaller than the one beneath in hues from black to gray to maroon to white. Standing as a sentinel, awaiting a visitor. To a mortal walking through the forest, they would see only a crooked pile of gray rocks, but I saw what they could not. The doorbell to a realm only those of my kind could perceive. 

As I bent to touch the stones, Esa grasped my arm. “Do you think this is wise?” 

“There is nothing else we can do. I will be fine.”

“We will be waiting.”

I searched the faces of my warriors. Their steely gaze announced their willingness to follow me into a place they long believed lost to them to save our world. Unfortunately, there was only one soul that could save us, and I was sure he possessed no soul.

I touched the stones in the proper sequence, and a shimmering veil of light appeared.

A deep resounding voice echoed through the forest. “I am the Guardian. Who seeks entrance to the Quiet Wood?”

“I do. Leitien of Clan Reynor. I demand my right to consult with the Varya.”

The Guardian grumbled a response. “You are not Tulya of Clan Reynor.”

“I am now.” I slipped the silver diadem from under my cloak and placed it on my head. The filigreed silver wire became fluid as it molded to the contours of my forehead. The green emerald symbolizing the Clan Reynor resting just below my hairline. “Tulya Gaylia is dead.”

The veil of light parted, and the Guardian spoke once more. “You may enter.”

I turned to Esa. “If I do not return, the fight is yours, brother.”

“And my honor.”

Stepping through the veil, I entered the Quiet Wood.

I stood in a clearing, scattered with other ahu leading to other worlds. Most showed wear from use, but the ahu to my world was pristine, untouched in eons. From banishment day two hundred years before, we had no contact with our own. 

The wood lived up to its name. There was a rustling of leaves and the soft caw of a piar, otherwise, silence. It was a verdant glen of lush grass, bright green moss, and lofty trees. Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, and as a warm breeze brushed my face, I threw my cloak from my shoulders. I had a bit of a walk ahead of me to reach the Varya. 

Paths leading to the woods from each of the ahu converged onto a single track at the tree line. Taking a deep breath, I held it for a moment to center my thoughts. Exhaling, I vowed I would achieve my task. I headed into the woods.

The Quiet Wood once was a gathering place for the other clans. Here councils, festivals, funeral pyres, and governing functions took place as a way of bringing my kind together. Then petty jealousy and heartbreak erupted, and the Reynor Clan was unwelcome. 

I hadn’t gone too far when a flock of piars flew from their perch above me. I raised my head to watch them fly away. Their wings spread, revealing their magnificent gold and purple feathers. It was then I saw her.

“Watching me?”

A haunting, soft laugh echoed through the branches. “I have been since the portal activated. I was surprised to find a Reynor arriving.” A blurry vision in diaphanous green dropped onto the path, topped by masses of golden hair.

Mycani, wood nymph, stood before me, vines and flowers entwined around her. She smiled, but her eyes were blackened pools of coldness. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to see the Varya.”

She laughed, and small leaves on the surrounding vegetation shook slightly. “Whatever makes you think he would see you?”

Mycani had always been difficult. The wood nymphs were part of a magical realm that aligned with the clans millennia before. While there were a few other magical beings present in the woods, they felt it was their domain. I stepped up to her, a good head taller. 

“Please get out of my way. I am on urgent business.”

“Urgent? Oh, please tell me what could be so urgent to bring you here where you are unwanted?”

“Out of my way. I am a Tulya, and you have no authority over me.”

She sprang a few feet away from me down the path. “You and your mother always thought you were better than the Magicals. All those powers you have and where did it get you. Your clan sent away in disgrace. It was a good day when the Reynor left.”

I sensed unrest in the trees. Knowing that Mycani could control the tree branches to strike, I tensed for a possible blow, but a voice behind me interrupted. 

“You will stop this nonsense now, Mycani. Leitien is a Tulya. You will respect that.”

I turned to find Navi, the elf, standing hands on hips, looking upward at me. “I did not expect you to come here.”

“I have business with him.”

“You are foolish to think he would want to see you.”

“Foolish or not, a threat faces my world, and I believe a threat to all of the clans. He needs to see me.”

Navi stared at me, the tips of his pointed ears tinged with crimson, which told me he was angry. I waited for him to speak.

“If the Elves hadn’t intervened and arranged for the Reynor Clan to be banished and not eliminated as was the law, you would not be able to make this demand.”

It was my turn for my face to turn hot and crimson from anger. “You of all people know my mother knew nothing of her brother’s alleged treachery, yet you let him abandon her. He threw us away as if we meant nothing to him.” 

Mycani giggled. “It is so nice to see the old fire hasn’t left you. It might serve you well if he agrees to see you.”

At the same time, Navi and I yelled at her. “Leave now.” 

Her face was a mask of rage. She reached to grasp a vine that wrapped around her arm, pulling her into the trees. “Mark my words, you will regret coming here. He will never know the truth.”

Navi came to stand beside me. “Your mother, how did she die?”

“There are invaders on the humankind world we protect. They come from a dark dimension, and they are powerful. The mortals are unable to fend them off, so my mother tried to negotiate, but the invaders murdered her with a beam of energy. We are not strong enough to fight them alone. We need help.”

“You remember what he said to you as your mother led you and your brother through the portal?” I could only nod in response. Navi continued, “He said if you went with her, he would never think of you again.” 

“He is the Varya, the protector, and charged by the Ancients to protect those sent as guardians to other worlds. He must think of me. Whether he cares about me is of no consequence, I am firstborn and next in line. I am here to protect the mortals of my world. That is my charge.”

Navi stared at the ground. I waited. When he spoke, I noted his voice tinged with fear. “I will take you to him but understand he will be quite unhappy.”

“He will have to be unhappy, but I need his help.”

We continued down the path toward the center of the Wood. I fought back nostalgia as I remembered my time visiting the Wood from our assigned world. The breeze, the canopy of branches above my head, the familiar smell of sweet flowers and mossy ground. I also felt the presence of others. Mycani and other nymphs, fairies, trolls, and elves lived in the Wood. Curiosity was their nature, or gossip more likely, and they were watching. 

I pushed those thoughts aside, for I knew I was using them to avoid the inevitable. I was about to see him for the first time in eons. I had worshiped him, and he turned us away. What I wanted to say to him and what I would say to him were no doubt going to be different. I couldn’t risk him turning from our need. If he would even entertain helping us at all. 

My heart pounded in my chest as we reached the center of the Wood and the entrance to Minya. The portal was a hollow, moss-covered cave entrance. It seemed odd for the large stone formation to be sitting in the center of the Wood. An old tree log, felled centuries before, led to the entrance. It too was covered in moss. Navi leaped over the obstacle with ease, while I paused to take in my surroundings. The sunlight cast an almost iridescent glow to the yellow-green moss. 

“Are you coming?”

I nodded to the impatient elf. “Yes, I’m coming.”

Crossing the threshold into the darkened cave, I stepped gingerly as the dirt floor slanted downward toward a small clearing. In the center of the clearing sat an ahu made of white stones. Navi touched the stones in sequence, and a veil of light appeared. The Guardian’s voice boomed once more, and Navi responded with a request to enter. With a sharp intake of breath, I followed him into the Realm of Minya.

It could have been the Wood except for the vastness. The Wood was merely a constructed lobby in time and space for congregation. Before me lay another path, this one wider and paved with smooth white stones. In the distance, the spires of the palace of Yara, the Ancient ones. 

Navi gestured toward the palace. “After you.”

As we approached the city, we encountered many clan people, along with magicals and elves. Navi noticed that the elves caught my attention. 

“The war the Caran Clan fought on their world brought attention to the elves as we had fought with them alongside the fairies against a common magical enemy, the goblins. Since the banning of the Reynor Clan, we found our position about the clans to have become one of importance. The wizards and witches are not happy with our positions but tolerate the relationships.”

Heat flushed through me as his words triggered my anger. “It is nice to see that other beings are allowed to coexist in the realm, but he banished his own.” 

Navi grabbed my arm. “You would be wise to remember that he thought your uncle, Jamus, was plotting to kill him and become protector.” 

“To what advantage?” I jerked my arm away. “Jamus was already Tulya of Reynor, the most powerful clan in the Realm. You know as well as I do that he was framed and then executed.” 

“Your father had no choice. The law was clear.”

“Why did the elves step in? What did you know?”

I watched as the pupils of his large eyes widened. “It is best we leave the past in the past.”

No, I was not going to allow that. “When we finish here, elf, you will tell me the truth. Now take me to him.”

We walked the rest of the way in silence. At the gates to the palace, Navi skillfully handled the guards, and another elf escorted us to the Varya’s chambers. I felt his presence emanating from the room. He had always projected a powerful aura, and it was palpable. 

Varya Tristor rose from the center council chair as we entered the room. He walked toward me, and I found myself unable to move.

“What do you want, Tulya?”

He was what I expected. Cold.

“I come to request the assistance of the Realm and the other clans. The world the Ancients charged us with protecting is under siege from ruthless and powerful beings from another dimension. They are drawing on power from a source we cannot fight alone. I do not care what you think of us, but the Ancients set our laws. We are to protect humankind. I expect you to honor the Ancient law.” 

I stopped. My father had not taken his eyes off me. He may have thought his icy stare would intimidate me. He was wrong. 

“When did your mother die?”

“Yesterday.”

“It took you little time to assume your role as Tulya.”

“I am not here to discuss my mother. I am here to invoke Ancient law. You may have banished the Reynor from this world, but that doesn’t release you from your obligation.”

Another voice spoke, and a fairy along with a wizard and another elf came to stand next to Tristor. In the background, I noticed there were other fairies and elves along with a matriarch of the wood nymphs in the chamber. The fairy spoke. “I find it incredulous that you would show your face here. Your uncle’s treachery is not forgotten.”

I started trembling. That voice. I remembered that voice, the soft singsong voice of a fairy. Where had I heard it? I pushed the thought back. I had other issues.

“I have no idea what role you are playing in a clan issue. The Circle of Clans were created before all other creatures.” I turned to my father. “I implore you to honor our code and protect our charges.”

The elf laughed. “I find your plea insulting. Tristor, I demand you have her removed and this elf, Navi, punished for bringing her here.” 

“Hawthorn, quiet.” My father took a step toward me. “We are under no obligation to help you. The banishment was final, and your mother knew she relinquished support from the Realm. You are lucky that we chose not to invoke the Qualme.”

I stepped closer to him. “You talk of the Qualme as if it were nothing, but you entertained the notion that you could eliminate a clan at will. Someone framed Uncle Jamus. He didn’t want to be Varya, but you did. And now I see you surrounded with magical beings and with no one from the clans. I am beginning to wonder if you didn’t murder my uncle and banish my clan for power. I will take your answer back to Esa and the others, and we will defend humankind as best we can and with honor.”

I spun around, stalking out of the chamber and out of the palace. I didn’t stop until Navi, running as hard as he could, caught up with me. Before he said a word, I stopped him. “No talking until we reach the Quiet Wood.”

Stepping out of the cave in the Wood, I was seething, my heart racing, my hands clenched. There would be no help. None. 

“Oh, it appears someone wasn’t successful. I remember as a child, you always got what you wanted from your father. Looks like that is not happening this time.” Mycani flitted down from her perch on a low tree limb. 

I rarely used the power we possessed. My mother had wanted us to only use our abilities when a mortal was in danger. She forbade us from using it in anger. But I was angry. With one slight flick of my wrist, I sent Mycani into a thorny thicket. 

The wood nymph screamed as she became entangled in the thorns, and the brush parted to release her. I took some solace in the pale green blood on her scraped arms. 

She lunged toward me. “You, all of you from the clans—always fancied you were gods. So powerful and so humble, never using your power for anything but good. That will be your downfall, your arrogance that no one can defeat you. That you are better than the rest of us. But defeated you are, and the rest of your kind will be as well. Your uncle was only the first.”

Her words cut through me. She knew more than she let on about what happened so long before. Once again, I used my powers and, with a flick of my hand, drew her to me. 

“What do you know? Tell me.”

“I will tell you nothing. But know this, the magic world will not allow your kind to rule us forever. Your day is coming.”

I flung Mycani toward a tree, its branches stretching to catch her. I watched as she hopped from branch to branch until she was out of sight, then turned toward Navi.

“I must return to my world, but elf, I charge you with this. I sense you also know more than you are telling me. I now remember where I last heard that fairy. I overheard him talking to my uncle shortly before his death, and now he sits next to my father as an advisor. Find out what happened to my uncle. Mycani knows something. If we defeat the invaders, I will be back. This ends.”

Slipping my cape onto my shoulders again, I tapped the ahu and stepped through the portal to my fate. 

~ooOoo~

Weeks passed. Too many mortals had died. Our combined powers were not enough for this otherworldly invader. We managed to hold them at bay, but each night the sky opened and more appeared across the land. We had revealed ourselves to the mortals, something I had hoped to never do, but they were without hope. We had at least given them that—for now. 

Esa and I were with our regents when a soldier rushed in. “Tulya, the ahu—it has opened. There is an elf there waiting for you.”

We hurried to the forest to find the shimmering veil of light. I called out. “Navi, are you here?”

The elf stepped through the portal. “I am and bring you news.”

I was about to demand he tell me what news when my father appeared, followed by members of other clans, elves, fairies, nymphs, wizards, and trolls. I sensed Esa tense and whispered for him to be brave.

My father approached us. “Leitien, Esa, it is with much sorrow that I come to beg your forgiveness. Navi came to me shortly after you left with his suspicions. He believed that the Fairy Hawthorn, along with others in the magical world, framed your uncle but could never uncover the truth. He convinced me that Hawthorn fabricated evidence against your uncle. I confronted him, and after a bit of encouragement, he admitted that he brought false testimony regarding Jamus.”

The Wizard Dranor stood by my father. “It was not just your father who believed Hawthorn’s lies, we all did. There was much unrest between the magicals, the wizards, and the clans. Some of us wanted to believe that we could forge an alliance for good.”

Tristor placed his hands on my shoulders. I flinched but did not move away. I needed to hear his words.

“I can never bring your uncle back, and I should have been there for your mother. I doubt you and Esa can ever forgive me, but there has been good that has come of this. The alliances between the clans and the wizards and magicals are strong. Dranor and Navi have spent the last few weeks ferreting out Hawthorn’s accomplices. The conspiracy was deeper than we imagined.”

I looked toward Navi. “Mycani?”

Navi dropped his head. “She was a spy for Hawthorn. She reported on everyone who came through the Wood. She has been banished to the Nymphs’ world.”

I turned to my father. “Are you and the others prepared to help Clan Reynor fight this enemy?”

A resounding chorus of yes met my question. The clans, the wizards, and the magicals would join forces together. A battle that I was confident we would win.

I had also won another battle. I had brought honor back to my clan by taking a journey through the Quiet Wood. 

Author’s Note

Some words used in this story such as tulya, varmay, and qualme are words from Quenya, one of the languages that J. R. R. Tolkien created for the Elves in his amazing body of work. I wanted to provide a touch of ‘realism’ as it were to this story by using a few words from his lexicon. Quenya-English word lists can be found here. https://folk.uib.no/hnohf/wordlists.htm

The Write the Story project is a monthly prompt provided by Writers Unite! It is intended to give authors writing experience and outreach to grow followers to their Facebook pages, blogs, and website. Visit Writers Unite on the Web at:
https://writersuniteweb.wordpress.com/
and on WU! Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/145324212487752/

Night Strings

From the prompt for Writers Unite! Write the Story’s March 2020 prompt. I hope you enjoy!

Please note: the images used as prompts are free-use images and do not require attribution.

I couldn’t feel the ship.

Unnerving sensation for a captain.

I had walked too many decks for too long not to miss the ever-so-slight vibration from the stardrive. It wasn’t there. Not for five months and twenty-seven days. Not that I was counting.

Every night as I walked the deserted corridors of the ESA Lassiter, an Astro-class cruiser, from bow to stern, the events of that day, six months before played in my head.

I had just walked onto the bridge, received the latest communications from the Comm officer, and then asked Commander Renaldi for a report on the status of our guests. We were transporting one hundred colonists from an established Earth colony on Elan III to Starbase 9 where they would meet up with transport for passage to a new settlement. The trip was to take nine days at maximum hyperspeed, and we were three days out.

“Captain, our guests have settled in nicely. They have set up their schedules for meals and showers, not much we have to do.”

“I wish all of our guests were as….”

The Alert claxon sounded as the bridge plunged into red light.

My science officer stared at his view screen. “Captain, quantum filaments just appeared on sensors. There are several, and we aren’t going to miss them.”

“How long?” 

“Seven minutes, ma’am.”

“Shields up.” I turned to the Comm officer. “Ship wide, please.” He nodded, and I spoke to the crew and passengers.

“This is the Captain. All hands to battle stations. Brace for impact. At least one quantum filament is on course to strike the ship in seven minutes.”

Renaldi spoke before I had a chance. “The passengers.”

“Get down there.”

One stream struck us, a glancing blow, but enough to knock out all electrical systems, and with the stardrive disabled, we were many lightyears from help. The Lassiter was dead in space.

The next hours were frantic as the crew struggled to bring the emergency backup systems online. First, repair crews worked to stabilize life support, then restore power to the galley and freezers, med bay, and communications. It was twenty-three hours after the collision when Renaldi and I stood outside the hangar bay doors. Time to tell our passengers what we were facing.

Renaldi introduced me. “Captain, this is Reggie Donovan, governor of the colonists. Reggie, Captain Miriam Jacobs.”

I glanced around the room at the anxious families. There was no easy way to tell them what was facing us.

“Mr. Donovan, I want to thank you and the others for your invaluable assistance in helping clear debris and tend to the wounded. I believe you understand what happened to us. As you know, we managed to bring the emergency life-support system online and are still working on full life support. The rest of our systems remain inoperable.”

“I can’t understand how something so large and dangerous could sneak up without notice.”

“Quantum filaments can be hundreds of meters long but virtually have no mass. Almost undetectable until they are on top of a ship because of high energy particles and subspace distortions.” I took a breath. “Other than life support, we have a couple of serious problems. We find ourselves in an empty section of space. If we could bring our impulse engines online, the nearest M-class planet is seven months away. We have no communications. The high energy particles fried the array and repairing it will take time. As we are in empty space, and too far from Starbase 9 or the colony we just left, their sensors will not pick up the filaments, and without the drive activated, they will have difficulty finding us.”

“Like the old Earth saying, needle in a haystack, Captain?”

“Yes.” I glanced at Renaldi before I went on. “So, there is one other issue. We were to take on provisions on Starbase 9. Even without all of you here, the ship’s Steward and the quartermaster have informed me that we are going to run out of food in six months. We will need to sit down with you and decide how we are going to ration food.”

“Captain, we have provisions with us, staples like flour, salt, sugar, dried meats, and fruits. Where we are going is more primitive than the colony we left. Our goal is to establish an agricultural trade outpost in that section of the galaxy. What we have is yours to add to the food supply.”

“Thank you. Mr. Donovan, the one thing I will not allow is for your children to go hungry. We will adjust accordingly.”

I stood outside the hangar bay on this night several months later, listening to the soft whimpering of some of the children and the cries of our newest “crew member,” a baby born three weeks ago to one of the colonists. Out of the small viewport, the faint Vesari Nebula glowed blue with another kind of newborn, stars. I stood there, waiting for the first soft notes that rocked us to sleep at night—the music of a violin.

As the sound of stringed music began to drift through the intercom, peace swept over me. I shouldn’t be peaceful for we had little time left. My chief engineer and his team managed to get the distress beacon activated, but with low power, the signal’s range was minimal. Yet, standing in the dark corridor with only a few emergency lights activated, I allowed myself to feel hope as Yeoman Ki Mikato played her violin.

Mikato was a botanist assigned to hydroponics. I had met her when she first came on board in one of my Greet the Crew receptions. Touring the new hydroponics garden set up in an empty storage hangar a month after our ordeal began, I was impressed by her enthusiasm and knowledge. Her expertise would provide much needed fresh food grown from the colonists’ seeds. Still, it wasn’t going to be enough.

When she requested to see me the following day, I was surprised, but several crewmembers over the first few weeks had stopped me to chat. I was not only a figure of authority to them but a mother in many ways when they needed comforting.

Mikato entered my ready room, carrying a strangely shaped case. “Captain, ma’am. I am sorry to bother you, but I…” She paused, looking uncomfortable. “I would like to offer the crew some comfort. When I was very young, my grandmother did this for our colony. We were on Magora.”

My heart skipped a beat. A vile race of humanoids enslaved the Earth colonists on Magora for two years, forcing them to turn over valuable minerals mined there. A wary captain of a supply ship had felt something was wrong, although the colonists insisted all was well, and he notified the Earth Space Alliance. When the ESA arrived, a battle ensued, and many colonists died at the hands of the alien humanoids.

“I’m sorry, Yeoman. I’ve read of what happened there. The bravery of the colonists who fought alongside the ESA when they arrived is legendary.”

“I joined the ESA because of that day. I remember a kind man in uniform who protected my grandmother and me until he could get us out of harm’s way.” She placed the case on my desk. “If I may, Captain. This is my grandmother’s violin. She would play at night to calm the children, but my mother always said that it calmed everyone.”

Mikato opened the black leather case, revealing a beautiful object nestled in wine-colored velvet. The case itself worn, the velvet frayed, but the instrument was pristine. The polished wood body was gleaming in the downlights above my desk.

“Yeoman, I have seen violins before but rarely outside of a museum. This is lovely.”

“Yes, ma’am. With computers able to make the sounds of all instruments, the real ones are difficult to find. My grandmother taught me to play, and I would like to play for the crew as she did every night for us. It brought us hope in the face of what we were dealing with on Magora.”

Her voice broke slightly, and I couldn’t speak for a moment, overcome by the heartfelt need of my crewman to bring joy to us.

“I think your gesture is wonderful, and I think that the crew will love having you play.”

“With internal communications restored, I would like to play at ten o’clock in the night, as everyone settles for bed. Perhaps it will help everyone sleep better.”

“Perfect.”

From that night until now, I stood in the passageway listening to her. Mikato played music she said was from Earth’s Old Masters. I had grown so fond of the music of one composer, Beethoven, that I had the Comm officer record it for me, and I played it often. The music was soothing, powerful, and gave us hope. I leaned against the bulkhead as she finished the piece from the observation deck where many of the crew went to listen each night. I preferred to listen with our guests, now our friends, as the music lulled them to sleep. Only when quiet overtook them, did I leave.

The following morning brought the news I was dreading. Our rations were meager, as were medicines and supplies in general. Hydroponics was providing some food, but it would not be enough. The Steward had done all he could to stretch our food supply. Unless ESA found us soon, our fate was clear.

Dinner for us was rarely a big affair, but I asked my senior staff to join me. The cook had made bread from the meager flour supply, and we had tomatoes from hydroponics—a feast of sorts for us. No one spoke for a bit as we savored a slice of bread and a tomato. My chief engineer had begged off. He remained diligently working to restore the external communications array, and I noticed Commander Renaldi had not arrived. I was about to ask where he was when the door to the Captain’s dining room slid open.

Renaldi was flush, still partially dressed in an excursion suit. “Captain, he did it. We have Comm.”

Rushing onto the bridge, I was pleased to see the communications officer already hailing the Starbase. We waited what felt like an eternity hearing nothing but static until a faint voice crackled in the air. I motioned for the Comm to go ship-wide.

“Lassiter, this is Starbase 9. Good to hear from you. We have your coordinates. Help is on the way.”

The excited voices of my crew and new friends began to pour through the Comm. However, our voices began to quiet as another sound replaced our cheers. The sounds of violin strings in the night. There was no better way to celebrate our rescue than the music that had seen us through.

~~oOo~~

The next day, a Halkan Republic ship that had been on routine patrol arrived with food and medical supplies. The following day an ESC Starcruiser arrived with a full repair team and more supplies. They offered to take our passengers on board, but Reggie Donovan refused. They were coming to Starbase 9 on the Lassiter as planned.

The ESA Hyperion began towing the Lassiter to the Starbase while repairs were underway. Their captain invited my crew and guests to dinner and a movie aboard his ship. I suggested another form of entertainment for part of the evening. As we enjoyed dessert, Yeoman Ki Mikato played her violin for all. I gazed about the room, pleased my crew was beaming with gratitude as they listened to her play.

I knew I would never captain another ship unless Ki Mikato were on the crew. We had faced death, and she had given us joy. For me, there will always be strings in the night.

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

Author’s Note:

I wrote this with thanks to the Star Trek franchise for borrowing the quantum filament. It appeared in an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation and described, as I did in the story, from an article on sabrizain.org. There is a real counterpart in astrophysics, called a plasma filament, which is basically an electric current in space plasma such as occurs in Earth’s Aurora.

Resources:

http://www.sabrizain.org/startrek/Astrometrics/Quantum_Filament.html

The Write the Story project is a monthly prompt provided by Writers Unite! It is intended to give authors writing experience and outreach to grow followers to their Facebook pages, blogs, and website. Visit Writers Unite on the Web at:
https://writersuniteweb.wordpress.com/
and on WU! Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/145324212487752/

WRITE THE STORY: Flight of Fancy

From the prompt for Writers Unite! Write the Story’s February 2020 prompt. I hope you enjoy!

Flight of Fancy

By D. A. Ratliff

Aristotle Elena Rossi stepped off the bus and promptly sat down on the bus shelter bench. She was half a block from home, an apartment above her family’s restaurant, but was reluctant to face them. No one would be happy about her news. Not anyone alive anyway.

She leaned back against the glass shelter wall and gazed toward the sky in time to see a commercial jet appear in the space between the giant skyscrapers. Seeing a plane always tore at her heart as it represented both tragedy and hope.

How was she going to tell them? She uttered a nervous laugh. It wasn’t certain, but it was possible, and she had to tell them. As the plane passed beyond her view, she closed her eyes as her thoughts drifted to the meeting with Dr. Bryant, her advisor, who messaged her to see him after her last class.

“Sit down, Aris. I have some news.” 

He handed her a document, and upon reading the heading, she gasped. The National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, School of Philosophy. She raised her eyes to Dr. Bryant, afraid to read further.

“Yes, you are a finalist for one of the fifty positions in the program. Congratulations.”

Aris sucked in a breath. “I never thought I would get this far.”

“I know the odds were long, but your grades are excellent, your knowledge of the Greek philosophers as strong as any faculty member at CUNY, and your submissions essay outstanding. I’m not surprised.”

“I couldn’t have gotten this far without you. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. It’s my understanding the committee will meet shortly after the semester ends, and the finalists’ grades along with a recommendation from faculty will count toward the final selection, which should be announced by July 1st.”

As she rose, Dr. Bryant added, “Aris, I hope your family realizes how important this is to your future.”

“I hope so, too.”

Looking again at the now-empty sky, she dreaded what awaited her. No time to linger, she headed down the block to her fate.

Papa Nico’s Greek Restaurant, known as one of the best Greek eateries in Manhattan, was preparing for dinner. She shoved open the door and stepped inside, the spicy aroma of tonight’s special wafting toward her.

Her ya-ya Sofia sat behind the cash register. “Ah, Aris, my favorite granddaughter.”

She kissed her ya-ya on the cheek. “I’m your only granddaughter, but I love it when you say that. Where’s Mama?”

“She’s in the office with Dorothea, tallying up the lunch receipts.”

“Thanks. I need to talk to her, and then I’ll be back to take the phone orders.”

Walking along the corridor past the restrooms, she faltered and nearly ran but remembered her father’s final words, which gave her strength. She rapped on the office door.

Her mother, Medina, beckoned her in. “How was school? Hard to believe you almost finished with your freshman year.”

“Good.” She paused. “Mama, I need to talk to you.”

She glanced at Dorothea. She wanted to talk to her mother alone and hoped her aunt would catch on. Her aunt did, but her mother shook her head. “No, stay. We are family.”

“Mom, last semester, Dr. Bryant talked to me about a program that offered a semester of study in philosophy. I decided to pursue it and filled out the application and submitted the required essay. Dr. Bryant informed me this morning that I’m among the finalists for one of the fifty slots in the program. I’ll know in July if they select me.”

“Darling, that’s wonderful! Why didn’t you tell us?”

Here it comes. The moment she feared. “The program is at the University of Athens, in Greece.”

The color drained from her mother’s face. “In Greece? You would have to fly there. No, no — you’re not getting on a plane. That’s final.” Her mother fled the office.

Tears spilled from Aris’s eyes, and Dorothea rushed to hug her. “My little one, I know it’s difficult, but your mother has never gotten over your father’s death. You know that planes frighten her, and she is only trying to protect you.”

“She has to stop. All of you have to stop keeping me trapped because of what happened to my dad. It’s not fair.”

“You’re still a child and…”

“I am eighteen and old enough to make my mind up.”

“My precious Aris, they only want what’s best for you.”

“No, all of you want what’s best for yourselves. That’s to keep me here, in the restaurant. Pappouli only agreed to pay my tuition if I studied business and forgot philosophy.”

“You are studying both. Papa allowed you to follow your whim.”

“He only wants the family’s dream for me, not my own. No more.” She spun and stormed out. They were not going to defeat her dreams. Her father’s dreams.

Her shift ended at eleven p.m., and after she helped clean the dining room, all Aris wanted was to escape upstairs to her room. She was gathering her coat and books from behind the counter when her grandfather called to her.

“Aris, come here.”

She followed him into the dining room, where her family waited. The rattling of pans and the sound of the industrial dishwasher told her that her uncle Zander, Dorothea’s husband, and their son Alex, who was still in high school, remained in the kitchen cleaning up. Zander rarely involved himself in family squabbles. Her mother, grandmother, and aunt sat together at a table.

Nico Persopoulos stood before an empty chair and motioned for her to sit down. Years of habit spurred her to obey.

“Aris, your mother tells me you have applied for some study program at the University of Athens. As you know, I willingly pay for your education in business so that you’ll take over the restaurant when I am gone. This foolish wish to study philosophy will get you nothing in life. I am only looking out for your best interest. And for your mother. She suffered a great loss. While I never thought your father was good enough for her, he was a successful restaurant equipment salesman and helped in here in our restaurant when he could.”

Her chest hurt as if her grandfather had punched her. “I lost something too. I lost my father. All I ever had of him are the philosophy books he left me. He was going to take me to Greece to see where Aristotle, Thales, and Zeno lived. He wanted us to walk where they walked. He told me how much fun we would have…”

Her grandfather interrupted, his voice agitated. “Your father was a dreamer. Always had his head in the clouds and his face in those books. Your mother was foolish for naming you what he wanted, and now every day, you’re reminded of his obsession. This foolishness is not practical, and I forbid you to go on this flight of fancy.”

Her heart shattered, and she clenched her fists until her nails pierced her palms. “I’m over eighteen. You cannot stop me.”

She rose and picked up her books. Running toward the back staircase, all she could hear was her mother’s sobs.

~ooOoo~

Spring semester exams were a week away, and mid-morning, Aris grabbed a coffee and pastry for breakfast and sat at a bare wood table in the dining room. She was reading from a textbook on ancient philosophies.

The doors from the kitchen opened, and she raised her eyes to see her mother entering with fresh tablecloths. She had avoided her family as much as possible since she told them about the program, citing a need to concentrate on her studies. Being alone with her mother was the last thing she wanted.

Dropping the tablecloths onto a nearby table, her mother sighed. “I thought you would be at school by now. You’ve been hurrying out of here every morning for a month.”

“You know I have an early morning class, Mama, but canceled today because of exams.” She got up to get more coffee. The kitchen was busy prepping for lunch, and the smell of cinnamon and Greek oregano was filling the dining room. A wave of nostalgia swept over her. This restaurant had always been her home, but it was time for more.

As her mother busied herself spreading the tablecloths, Aris continued to read, waiting for the shoe to drop. Her mother would say something. She knew it. She did.

“Aris, you owe your grandfather an apology and an explanation of your behavior.”

“I did nothing wrong. All of you knew what I wanted to study since I was a child.” She took a breath. “For your information. I spoke to the scholarship department. There is a good chance I can secure an academic scholarship. If so, I’ll be changing my major to philosophy only. If the University of Athens program chooses me, the scholarship will remain mine for when I return.”

“I forbid you to go to Greece.”

“It’s one semester, Mama. Then I’ll be back.”

“No, I won’t let you travel that far.”

“You can’t stop me. I am old enough to do what I want.”

“No.”

“You remember what my father said. You played it for me when I was little. I memorized every word. But when you realized that I shared his passion for Greek philosophers, you hid the tape. Never let me hear his voice again.” She was shaking so hard that she gripped the edge of the table. “You kept the only thing I had of my dad from me. He died one month before I was born, and all I had was a recording of his voice and his books. And you hid the answering machine from me.” She picked up her book, plate, and coffee cup. “I’m going. If I get the opportunity, I am going.” Turning toward the kitchen to take her dishes, once again, she heard her mother sobbing.

~ooOoo~

Aris was covering as cashier while her aunt took a break. With their relationship strained, the family spoke only when necessary regarding the restaurant. Only her grandmother had asked her how her exams had gone. Thankfully, they had gone well.

Dr. Bryant had called with news that he had sent her grades and recommendation letters from three of her professors to the selection committee. His contact assured him the committee would decide by July 1st so that the students could deal with personal issues and make travel arrangements. Now they waited.

Daydreaming about Greece, Dorothea startled her when she returned. “Sorry, and sorry, I’m late. I had something to do. Listen, when you get off tonight, come to my apartment. I have something to show you.”

It was nearing midnight when Aris knocked at her aunt’s third-floor apartment. Opening the door, Dorothea grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in.

“I don’t want anyone in the family to know you’re here. I have done something that will get me into a lot of trouble with my parents and your mother.” She smiled. “To be honest, I don’t care if they know but not until you know everything. Sit.”

They sat on the couch, and Aris noticed her aunt sneak a nervous glance at a small cardboard box sitting on the coffee table.

“First, I want to tell you about your mother. When your father died on that terrible day, your mother lost part of her soul. Papa didn’t like Theo because he didn’t want to work in the restaurant. His grandparents owned one, and he grew up working for them. He took his skills and began working for a company that sold equipment to restaurants. It was how he met your mother. Papa bought a new oven from him.

“Then 9-11 happened, and our world came to a standstill. Aris, your birth five weeks later was the joy we all needed but short lived because of your mother’s illness. Medina was already in a deep depression from losing Theo, and it only became worse after you were born. You don’t remember, and we never told you, but she spent eight months in a private hospital. Mama and I used to take you on the train to Queens to the hospital, hoping she would react. She developed such a phobia to planes that they installed blackout curtains in her room so she couldn’t see the planes from LaGuardia.”

“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me this?” Aris hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaken to her aunt as it did to her.

“Because Papa wouldn’t let us. She was his baby, and I never faulted him for protecting her more than any of us. The love between your parents was deeper than any I have ever seen, and as much as I love Zander, our love couldn’t compare. Your mother lost part of her soul that morning and never recovered. Her fear of planes and flying is deep seated now and why she is fighting you, but I also think that she feels that she is losing you to the same things that Theo loved. She is losing him again through you.”

Her aunt took a deep breath. “I heard you tell your mother that she had taken your father’s voice away from you. I knew you needed to have this with you and that we all need to face the fact that you are also Theo Rossi’s daughter, and his passion lives on in you.”

“I will not forgive her for that.”

Dorothea picked up the box and handed it to her. “I knew where Papa hid the answering machine.” As Aris opened the box, she continued. “I thought you should have the message from your father. I checked. It works.”

“I can hear him again?”

Dorothea nodded, and Aris threw her arms around her aunt. “Thank you.”

Leaving her aunt’s, she snuck into her apartment and quickly got ready for bed. Plugging the machine in, she slipped under the covers, pulling them over her head. She turned the volume down as low as possible and listened to her father’s final words. She was crying in her pillow as she heard her mother come in.

~ooOoo~

The next night after closing, she summoned the family to the dining room. After wrestling with her emotions, she had decided what to do.

“What did you want to say to us?” Her grandfather stood defiantly with his arms crossed.

She reached into her school bag and removed the answering machine. She heard her mother gasp but calmly plugged the machine in.

“Mama, I know this will be difficult, but all of you need to listen.” She pressed play. The tape was old with a bit of static, and her father’s deep voice was raspy and labored.

“Medina, by now, you may know what has happened, but my love, I won’t be coming home. A plane struck the Tower, and there is no way out of the restaurant. I need you to tell my parents that I love them. Nico, Sofia, Dorothea, Zander, thank you for bringing me into your lives. I beg you to take care of my Medina and our daughter.

Please, Medina, know I will love you for eternity. You are the love I wanted, and you have given me joy. I am sorry I will not be there to raise our daughter. Please give her the name we discussed. Aristotle Elena and call her Aris and play this message for her when she is older.

Aris, this is your father. I am so sorry I am not with you, but my love is with you always. Your mother will tell you of my passion for the ancient Greek philosophers. I want you to share that love. I have many books for you to read and had hoped one day to take you to Greece, where we could walk where Aristotle and the others walked. You must do that someday and know that I walk with you. I love you.

Medina, live your life and make our daughter happy, I will always lov…”

Silence met the end of the message. Aris paused before she spoke.

“This is why, if I am accepted, I will go to Greece — for my father.”

Aris took the answering machine and left hearing not only the tears of her mother but the tears of all.

~ooOoo~

Summer school started as Aris nervously awaited the committee’s decision. Two weeks had passed since she played the tape for her family, and tensions remained strained, but she was resolute. Her decision was made.

It was July 3rd and no word. Riding home on the bus after class, the lack of news discouraged her. As the bus rolled to a stop, she vowed that she would go to Greece regardless. Lost in her thoughts, she stepped off the bus, shocked to find her family waiting for her.

Her grandfather stepped forward, handing her a letter. “Dr. Bryant is a kind man. He allowed me to bring the news to you. Go ahead. Read it.”

Aris ripped open the letter to read the words. Congratulations, you are among the students selected for the program. Tears welling, she raised her eyes to her smiling grandfather.

“You were right all along. We were trying to protect you and your mother and failed you both. Your mother is going to see a psychologist so she can come to terms with what happened.” He handed her another envelope with an airline logo. “You are going to Greece.”

Medina hugged her. “I’m frightened for you to go, but it’s what you should do.”

Ya-Ya Sofia clapped her hands. “We made your favorite cake, yiaourtopita, to celebrate. Let’s go home.”

They walked toward the restaurant, her arm linked in her grandfather’s, as her mother, grandmother, and aunt excitedly discussed buying new clothes for her trip. Aris glanced up to see a plane passing above her.

She smiled. She was going to Greece to walk among the philosophers with her dad.

Author’s Note:

When I first saw this prompt, the events of 9-11 didn’t resonate until other authors mentioned it. Their comments triggered a memory, and once that memory surfaced, I needed to honor it.

A friend was a union organizer for the restaurant workers union and shortly before that day, had organized the workers at the Windows On the World restaurants atop the North Tower of the World Trade Center. After the attack, she spent the day with friends as no one wanted to be alone. When she returned to her apartment that evening, there was a message waiting for her on her answering machine.

The restaurant worker she had worked closely with during organizing had left her a message. He told her he called his wife to say goodbye. His message to my friend was to say thanks for her friendship, dedication, and hard work for their organizing effort. He wanted her to keep up the good work.

I have never forgotten his story and thought this was a way to honor all the victims of 9-11.

The Write the Story project is a monthly prompt provided by Writers Unite! It is intended to give authors writing experience and outreach to grow followers to their Facebook pages, blogs, and website. Visit Writers Unite on the Web at:
https://writersuniteweb.wordpress.com/
and on WU! Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/145324212487752/

Writers Unite! Write the Story January 2020: Special Blend

Author’s Note: Silly little story that I wrote ages ago for a writing prompt and reworked a bit for the Writers Unite! Write the Story project! Forgive me for the likely bad Czech translation… it was compliments of a translation program! –D. A.

Please note: the images used as prompts are free-use images and do not require

Special Blend

By D. A. Ratliff

Colonel Jon Rivard, head of the military contingent on the ESS Argas Science Vessel, was in his office attempting to complete a tardy mission report, when Dr. Marek Stepanek came sprinting in, slamming the door shut. The doctor’s normally tousled hair was wilder than usual, his breathing coming in short labored breaths. He was clutching a coffee cup in his hand so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Doc, what’s wrong? You look like you’re running from some gal’s angry husband. What gives?”

“Je to blázen. Honil mě po celém Argas.”

“Whoa, whoa, Doc, English — my Czech is improving, but not when you are talking at warp speed.”

Stepanek took a deep breath, “He is crazy man. He is chasing everyone with a coffee cup in their hand around the ship.”

Rivard chuckled. “You’re talking about Wesley I take it.”

Stepanek frowned. “Who else is crazy man around here. Ever since his stash of that special blend of coffee he ordered disappeared, he has been nuts. He is not getting any work done. He’s just running around, sticking his nose in everyone’s coffee to see if it is his special blend.” Rivard stifled a laugh as Stepanek made air quotes. “If I hear those words one more time, I swear I will zabij toho blázen.”

“Somehow, Marek, I don’t think I want to know what that means. I’ll talk to him.”

“Colonel, talking will not help. He needs to stop. He made Miko cry, snatched the cup from her hand, spilling half of it. He took a drink, then shoved it back at her and stalked off. We have coffee since the Armstrong found us and is making regular supply runs. It’s not like he isn’t getting enough caffeine. He is coffee diva.” 

Rivard stifled a chuckle. “Unfortunately, Marek, we need him. I promise I’ll take care of this. We can’t have the crew hiding from him.”

Marek thanked him and left, looking warily in both directions before stepping out into the corridor. Rivard was still chuckling when his X-O, Major Daniel Davin, rapped on the doorframe. He jerked his head for Davin to enter.

“Don’t tell me, Wesley?”

“How’d you know, Colonel?”

“That coffee stain on your jacket’s a pretty big clue.”

“Yes, sir. Wesley grabbed my cup in the mess hall. I had just poured it, so the mug was full. Worse, he went after Sergeant Johnston’s thermos in the transport bay this morning. Johnston never leaves on a mission without his thermos of coffee. Sir, Dr. Wesley is out of control.”

“Major, I agree. Anyone who attempts to interfere with a six-foot-five, two-hundred-and seventy-five-pound Marine and his coffee, is out of control. Go get changed. Director Marin likes us neat and tidy. Don’t want her wrath down on us as well.”

Rivard watched as Davin departed and then glanced down at his feet. The entire time Stepanek and Davin were in his office, he had been sitting sideways of his desk, reclined back in his chair, laptop perched on his knees, and his boots resting — on a cardboard box. It wasn’t just any cardboard box. It was a box of specially blended coffee, the missing box of specially blended coffee.

Dr. Roger Wesley had been preening about the special coffee that he had ordered, but wouldn’t share with his staff or anyone else, even him. He had decided that the fussy scientist needed to suffer just a bit. He snuck in Wesley’s quarters and took the box. However, enough was enough. He didn’t like the fact that Miko had gotten upset, or that Wesley could have died, albeit, a justifiable death at the hands of Sergeant Johnston.

They had gone through a challenging time. For seven months, the enormous research vessel drifted in space, flung out of orbit when the planet, Portha 3, exploded. Out of touch with Earth, they drifted without the artificial intelligence computer core operating. Wesley, Stepanek, and the science-engineering team kept life support operational by jury-rigging the systems and managed to get the navigation back online. Long-range communication was another matter. Provisions ran quite low, and until Stepanek’s engineering team repaired the planetary propulsion, they couldn’t begin to look for food. The problem was coffee didn’t seem to exist in the Magellan galaxy, and that did not sit well with astrophysicist Dr. Roger Wesley. When the ESS Armstrong located them, he had raced to the galley for coffee.

Sighing, Rivard decided that he would figure out a way to distract Wesley long enough to sneak back into his quarters and place the box back in the closet, just a bit deeper than it had been when he removed it. Then he would confront Wesley, demand to search his room, because no one would have taken his precious coffee, and discover the box, deep in the closet.

This was going to be fun. He not only had the pleasure of watching Wesley’s angst over the loss of his special coffee, but he could rag him about accusing everyone of stealing his coffee when he simply didn’t look hard enough for the box. 

Rivard reached for his coffee cup, which was sitting on the porthole ledge. He had to admit that Wesley had great taste in coffee. He was enjoying the special blend. This was definitely going to be fun.

The Write the Story project is a monthly prompt provided by Writers Unite! It is intended to give authors writing experience and outreach to grow followers to their Facebook pages, blogs, and website. Visit Writers Unite on the Web at https://writersuniteweb.wordpress.com/ and on WU! Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/145324212487752/

T- Minus Zero

This is my September entry for Write the Story! Each month Writers Unite! offers a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. 

Please visit Writers Unite! on the web at https://writersuniteweb.wordpress.com/

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( Please note: the images used as prompts are free-use images and do not require attribution.)  

By D. A. Ratliff

A muffled rumble reached his ears as the deck beneath him trembled. Eric Chandler paused to take a shallow breath then continued his task, as there was no time to worry about the increasing frequency of the strikes. The defense shield will have to do its job. There was much to do.

Glancing at the display on the wall, his chest tightened.

L-Minus 101:06:52:12 

T-Minus 06:52:12

Time was ticking. He tapped the comlink tucked behind his ear. “Brad. Status of the last transports?”

“The remaining transports have departed the space station and will arrive in five hours.”

“Cutting it close, Brad.”

“Yes, sir but with the tremors, they had issues with the last of the downloads.”

“Did they get everything?”

“Yes, sir. Upload of all data world-wide is complete, backed up and downloaded to the fleet.”

“Good.” He took a breath. “As soon as that transport arrives, we need to close down the base. It will be time to…” He stumbled, steeling himself to say the words. “It will be time to say goodbye.”

Eric sat quietly, staring at the wall across from his desk. It was a moment before his chaotic thoughts allowed him to focus on the only thing adorning the wall. An old photograph enclosed in a glass case filled with preservative argon gas had hung in a place of honor in his office for nearly twenty years. Intentionally, the photo hung on the wall until it was time to depart.

He picked up a metal case resting on the credenza behind him and approached the photo, each step harder than the next. This was the moment he had dreaded since the project began. The day it ended.

Unscrewing the brackets holding the glass case, he held the frame in his hands. A smile touched his lips, a luxury he seldom had time for any longer, as he remembered the day his grandfather presented him with the photo.

~~~~~

All he wanted was a double scotch, and the rapping on his study door annoyed him. He should ignore it but his days of ignoring anything ended at ten that morning. He opened the door to find his grandfather.

“Eric, may I come in?”

“Of course.” He stepped aside and his grandfather, carrying a small metal case, entered. “Pops, you want a drink?”

“Yeah, today more than ever.”

He poured Pops a double and they settled into the overstuffed leather chairs in front of the roaring fire in the fireplace. They sipped their drinks before Pops spoke.

“There is nothing that can be done?”

“Nothing.”

“Then you must lead the people of this planet to safety.”

“I’m an astrophysicist, not a superhero.”

“This morning, on that podium, the leaders of Earth’s governments and the Global Space Agency unanimously chose you to prepare us. They realize your capabilities, as do I.”

Eric rose and stood before the fire, gazing into the yellow-orange flames. “As you know, we launched the Melcor Array into orbit around Pluto with the hope that the instruments aboard would give us warning of exactly what we discovered, a threat to Earth. Four years ago, Melcor’s telescope spotted the object, and we couldn’t believe it was true. How could an object that large hurtle through space at such speed? GSA launched a probe from Io as soon as possible and we learned what we were dealing with.” He turned toward his grandfather. “There is nothing we can do to stop it.”

“The President said we have twenty-four years before the end. You can do this.”

“Pops, I…”

His grandfather raised his hand to stop him. “I have something for you.” He opened the case and removed a photograph in a glass box frame. “This is one of the last original photographs of the launch of the original space agency, NASA’s, Apollo11 mission to the moon. The first time we ventured onto another world, our own moon.”

Eric smiled. “I remember this. You showed it to me when I received my scholarship and I was worried about the path in front of me.”

“A president of the United States several years before had challenged the US to put a man on the moon by the end of the decade. They rose to the task.” He held the frame out to his grandson. “I told you then with technology that we would consider primitive, they accomplished this monumental feat. Brave men and women entered the space program and these pioneers gave us the opportunity we have today to save humanity.”

Eric took the photo from his grandfather. “I am not as brave as these men were.”

“Yes, you are. I want you to keep this photo with you, where you can see it as you lead us to safety.”

“We have had nearly two hundred years to develop better technology, but is it enough?” Eric’s eyes glistened with emotion as he looked at his grandfather for an answer.

“It will have to be.”

~~~~~

The darkened room was silent except for the soft slow beep from a monitor suspended from the ceiling. Eric Gardner sat next to the bed holding his grandfather’s hand. His wife and young daughter had retreated to the corridor to give him time alone. A gentle squeeze to his fingers told him his grandfather had awakened.

“Hey, Pops, you’re awake.”

“You shouldn’t be here. You should be with those you can save.”

His grandfather’s voice was weak, his words slurred, and Eric fought back tears as he responded. “I can save you if you will let me.”

“You want to put me on one of those cradle ships?”

“We can put you into suspended animation and you will wake up on New Terra. There is no need for you to refuse treatment. Treatment can occur while you are in hibernation and when you wake up, you will be healthy and with us. With me.”

His grandfather scoffed. “I am 117, I have lived my life. And I need to remain here on Earth with your grandmother and your parents. We lost them too soon.”

“Pops, please, I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. Now…” he struggled for breath. “Tell me the latest news.”

A rumble outside the hospital echoed through the room, signaling another impact to the city shield. The meteor strikes had been increasing drastically, and Eric knew that time was not only dwindling for his grandfather but for them as well.

“We are continuing to build AI cradle ships and then send them to the Lagrange point to wait for the fleet to assemble.”

“What a find that was. Young Dixon should receive the Nobel for his discovery.”

“We were lucky to find such a large and stable Lagrange point in the large Magellan Cloud, giving us the ability to conserve power while neutral gravity holds them there.”

“Luck is by design, son. Mankind never stopped looking for answers through four world wars, the plague of 2138, even this news. We kept going.”

“If your team hadn’t developed stardrive, we would be doomed.”

His grandfather shook his head. “Not just my team. The advances in AI technology allowed us to create android units that now monitor the population on the cradle ships.” He paused as breathing was a struggle. “Remember this. The people of Earth rose to the task and did what they had to do, just like those people at NASA who put men on the moon.”

His grandfather fell silent and Eric and his family sat with him until the end. The sun was rising as they left the hospital for the final time. In the pale morning light, he could see it. The giant rogue planet that would be their demise was now visible as a tiny black dot. It had slowed, as they expected when it interacted with the gravitational pull of the solar system, but its path was clear and straight, and Earth was in its way.

~~~~~

L-Minus 101:01:07:29 

T-Minus 01:07:29

Eric stood in front of the huge viewport in the main gallery of the lunar base. There was a low buzz of voices behind him, but he tuned them out. His focus was on the last transports arriving from the space station as they disappeared into the enormous hangar bay of the Adventus. Now the only people left, the Terrans, as they had chosen to call themselves, were those on the moon base and shortly, they too would be gone.

Brad, his second in command tapped him on the shoulder and handed him the metal case containing the photo. “Time to go.”

“The artifacts? The lunar module base, the flag?”

“Got them all, even managed to secure the boot print. One of the techs said it was too important to leave. Sprayed some sealer-crete on it to keep it intact. We are taking as much history as we can. Stored in the vaults with all the other treasures of Earth we could bring with us.”

He turned slowly looking over the assembled members of his team who were waiting with their families to depart. “Yes. It’s time.”

~~~~~

L-Minus 101:00:05:06 

T-Minus 00:05:06

Once a beautiful blue orb, the constant bombardment of meteors had shrouded the Earth in thick clouds of mottled gray and tan shades. There was nothing left to save but Eric Chandler’s job was far from over. There was a civilization to rebuild.

He turned from the viewport and nodded to the captain of the Adventus, who ordered the comm officer to open a ship-wide channel.

“We have accomplished our mission. The successful extraction of the peoples of Earth before the arrival of the rogue planet we named Mortis for she is truly an agent of death. Today we leave the only area of space we have known to join the AI Cradle ships where millions of our fellow Terrans hibernate. We had expected to take more with us but the bombardment by the debris field preceding the planet was greater than we anticipated. So many died before we developed the shield technology to protect them. We must never forget there were more of us that are not here.” He paused as emotion overcame him and he began to tremble. Swallowing hard, he continued.

“A quick update, the AIs report that the cradle ships are safe, and the defense arrays are in place to protect them. I am also happy to report that we have located two Goldilocks planets in the Large Magellan Cloud. Both look promising and advance crews are on their way to establish which is the better option for us.

As we depart the only home mankind has ever known, we should remember how we arrived here on this moon nearly two hundred years ago. A group of pioneers risked everything to reach out to the stars. Today, we do the same. Godspeed to us all.”

The ship’s crew and passengers remained quiet as time ticked down until the Adventus’s huge engines roared and they broke lunar orbit for the last time.

T-Minus Zero

~~~~~

L-Minus 00:00:25:53 

In its soothing digital voice, the slightly human-looking med-tech android unit M-2156 motioned for Eric to rise. “You are medically cleared for hibernation, Dr. Chandler. Your chamber is being prepared.”

“Thank you.”

The AI nodded and withdrew. Eric turned to his wife and daughter who were with him. “Are you certain you want to watch?”

His daughter touched his face. “Pops would want us to be with him at the end.”

He hugged his daughter and wife and they left sickbay for the assembly hall where they would watch the final moments of Earth.

The captain had lowered the lights and the Adventus was at station-keeping outside the solar system they once called home.

No one spoke as the cameras in orbit about the moon revealed the scene. Earth was being torn apart as the enormous planet neared. They had watched for days as the gravitational pull of the huge planet had broken Earth apart. Now as Mortis struck what was left of their old home, a concussion wave littered with debris hurtled toward the moon.

The screen went black.

Earth was no more. 

L-Minus 00:00:00:00

~~~~~

Eric Chandler stood by as his wife and daughter entered hibernation. The Med AI attendant turned to open his chamber.

“Dr. Chandler, you may enter now.”

He climbed in and while the Med AI attached tubing to the ports in his chest, he pointed to the metal case sitting beside his chamber. “Keep that safe for me.”

The AI nodded. “ I will do so, Dr. Chandler.”

The chamber hissed as it sealed, and he became drowsy as the hibernation drugs took effect. He managed a smile as he thought about the second image now resting in the metal case. An image of the Adventus as she left lunar orbit downloaded from the lunar base cameras. 

Another group of adventurers taking a giant leap for mankind.        

FYI:  NASA Definitions

L- Minus: The countdown time to mission completion in totality.

T- Minus: The countdown time to completion of events within the mission.

The Journey Ends

This short story was written for the Writers Unite! project, Write the Story. Each month, WU! provides a photo prompt for writers to create a short story to be shared. This is my entry for the January 2019 prompt.

(Please note: the images we will use as prompts are free-use images and do not require attribution.)

The Journey Ends

By D. A. Ratliff

Dalton reached the pinnacle. The spot he loved more than any other on this miraculous world. Day after day he made the arduous trek to the top of the mountain to gaze over the vast valley always covered in thick rolling clouds. Their colors stark white to deep gray and ever-changing. What lay beneath the clouds was anyone’s guess.  

His father had taught him to ski on these slopes. As a small child, he had relished the freedom of sliding across the snow as the wind chilled his cheeks. While other novice skiers marveled at his prowess, he was proudest of how his father’s chest puffed out each time he mastered a new skill. Long before the others, he moved to the intermediate level where he traversed among the valleys and ancient trees.

The sensation of being free encompassed him. Breathing crisp, chilled air, the glare of sunlight on the pristine snow, days when the sky was a brilliant blue or days when thick snow fell and the world was silent, brought joy to his existence. As the years passed, he became the master. On his seventeenth birthday, he had skied to the top of the mountain, an expert trail, and had stood with his father overlooking this incredible vista. On that day, his father had given him the skis and poles he now used. The old-fashioned equipment once belonged to his great-grandfather who had brought them with him the day he left home.  

He shuddered as he thought of his father. He had lost him the year after first scaling the summit. A freak accident had taken his life and left Dalton alone. He had lots of friends his age, even younger, and his dad’s best friend, Hal, was trying to be a father to him, but no one understood the bond that he had with his father when they were skiing.

His mother died when he was two years old, killed by marauders. It was then that his father had taken the job that brought him to Argus. His childhood was spent with the children of the families who made a living transporting minerals. They attended school together and then he had chosen training as a tech engineer, but the only time he felt alive was on the point where he now stood.

The silence at the top of the mountain, save the soft howl of the blowing wind, filled him. Here he was happy. Here he was at peace.

Then the alarm on his com sounded. He closed his eyes to savor the image for as long as he could. When he opened them, the mesh gridded walls of the rec chamber surrounded him. The hologram tucked back into the server.

The attendant’s voice floated from the com. “Sorry, Dalton. I know you had thirty minutes left, but there’s a problem in the mineral testing lab. Hal sent for you.”

He gave a small salute to the attendant in the control booth and headed four decks above to the lab. Hal was tinkering with a piece of equipment the geotechs used to determine mineral purity. He looked up, grinning as he watched Dalton enter.

“You’re gonna turn into a popsicle if you keep hanging out in that cold hologram. Went once with your dad, told him he should turn the heat up.”

“Has to be cold for the real effect, Hal.”

“Yeah, well, give me the beach hologram that the captain added. Hot sun, hot sand, warm water, and nearly naked women, some of them not human. My kind of afternoon.”

Dalton took the cover off the malfunctioning machine to look at the internal drive. “I’ll admit, I like the beach too, but the slopes of Parendor are my favorite place.”

Hal stared at him for a second. “Dalton, I know you think that Parendor is going to be like the hologram, but word has it civil war broke out there. It may not be the place you think it is. Besides, the Argus won’t arrive there for another eight months.”

“It’s where my dad said we could leave the Argus and not wander from mining planet to mining planet for the rest of our lives. I have to do what he wanted. He wanted our journey to end.”

“Son, I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Dad created that hologram from a holovid he bought on Xandora when I was nine. The Argus had just added the rec chamber.” He turned to Hal. “Not sure I want to leave the Argus, but I have to ski the real Parendor for my dad.”

Hal squeezed his shoulder. “Martin was the best friend I ever had. He’d be proud that you love skiing as much as he did.” Leaving him to repair the device, Hal departed saying he was heading back to the ship’s engineering department.

Dalton smiled, glancing at the old skis leaning against the workbench. Skis his great-grandfather brought from Earth decades before. It didn’t matter what the conditions on Parendor were, he would find that slope and discover what lay beneath the clouds, and he would make his father proud. It was time for his father’s journey to end.

Write the Story: January 2019 Collection

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