Crazed, Confused and Contradicted.

   

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

                                       

Beckett and Maureen face their grief

     He worked at pulling himself together, tucking each little fractured piece into the appropriate spot.  He'd done harder things.  Awful, horrible things he had not once ever given a second thought to.   Hell, there'd been people with whom he had shared a handshake, a meal...even a bed... before taking their life without blinking.  Patted their back, shook their hand, then calmly put a bullet into the soft gray matter of their head, all in the name of patriotism and nation security.  He did what needed to be done. So why was the thought of facing this woman filling him with absolute dread?

      Beckett followed the nurse to the recovery room, hearing the words spilling from her mouth, but not registering a single one of them.  It was as if his brain were stuck in a loop, the deputy's words repeating themselves over and over in his head.  The break line cut.  The accelerator stuck.  Head on collision. No chance at all.  He could picture it all like a movie running behind his eyes.  The terror on her face while she pumped the useless brake.  The sickening crunch of the impact, her body flopping around like a child's doll.  Her life slipping away.  And the baby.  His baby.  His son.  Gone before he knew him.

     The nurse stopped and looked up at him, waiting for a response to a question he hadn't even heard.

     He focused on her face, and struggled to put a sentence together.  "I'm sorry.  Can you repeat that?"

     "Your wife's going to be in recovery for the next several hours, Sheriff.  Can we bring you something?  Coffee?  Water?  A sandwich, perhaps?"

      "No, thank you.  I'm fine.  Really."

       She stopped at the doorway of the room and nodded, a picture of sympathetic efficiency.  "Let's us know if you need anything."

        He watched as she turned and headed toward the nurse's station, glad that no further communication was necessary.  Hand on the door frame, he paused a second, and peered inside.  The curtain was partially pulled around her bed, and he could only see one small white hand atop the tangle of hospital bedding.  A woman in scrubs was checking the monitors, and when she looked up and saw him in the doorway, motioned to come in with a wave of her hand.

        There seemed little chance of escape, so he forced himself to take one step, and then another, until he stood at the foot of the curtained space, still unwilling to view what lie behind.  Ever helpful, the nurse patted the chair next to the bed, but he shook his head, preferring to remain in an upright position, his spine a steel rod holding it all together.  She went about her business for a minute or two longer, and when he still hadn't moved a single step, gave the curtain a gentle tug.

         For a second, he stood there in shock, trying to recognize her in the swollen face and bandaged head, a roadway of tubes running from parts all over.  If it weren't for the spray of red curls on the pillow, he might have imagined that the figure in the bed was someone else.  Not Maureen.  Not his wife.  But the hair was a visual slap to his face, the slash of color amongst the stark sheets like a fisted punch to his gut.  Her eyes were closed, her body deathly still, and if it hadn't been for the blips and blips of the machines verifying her existence, he'd wonder if she had not slipped away too.

          Beckett felt awkward, too large for the room, with the air around him sucking the oxygen from his lungs.  Knowing not else what to do, he slid into the chair next to the bed, and grasped a few fingers of her right hand.  Her eye lids fluttered at his touch, and she worked at opening her eyes, pushing past the twilight the drugs were keeping her in.  Her eyes met his, opened wider, than quickly squeezed shut.  He watched a tear slid from the corner, and role down her cheek, followed by another, and another.  He knew he should say something.  Anything.  But he could think of nothing, even if the nurse had not been standing in the room with them.
 
            It was she who broke the silence.  Uttered the words and made them reality.  Each syllable a boulder to push through her split lip, her voice not much above a whisper.  "The baby.  Gone.  Dead.  My fault.  I'm sorry."  The eyes closed tights again, and this time the tears came in earnest, causing her heart rate to elevate, and the monitors behind her to voice their displeasure.

            In the course of his life time, he had been shot on several occasions.  Been stabbed in at least twenty different places.  Beaten to the point of unconsciousness.  But none of them came close to being as painful as this moment.  It was his fault.  For letting himself feel anything at all.  For being in her life in the first place.  She deserved more than he could ever begin to give her.  A picket fence life.  A normal life.  Not the sick bastard he was, incapable of the normal range of human emotions.  He tried for sympathetic.  For compassion.  Anything to cover the blinding rage and absolute need for revenge.

           "Shhh...darln'...I know...I know."  He held her hand to his mouth, and kissed the fingertips.  "It wasn't your fault, sweetheart.  It was an accident."

           She took back her hand so violently, it startled him, and the nurse looked at him in warning when the machines again signaled her distress.  "It is so my fault.   You told me.  Warned me not drive the Mustang."  Her nose had begun to run, and she attempted to wipe it through the tangle of wires and tubes.  "I...I wanted to surprise you.  With a special dinner.  So I thought I'd just take it for a quick run.  I...I don't know what went wrong.  I couldn't stop.  I tried.  I tried."  The sobs came in soft little huffs, and the room was quiet except for the rhythm of the machines, mixed with her weeping, a kind of bizarre soundtrack to their grief.

          At some point, the nurse had left them alone in the room, and he knew it was his turn to say what needed to be said.  Share the truth.  Explain the whole Cassie story, and come clean about his role in all of this.  And he would have.  If he had been a normal person, capable of feeling what other people felt.  Of having any shred of decency.  But he had been out of that mind set for far too long to reel himself back in again, and so in the moment, he resorted to being what he was.  "It's okay, baby.  I know you didn't mean for this to happen.  I forgive you."

___________________________________

         From where she was, she could see the entrance to the emergency room.  It was risky, but she couldn't began to explain why she needed to be here.  It had all happened so fast, giving her little time to absorb the unfolding drama.  After working on the car, she had returned to the mail truck, things going exactly as planned.  The surveillance app on her phone showed him across town, still at his desk, buried in paperwork.  So when the Mustang pulled around the corner, she was more than shocked, and knew instantly that things had turned to shit.

         Never in a million years had she figured the silly bitch would drive the car before he did.  Teddy never let anyone drive his car.  Ever.  That was why her plan was so damn ingenious.  It was Teddy who was at fault.  Had dismissed her like some kind of whore, and tossed her aside.  And it should have been Teddy who paid the price, lest anyone think she was not fair and rational.  The red head was inconsequential.  It was hard to blame her for getting swept up in his charms.  Admittedly, she herself had fallen to the man's canny ability to read her soul, so how could she have expected that naive little fluff to do anything less.

          She had intended this whole thing for Teddy, revenge of sorts, and now her plans were ruined.  She wondered what had become of the wife.  Driving past the accident scene, it had looked very bad, the front of the two cars mangled into a twisted embrace.  The driver of the Cadillac Escalade had walked away with minor injuries, but they had taken the red head away in an ambulance.  She'd considered wandering into the emergency room and gathering information, but quickly filed that away as a dumb idea.  A few minutes later, she had seen him drive up in his patrol car, flinging the car at the curb, and rushing inside.  At the sight of him, her heart seemed to jump up in her throat, and for an instant, she was glad that he was safe.

            While she sat in the car, she contemplated the situation, mulling over the possibilities.  Maybe Fate had interceded on her behalf.  Saved Teddy, and sacrificed the red head instead, so that the two of them could maybe start over.  Karma had a way of working things out in a crazy manner.  She wondered if the woman was dead.  She and the baby that Teddy had married her for.  It would certainly change the direction of her actions.  She'd help him with any grief that might linger, and then they could go back to the way it was before.  Before that whole Marzano thing.  Before Lizzie's murder.  Before the the red head had stolen Teddy's affection.

             Yes.  Maybe things had worked out just the way they were meant to.  Maybe she still had one  shot at being happy.

______________________________

      She was glad when he left the room for a bit.   It was more than she could take, seeing his sad, stoic face hovering near her bed.  It wasn't like she deserved any of his compassion.  His sympathy.  She would have liked to think it was his love for her that kept him near her side, but she wasn't that naive.  Sure, he cared for her.  No doubt was physically attracted to her.  He might even be terribly fond of her.  But love?  No.  Not love.  And it wasn't as if he had said the words, and didn't mean them.  He had simply never said them.  Not before their wedding, not during, or anytime after.

       In the ten months since she had first met him, he had done his very best to romance her. To sweep her off her feet, showering her with gifts, and whispering sweet endearments in her ear.  He had taken the news of her surprise pregnancy with grace and maturity, and had done the responsible thing by marrying her.  During all of that time, she waited to hear those three words come from his mouth.  For him to state that he felt the same way about her, that she felt about him.  And when they didn't come, she convinced herself that his actions spoke louder than his words, and in time, he would be comfortable enough to say them.

         But that plan was over now.  In one stupid, bad decision over lobsters, her life had changed forever.  The baby he had committed to was no longer there.  Dead...like any chance for them to ever be happy together.  He had insisted on a pre-nup, probably knowing better than she that they didn't belong together.  He had known even then.  The difference in their ages...their backgrounds...their views on so many important things... insurmountable without the tie that was binding them.

          She thought about her baby.  The little boy who had no name.  The one she never saw.  Then, alone in her hospital bed, buried her face in the pillow, and let the pain seep out.


Copyright 2014  Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

     

           

Trouble Never Knocks

               

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

       

       When, years later, he would look back at the events of this day, Fr. Kevin O'Kenney would say that in those hours, he learned several valuable lessons on the peculiar angles of life.  Lessons that would change forever the advice he'd give to troubled souls seeking his advice.  But in the harsh reality of the moment, under the blanket of organized chaos that was the common place of hospital emergency rooms, everything moved in painful and dazed slow motion.

          Mrs. Sherman became his instant life line, locking up the church and rectory, driving him to the hospital, and organizing a prayer circle on behalf of his sister.  She had offered to contact his siblings for him, but Kevin felt news of this nature needed to be delivered by a family member, and he declined.  He did, however, appreciate the promise of a prayer circle, as the best he could muster in the way of spiritual communication was a few "Please, Lord...not her".

         He was informed upon arrival that his sister was in surgery, and that a doctor would be out to discuss her status with him as soon as possible.  Demands for more information were met with general comments of the same nature.  Everything that could be done, was being done, and Mrs. Beckett was in good medical hands.  So, he paced the waiting room, ignoring the sign that suggested people use their cell phones outside, and began the wrenching task of calling the rest of the O'Kenney clan.

       An ear to his cell, he heard his brother-in-law's arrival before he saw him.  The wailing of sirens, and the screeching of tires outside the ER door preceded Ted's appearance by mere seconds.  He marched through the sliding doors in the same manner he entered any room, an air of complete control and command swirling like some invisible force around him, though the priest noticed that the hard lines of his face looked even tighter than usual, his jaw clenched like a vise, and his complexion the color of gray chalk.

         Beckett first headed toward the reception desk, fully intent on interrogating the duty nurse, but upon seeing Kevin, abruptly turned in mid-sentence, and veered toward the waiting room. Before he could begin to explain, the man dived into a full set of questions, not waiting for a reply to any.

         "Where's my wife?  How is she?  Have you spoken to anyone about her condition?  What did they tell you?  Who do I need to talk to?"

         The priest put a hand on the man's arm, both as a greeting of sorts, as well as a way to halt the barrage of inquiries, but the man tensed with such force, that Kevin was forced to remove the offending contact with more than a small degree of mortified embarrassment.

          "I haven't really spoken to anyone."  He pointed to the woman at the desk, who was watching the drama unfold from the corner of her eye.  "The nurse at the desk said that Maureen was in surgery, and that a doctor would be out to talk to us when it was possible.  All I know is that she was in some kind of car accident.  The hows and whys of it all?  I'm just not sure.  Where in God's name would my sister even get a car?  Was she driving?  Or was she a pedestrian?  Those are questions I have myself."

         There was a small downward twist to the Sheriff's lips, the only change in his stone like demeanor.  "Apparently, she was driving my Mustang.  One of my new deputies was the first on the scene.  He didn't recognize my car, or Maureen's name, until he ran the plates.  He called me seconds after I hung up on you."

          "Your Mustang?  But isn't that a manual shift?  Maureen can't drive stick!  She can barely drive a regular car decently!"

          There was no response from the man, who looked over Kevin's head, at the doctor drawing toward them.  The surgeon, still in blue scrubs, sized up both men, and then put a hand out to Beckett.

        "Sheriff Beckett?  I'm Dr. Adleman.  I'm the surgeon on call this evening."

        "How is she?  How's my wife?"

        "She's still in surgery, but holding her own.  We were able to stop the majority of the internal bleeding. The impact focused mostly on the thoracic region, so she's not out of the woods yet.  The next 36 hours will be crucial.  But she's young, and in good cardiac health.  I'm hoping to give you a more positive prognosis later this evening."

          Fr. Kevin let out the breath he was holding, the escaping air sounding like a deflated tire. "Thanks be to God."  Seconds later, he'd wish that he had kept that statement to himself, because Beckett would never, ever understand his faith, but in the relief of the moment, it slipped past his lips without thought.

         Ted shifted his weight, and his shoulders dropped an inch or two, the only physical reaction to the physician's news.  "And the baby, Doctor?  My wife was nearly six months pregnant."

          The man looked down at his feet for just a second, a dead give away to the bad news he was about to deliver.  "I'm sorry, Sheriff.  We did everything we could.  Even with the air bag, the blow to the abdominal region was quite severe.  She went into labor shortly after she arrived here.  The baby was just too premature to survive."  And in the best misguided fashion he knew, the doctor added the following statement, meant to offer comfort where none could ever be found.  "Your wife is a young woman, Sheriff.  Once she heals up from all this, she should easily be able to conceive again. There was no damage to the ovaries or uterus.  A stroke of good fortune in all of this."

              Fr. Kevin felt as if all the oxygen in the room had been sucked out, leaving both his brain and his tongue unable to function.  He forced himself to look at his sister's husband, not knowing what he might see in response to the doctor's pronouncement.  Beckett's face was deathly still, not a muscle moving except for his eye lids, which blinked several times in rapid succession.  Both men stared at each other, their eyes locked to the outside world, and in that instant, the priest was sure he saw the man dissolve into a million tiny pieces, shattering like a piece of crystal under the weight of a heavy blow.  But in the same turn, the mask was back up, solidly in place, the jaw clenched, the eyes seemingly focusing on nothing.

              Sheriff Beckett pumped the surgeon's hand.  "Thank you for saving my wife's life, Doctor.  When can I see her?"

               The doctor, relieved to avoid an emotional scene, returned the handshake.  "I'll let you know when she's in recovery.  I expect her to be groggy for several hours, but you can at least sit with her."

              "Does she know?  About the baby?"

              Grim faced, the doctor nodded.  "She was conscious when they brought her in, and stayed that way until we prepped her for surgery.  She is aware that the fetus did not survive, and even asked if she could see it before we took it away.  But, we needed to get her into surgery as quickly as possible, so we had to postpone that opportunity."  A quick glance at his feet again, and the man added, "Again, Sheriff, I'm sorry we couldn't do more.  It was...just not possible."

             There was another round of posturing handshakes, and the doctor turned around to leave, moving down the hall before Beckett called out to him.  The surgeon, obviously anxious to be on his way, moved back a few steps closer before the Sheriff posed his question.  "The baby...was it...a boy or a girl?"

            The man thought a moment, then replied, "The fetus was male, I believe.  I can arrange for a viewing if you wish."

              "That won't be necessary, Doctor.  Thank you though, for the offer."

             "Well, let us know if you change your mind."  And then the man was off, practically jogging to avoid being called back for further questioning, and leaving Fr. Kevin alone with his new brother-in-law.

               He raised his hand again to offer physical comfort, then quickly changed his mind, the memory of his early rebuff stinging in the back of his head.  "I'm so sorry, Ted.  About the baby.  If you want to talk, I'm here."

               Beckett looked at him oddly.  "Talk?  No, O'Kenney.  I don't want to talk about it.  It is what it is."

                The stone mask was back in place, but Kevin would not be deterred, the mind's eye vision of the man disintergrating like glass still fresh and raw in his head.  Beckett, despite outward appearances, must be grieving the loss of his child, coupled with anxiety over the condition of his wife.  It was only human to do so.  "Look Ted, it's okay to be sad.  Angry even.  No one expects you to be stalwart in a situation like this.  Especially not Maureen."

              His expression never changing, Becket held up a hand.  "I asked nicely, Kevin.  I don't want to talk.  Not to you.  Not to your family.  If you want to stay, keep me company, support your sister... that's fine.  But we're not having any discussion.  If you value our friendship at all, you'll just sit there and keep quiet."

              Fr. Kevin opened his mouth, but closed it without another word.  The set of Ted's chin, and fists clenched into tight, angry balls, spoke louder than any verbiage.  He was surely on the verge of exploding, and when he did, the priest would be there.  For both Maureen, and her husband.  Instead, he changed the whole venue of the conversation.

            "Well, if you don't mind then, I'm going to call the rest of my family.  Let them know what's happened.  I have to notify Patrick.  I called him on the way here, and promised to update him when I knew more.  He's planning on taking the 8:00 PM train out of Boston.  Should be here by 10:30ish." He thought for a moment, and then hesitated, searching for the right words.  "You know...they'll want to come here.  The family, I mean.  Be here for Maureen.  And for you too.   It's just the way we do things."  He was pretty sure his sister would want some type of service for the child, but this was not the time to bring it up.

                Another wave of the hand.  "Fine.  Whatever.  Book them into the same hotel they stayed at for the wedding.  Charge it to me.  I don't care.  Just don't expect me talk to them."

           He would have liked to discuss the logistics further, to try and explain to Ted how having family around in a crisis was helpful, but they were interrupted by the appearance of one of the Sheriff's deputies.  He whispered in Beckett's ear, and the two of them moved to another corner of the room, out of hearing range.   From his position on the bench, he could see the conversation unfold, animated as it was, and when the man walked back to his seat, his facial expression hadn't changed a bit, but his eyes were filled with fury that was almost frightening in their intensity.

             Beckett flopped down in the chair without a word, and turned his face away.  He pulled out his cell, and begin slamming out a text message, but to whom, Kevin could not see.  He tried to bite his tongue, hoping not to make a bad situation worse, but the whole new level of emotion that followed Ted back to the chair was unnerving.

               "What's wrong?  I can tell you got more bad news.  What is it?"

               "It doesn't concern you, O'Kenney.  I'll handle it.  You focus your attention on your sister, and leave me the hell alone."

              The nasty tone and rude dismissal, charged with the high anxiety of the situation, mixed in his head like a sour cocktail.   Despite every effort to remain the compassionate servant of Christ, Kevin wanted to fire back at the man, let him know just what an unfeeling, selfish bastard he truly was.  And he would have too...told him right to his face... if the surgical nurse hadn't at that very second decided to make an appearance.

             "Mr. Beckett?"

             Both men jumped up, though it was clearly the Sheriff the woman was speaking to.

             "I'm he."

              "Sir, your wife is in recovery.  She's awake...and asking for you."


Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2014
All Rights Reserved



             

         

A Thing Called Fate

                                 

Cassie makes good on a promise

     The way the two-story building sat on the lot, the shed was tucked in the farthest corner, hidden by a tangle of raspberry bushes, and a line of overgrown hedges.  Out of sight, it was shielded from random street traffic, and difficult to see from any of the deli's rear windows.  She shoved the mail sack under  a bush closest to the door, willing herself to remember it on the way out.  The late afternoon sun made the place hotter than a pizza oven, and a bead of sweat trickled from beneath the elastic of the wig.  Running a hand over her forehead, she wiped it away, then swore softly at the streak of dark make-up staining her palm.

     Even with the door shut, she could make out every detail of the Mustang, light filtering in from the round peep hole window near the peaked roof.  She fought the desire to slide into the passenger seat one last time.  To smell the scent of the leather seats mixed with his cologne, and reminisce about things gained and lost.  Cassie shook her head in disgust.  These things were best done without the weight of emotional nonsense.  It wasn't like she hadn't tried to make it work.  Hadn't tried to fix things.  The man was simply a heartless beast, deserving of what ever came his way.  Conscience on hold, she maneuvered her small body between the overhead door and the front of the car, and then slid silently underneath the carriage.

__________________________________
                     

Maureen finds the keys to Ted's Mustang in the vanity drawer

       It had taken much longer to find the keys than anticipated, and now she would really have to rush to get there and back before Ted arrived home.  She recalculated the time in her head.  It was 4:30, and he was due around 6.  If traffic wasn't too heavy, she would just about make it with time to spare to get the water boiling, and the salad made.  She shoved the keys to the Mustang into her pocket, and made her way down the stairs, careful to avoid letting the Schillers hear her depart.  She was pretty sure Greta Schiller was Ted's private little spy, commissioned to call him if his wife even sneezed funny.

      But the elderly couple was far too busy with the last minute dinner crowd, and she was able to slip sight unseen out the back door.  The humming air conditioning blocked out any noise from the outside, and they never heard the overhead door open or close. Within minutes, the little shed was empty, and Maureen was on her way

_____________________________________
                                       

The Faerie Queen watches in frustration, unable to prevent impending doom.

     The Faerie Queen's wings vibrated in frustration, and her tiny jaw hurt from the grinding of her teeth.  The silly girl was heading into trouble.  The hows and whys she did not know.  The bad omen had descended on the place, rising like a silent fog that had refused to heed her command.  She had no power over Fate.  Things were as things would be.  She had tried her best to change the course, moving the desired keys from place to place.  But Fate would not be denied, and the best Maeve could do was follow and observe.

________________________

      She had forced herself to walk at a leisurely pace back to the truck, drawing no attention, the mail bag bouncing on her hip.  There was no activity from the utility truck, and Cassie breathed a sigh of relief as she slid into the seat.  She threw the near empty mailbag on the floor beside and her, and took a minute to let her pulse settle to a normal beat.  It would have been so very rewarding to stick around and watch the results of her work, but common sense prevailed.  She needed to be long gone by the time Teddy took that Mustang for its last drive.
______________________________
               

Fr. Kevin receives bad news in the church basement, while Mrs. Sherman looks on.

        The call came about 5:00 PM.  Fr. Kevin would always remember that exact moment, because of the booming chimes on that ridiculous clock.  The last of the kids had left the church basement, and he and Mrs. Sherman were in the process of rounding up the last of the pizza and empty soda cans.  They had been congratulating themselves on the ongoing growth of the parish youth group, and discussing a possible service project when he caught the final notes of "Happy" blaring from his cell.

       He dug the phone from his pocket, still balancing three slices of pepperoni pizza in the other hand.
"Yes...this is Fr. O'Kenney.  Yes.  She's my sister."  He listened to the voice on the other end, his face losing all color, the paper plate sliding from his hand and dropping to the floor with a wet smack. "Is she all right?"  Mrs. Sherman stopped what she was doing, and looked in alarm at her Pastor's expression, but he offered no explanation.  "Yes...I understand.  I'm on my way.  Do you know if her husband has been notified?"  The voice on the other end explained, but it was as if he could only hear every third word over the pounding of his heart in his throat.  "No...that's understandable.  They've only been married a few weeks."  Kevin nodded along with the voice, and when he hung up, found himself unable to move for a full 60 seconds.

           Mrs. Sherman pelted him with a million questions, but all he could do was wave her off.  Part of his head was praying like mad, going through a litany of every saint he could possibly call on, while the other part was making a mental list of who needed to be called, the first of which would prove to be the most difficult.

          He went through his contact list, and found the number to his private cell.  He surely didn't want to call him on the station phone.  Not with news of this sort.  It rang only once before it was answered, his brother-in-law's deep voice on the other end.  "Ted?  It's Kevin.  There's been an accident.  It's Maureen."


Copyright 2014 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved


   

Lobsters, Love and Loathing

                 

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

   

Maureen makes plans for a special dinner

       She tried not to think about.  The whole way Kevin had done an about face.  Normal, then weird, then normal again.  It was odd, to say the least, and though her husband had cut off any discussion of her faerie circle, it tapped at the back of her head like the woodpecker in the tree next to the kitchen window.

      Maureen pulled the cotton dress tight across her belly, willing the mirror to show more of a bump than was there.  Six months along, and she still didn't need maternity clothes.  At least then she'd look the part, since everyone around here was going to treat her like some frickn' invalid anyway.

     She skewed up her face, stuck out her chin, and lowered her voice.  "No, sweetheart, we're not going to the Cape this weekend.  You need to get some rest.  All this nonsense with Kevin...it's not good for you."   She puffed out her cheeks, and threw back her shoulders, swaggering in front of the mirror.  "Why?  Because I said so.  I know what's best for you."  She looked like a constipated rooster, and that proposed image of her husband made her giggle.

      From the moment she'd met him, she'd found his "take charge" personae appealing.  Appealing?  No..."hot" was a better word for it.  Sexy as sin.  And it still was, to a certain extent.  But since their return home from that wretched honeymoon, he seemed... well...paranoid, for lack of a better word.  Locking doors behind him, texting her on the hour, and insisting on a detailed itinerary of each and every day.  Granted, he had always been more "intense" then other men she had dated.  That was part of the package, and she was quite aware of how their relationship was going to work when she married him, agreeing fully to what that meant.  But as of late, it felt like he had taken this "loving care" thing to a whole new level, one that left her feeling anxious for a reason she couldn't quite place.

        She sighed, feeling a tiny bit guilty for making fun of him. She loved him.  Absolutely.  And he did love her.  She was sure of it, even though he didn't push the words directly out of his mouth.  Truth be told, she wasn't sure he had ever said them to her.  At least not in the traditional sense.  He had told her that she was the center of his world.  That she was his entirely.  He pampered and coddled her in million little ways.  His actions spoke volumes, and most women would have been over the moon at the attention.  Still, it would have been nice to have hear the actual words.

        From the open window, she could hear the bells from Holy Family ringing, signaling the 5 PM hour.  Ted was going to be late, calling her just a few minutes before that he was tied up at the station.  She thought about inviting Kevin over for supper, and then remembered it was Wednesday, and that he usually met with the youth group.  It might be nice to have a quiet dinner, just the two of them.  Something special...romantic even.  She considered the pork chops in the fridge, and shook her head.  Pork chops wouldn't do.  Too week day-ish.  A romantic dinner called for something special...out of the ordinary.  She considered the options in the freezer, or what might be purchased downstairs in the deli.  Nothing there that screamed "hot night with one's husband".

         The idea clicked in her brain as if a button had been pushed.  If they couldn't get away to the Cape, then she would bring the Cape to them.  A lobster boil would be just the thing.  They could set out a blanket on the tiny crop of grass out back, pour him some wine, and have a lovely, relaxing dinner before heading back upstairs.  They had been talking about just such a night since they returned.  And why shouldn't it be today?

          Then came the logistics.  The only store that sold live lobsters was in the center of town.  She considered calling Ted, and asking him to stop on the way home.  But that meant giving him the heads up, and ruining the surprise.  Plus, it might lend him the opportunity to put the kibosh on her plans, deciding for whatever reason her ideas didn't fit his.  No.  She'd have to handle the whole thing herself.  The bus downtown could be got two blocks away, but the round trip, plus the time in the store, would probably get her back home after Ted.  That absolutely wouldn't do.  She thought about who she might call for a lift, but couldn't think of a single soul.

           Unwilling to be deterred, she considered a last resort.  Ted's Mustang was parked in the shed out back, he, of course, using the patrol car when he was on duty.  Despite his insistence that she couldn't drive stick, she had proven him wrong on a few discreet occasions, taking the car for short jaunts to the mall and back.  He had never been the wiser.  And he wouldn't be today either.

________________________
         

Maeve watches from the tree outside the window

       The Faerie Queen watched from a branch just outside the apartment window.  The wee human was alone in the space, talking to no one in particular.  Humans were silly that way.  Thinking no soul could hear their private thoughts simply because they could see no one.  She watched the flanna preen in front of the mirror, and giggled.  They were a vain bunch with their large, hunkering bodies and empty heads.  She had no use for them, or their loud, violent ways, except, perhaps, to act as momentary distractions.  Yet, this one with the flame red hair had a spark of the fey.  She and her brother both.  But it was the female she was most interested in, and the babe she carried.

       She was decidedly ripe with pending motherhood, all curves and soft skin, her face with a glow that went mostly unnoticed by mortals.  The power and energy in this passage of creation was beyond anything that the Sidhe possessed, and she looked at the girl in both admiration and envy.  She could feel the life force of the babe tucked away in it's mother's womb, and smiled.  Yes, this was a special mortal.  Maeve would need to keep a fey eye on the goings on in this time and place.

________________________

A plan in action

      From the mail truck along the curb, the woman watched the foot traffic out of the deli, and the flat above, with another eye on the gas company truck parked directly behind her.  She was a great believer in the strategy of hiding in plain sight.  The stupid bastard never even contemplated that she would have the nerve to stall up in his own home.  His arrogance was overwhelming, and it made her sick to the core to think she was willing to give her soul over to such a royal piece of shit.

      When she first received the email, she had been besides herself with grief and longing, filled with the pain of being rejected by someone who knew her better than she knew herself.  She had been willing to share him, as distasteful as that might have been.  Men like himself couldn't be expected to follow the traditional societal rules.  But he had dismissed her as casually as an old newspaper.  Read all her pages, and then dumped her in the trash.

        And despite all her efforts at showing him how very serious she was, he refused to even consider her pleas about needing him in her life.  In fact, her devotion had led to him threatening her with imprisonment, even bodily harm, if she did not cease with her ministrations.  The words banged around her head, hitting with a force that was almost physical pain.  "I don't want any part of you.  Ever."

        Now, the pain had had turned to cold, burning fury.  How dare he think she wasn't good enough.  Who in the hell did he think he was?  Cassie flipped down the visor, and checked her appearance in the mirror.  The face that stared back at her was foreign; dark complected, older and wrinkled.  He thought he was so damn smart.  That she wouldn't see through his attempts to locate her, to keep her away.  The knowledge that he would always underestimate her filling her gut with a renewed sense of action.

       His team in the utility vehicle would by now have run the plates on the mail truck, and found them to be in perfect order, as would the identification badge hanging around her neck.  This is what she excelled at.  A Master at his own game.  Grabbing the mail bag off the seat, she rummaged through it, checking for the tools under the stack of papers, envelopes and magazines.  To the outside world, she'd look like the regular mail person, about her rounds on a Wednesday afternoon.  Beckett's team would have no reason for alarm, as there was nothing out of the ordinary to cause concern.  She had checked over the route a million times, and knew it by heart.

     Sliding out of the truck, she wandered casually across the street, keeping watch from the corner of her eye for activity from his team.  All was quiet, everything going perfectly to plan.  She started at the usual spot at the the end of the block, going from house to house, shoving random mail into each of the slots, vengeance screaming in her head.

Copyright 2014 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved
   

Calling Up Trouble in More Than One Form

                 

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

                         

Brian explains things to Fr. Kevin

    "Aye, laddie. It be me what ya eyes are seein'.  I am no small happy to see that yourself is no worse for the wear after your journey.  Canna say I was not a wee bit in angst over the whole shenanigans."

     "You knew?  You knew I went...went back in time."

     "Aye.  The Sidhe are well aware when the here and now is shaken.  Happens more than most mortals imagine.  They just keep their wee mouths closed about it all, less the common folk think them touched in the noggin'"  He rolled his finger about his head, and crossed his tiny brown eyes.  "Just agreed that it is far better to have you here than there."  He ran a hand over his lips, wiping away any trace of honey, and then licked his palm clean.  "And the lesson?  You've discovered it?"

     "Lesson?  I'm not sure what you mean.  All I know is one minute I was standing in a bank vault in 2014, and the next I find myself 116 years in the past!  No clue how...or why, for that matter.  If there was a lesson in all of that, then I've surely missed it.  I'm just grateful to the Lord Almighty that I'm back here in one piece."

      The little man made a clucking noise, and shook his head in disgust.  "I'd have thought himself a much wiser mortal than it appears.  How can ya not have alearned yourself to the lesson?  Your Granny would be most disappointed in her wee laddie."

       His indignation rising, Fr. Kevin shot up from the sofa, remembering the state of his head and stomach too late to prevent the pounding and rolling.  The fact that the little man had not made an appearance in several months, and was now here to scold him, rankled his pride.  "Look, my friend,  I'm just flat out lucky to have made it back home alive.  Did you know I ended up with cholera?  Cholera, for pete's sake!  People died from that disease in 1849!  A lot of them!  The same thing could've happened to me, and you sit here chewing me out because I didn't learn some life altering lesson?"  He lowered his lanky body back down, this time slower, and with deliberate care.
"Frankly, I think you're being entirely insensitive to what I've been through."

         The clobhair-ceann (clurichaun) slid his small body off the the sofa, and took possession of the bottle of Guinness still left from Maureen's earlier ministrations.  "Himself is far too surly to deal with the fey.  Me thinks ya should take a deep breath and calm your fire down a mite.  I offer only what I know.  A lesson unlearned leads to yet another challenge.  One that grows with your lack of understanding."

       "Are you telling me this could happen again?  That I could just be...swept away again into someone else's life?"  The thought chilled him, and he let out an involuntary shudder.

       The wee figure shrugged his shoulders.  "Can not say, laddie.  The truth is..."  He paused, taking a long sip from the bottle in his hand. "... everything that turns does so for a reason.  Every leaf that falls, every tear that's shed, every kiss that's given...has a purpose.  There is no random.  Your adventure?  Not a thing of chance.  You best figure out the why of it, is all I'm sayn'."  Brian paused a moment, and examined the items still strewn on the floor of the rectory's parlor.  "But, your quest is not the reason I'm here."  He pointed to the trampled herbs and flowers, and the food he had not yet devoured.  "I'm here about this."

        Kevin glanced at the menagerie left on his carpet.  He had seen it earlier, but in his frantic attempt to locate Roxanne, had paid it little mind.  Then, his physical state took over all consideration, and the mess, plus the reason it was there, went unattended.  "Yeah.  I was wondering why this stuff is all over my floor.  I meant to ask Maureen, but then things got...confused, and she and Ted left.  I wasn't in the mood to discuss what had happened, so I was glad to see them go."  He gathered a crushed daisy in his hand, and looked at it oddly.  You're here because of this stuff?"

          Brian nodded, his odd, little face grim.  "Aye.  I was officially called."

          For a second, confusion reigned, and then the priest remembered a certain evening a year earlier, when he had first set out his own fairy circle.  "These items.  They're part of a fairy circle."

           "Aye.  That it is, laddie."

           "But...who?  How?"

           He finished the ale with a long gulp, smacking his lips over the last drop. "The wee red head.  She set out the items, then called upon the Sidhe.  I'd not heard the greeting in a long, long while.  Would have been better in the old tongue, but still quite impressive in it's strength."

            "Maureen?  She called a fairy circle?  Here in the rectory?"

            The clurichaun raised one dark eyebrow.  "Aye.  As did himself several moons ago.  But the sweet flanna (red headed girl) went a step further, and recited the old invitation.  Any fey in the area could not have resisted."

            The priest gave the room a once over, fighting the urge to check the closets and the space under the furniture.  "They'd come here?  Right now?  To the rectory."

             "Relax, laddie.  I be the only one here in the present."  He moved in closer to the priest, and in a voice not much louder than a spirit's whisper, added, "But the flanna...she has surely caught the attention of 'Herself'."

             "Herself?  Who do you mean?"  The priest's voice seemed to echo around the room, and the little man shushed him with a warning finger pressed to his lips.  "The one who is above all others.  Her Majesty...Meadhbh."

             It took only a second for Kevin to translate the Gaelic.  "Maeve?  You mean THE Maeve?"

            Brian waved his arms frantically, willing him to lower his voice.  "Aye.  She be the one.  Tis quite rare for her to make an appearance among the common folk, especially this far from the Ole Country.  Why she was here, I canna say.  But here she was, called to this place by the flanna's circle and greeting."

             Racking his brain for what knowledge he could, was more than difficult in his present state.  "So...her appearance here?  Is it a good thing?  Or bad?"

             Brian shrugged, his little shoulders touching the lobes of his pointy ears.  "Canna say for sure.  Her Majesty's moods change with the shifting of the wind.  History has proved that it is best not to have  Meadhbh's scrutiny.  She can find humans to be...quite amusing.  It be best that she forget entirely your flanna, though she has been known to have favorites among the common folk."

            The hammer in his head vibrated against his temples.  Maureen involved with the Sidhe was an issue with so many levels of trouble, it was hard to fathom where to begin.
                                                       

Maureen calls up trouble

__________________________________

         If the state of her apartment was any indication, Roxanne Spinelli's life was in total disarray.  Every item of clothing she owned was out of drawers and closets, and in piles around her studio apartment.  Her one piece of good luggage was open on the bed, bits and pieces of her belongings stuffed inside with little thought on how they would look when they were taken out at a later date.  Her purse was turned over on it's side, her checkbook, and cash laid out on the table in neat little piles. But it was the large bouquet of flowers stuffed in her emptied cookie jar that caused her the most confusion.  The card next to the arrangement read,  To Roxie...best of luck in your next chapter!  We will miss you!
The message was signed Rachel, Tiffany and Ruth, three of her best friends from the strip club where she danced.

          Miss her?  Where the hell was she going?  While she was busy barely surviving in 1849, what in God's name was the crazy woman dong here in her body?   And where was Kevin?  She had tried repeatedly to reach his cell, but the calls all went directly to voice mail.  Had he made it out of the past? And if he hadn't, just what could she even do about it?

           She wondered if he had a land phone, and reasoned that it being the rectory, one would be  necessary.  Dialing directory assistance, she asked for the number for Holy Family rectory in Dollyville, Massachusetts, and waited, breath held, as the phone rang several times.

Roxanne tries to reach Kevin

___________________________________
                                 

Storms Ahead

            The sky had turned a muddy, green color by the time Beckett was wrapping things up at the station, and he could hear the first rumblings of thunder several miles off in the distance.  The weather matched his foul mood, his head tied up with problems both at home and abroad.  The Powers that Be were significantly unhappy with the way things had gone down in Mexico, and were pressing for his return to tie up lose ends.  It wasn't that he disagreed with their take on the situation.  What should have been an easy drop and out, had turned into a major cluster fuck, due entirely to his wife's presence on the mission.  He owed his reputation an opportunity to return and make things right.

         But that wasn't going to happen when the psycho bitch was still roaming around on the outskirts of his life, another situation in which he was fully to blame.  There was no reason on earth that this woman could not be caught.  His men were trained operatives, used to tracking people all the time.  She seemed to have ungodly luck in getting out of tight corners, and remaining hidden.   She was brilliant.  No doubt about that.  It was that crazy genius of hers that drew him in the first place.  An intellect that matched his own in every way.  Stunning good looks, yes, but it was her mind that kept him hooked like a fish on the line.  So, it shouldn't be any surprise that she was still in the game, unwilling to give up, or give in.

          His phone pinged with an incoming message, and he reached for it, expecting that it would be Maureen checking in on his arrival.  But the number on the screen was one he didn't recognize, and the fact that it was a media message gave him pause.  He pressed the screen, and the image appeared, all white flesh, with just the sliver of red at her throat.  For a second he stared at the photo, the ribbon around her neck reminding him how easy a human throat was to cut.  Then, he deleted the message, and tossed the phone on the seat next to him, the first heavy rain drops hitting his windshield with a barrage of splats.
                                     

Copyright  Victoria T. Rocus 2014
All Rights Reserved

             

       

 

Of Fate, Faeries, and Fact

     

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Beckett works at keeping Maureen safe

     It was very weird.  No doubt about it.  He did seem...well...different then he had earlier in the day.  Still drunk as hell, and a rumpled mess, but less hostile, and more like the guy he'd know for over a year.  He didn't think for one minute that Maureen's silly fairy nonsense had anything to do with it.  That had been a coincidence, or more likely, Kevin just pulling his sister's leg.  But she had given him an out for his irresponsible behavior, and it was only human nature for her brother to take advantage of it.  From his observation, the O'Kenneys did behave "over the top" emotional, and far too dependant on one another, an opinion his wife didn't share.

        Whatever the reason, Beckett was glad to see Kevin more in control of himself.  Something had obviously gone down between the priest and Maureen's family friend, Roxanne, while they had been away in Mexico.  Whatever had happened was no business of his, but getting Maureen to agree would be a challenge.  In the meantime, he had problems of his own that took precedence.  It was beyond his understanding how the crazy bitch could elude a team of four trained operatives as well as she had.  Granted, they were acting as civilians, and were without the comforts and toys government backing would offer.  Still, his men should have easily been able to track down the woman's location, and keep her under direct surveillance.  The fact that they had been unable to physically verify her presence had him more than a bit concerned.

           From his patrol car, he watched his wife move around the deli, helping the Schiller's with the late afternoon, pre-dinner crowd.  At least she'd be occupied for the next several hours.  Glancing in the rear view mirror, he could see the telephone company truck parked several feet down the block, and breathed a little easier.  His men, assigned to keep an eye on Maureen while he was away.  They'd do a perimeter search on a regular basis, though in his mind it seemed highly unlikely Cassie would make a move in broad daylight.  The fact that she remained unfound this long lay testament to the fact that she was very smart, and very careful.  Still, the detail assigned to his wife gave him peace of mind, and would remain in place until he was sure the threat was no longer viable.

         On that note, he dug the cell phone from his pocket, and tapped the icon for Mike Nolan.  The phone rang only once before it was answered.

          "Yeah, Boss."

          "Any change?"

          "No, Sir.  We tracked that lead in Montpelier, Vermont.  It looked like a definite location.  A room rented, an ATM card used, a rental car booked. Even a prescription ordered at the local drug store. We thought we had a hit for sure.  Biggs and Thompson staked out the motel for 3 days.  No sign that anyone actually checked in.  The desk clerk confirms the room was paid for by credit card, but that the guest had never arrived.   Same with the car and prescription.  We can try and get hold of the ATM surveillance tape, but I'm guessing it won't show anyone using the machine for that transaction.  It's like she's a fuckn' ghost.  Everything done on line."

          "You checked the servers?"  Once the question was out of his mouth, he regretted asking.  The pronounced 'tisk' on the other end verified the man's annoyance at being second guessed.

           "Of course we did, Captain.  Checked, and rechecked.  All bounced around several locations across the globe.  Complicated pattern.  This broad's good.  Very good.  Too bad we can't get her to work for our side.  She'd be a hell of an asset."

          The thought of having Cassie as part of his team made him shudder.  She knew his weak spots as well as he knew hers.  Forging a relationship with her had been a monumental mistake, blinded as he was by her inherent ability to feed into his deepest needs.  He had few regrets in his life, and the psycho bitch was one of them.  Now this huge error in judgement was a monkey on his back, one he needed to shake off.  "Sorry, Mike.  I know you guys are doing your best, especially with privacy being an issue in all of this.  I appreciate the loyalty."

         "No worries, Cap.  You've covered my ass on more than one occasion.  Frankly, I'm intrigued by this target.  She seems quite the little minx.  I know it's weird to say, but the way she laid out the C-4 on your house was...well...genius level.  She was able to take the whole building out with only three detonations.  Most operatives would've felt the need to hit at least four corners.  Never thought to breach the main porch supports as she did.  The babe knows her physics.  Plus, she's got an ass on her that'd give a man a wet dream.  I can see why you were attracted."  There was no response, so Nolan continued.  "No offense offered, Captain.  Just sayn', is all.  We'll keep tracking her.  Keep you updated on what we find.  It's only a matter of time until she gets bored and or sloppy, and screws up.  Then we'll have her."

           Beckett looked up, and watched as Maureen helped an elderly woman carry groceries to her car.  She caught his stare, and then smiled and waved, the early evening sun making the curls on her head shine like new pennies.  The sight made a knot in his throat, and he grunted in disgust at this show of weakness, causing him to sound much more gruff then he'd planned.  "I hope so, Nolan.  Do whatever you have to...but find that crazy bitch!"

__________________________

Trouble comes to town

      It took well over an hour to finish the email to her satisfaction.  She had gone through several drafts and edits, changing words and restructuring sentences, to get the message across in the manner she'd wished.  There was a certain way to get through to Teddy.  Trigger words she had learned in their months together.  There was no way he'd be able to resist the offer she was making.  What man could? They all wanted more than their share.  It was how they were made.  Selfish and demanding.  That dumb piece of fluff could have the title.  The "dutiful husband show" the rest of the world would see.  The white picket fence and the mini van.  Even the baby.  She'd settle for the best part of him.  The one he worked so hard at hiding.

       She double checked that the link was working, then hit the "Save" button.  Rummaging in the back pack, Cassie located the burner phone she had bought a week earlier just outside of the state line.  Powering it up, she thought for a moment, than began to strip out of her clothing.  From the same back pack, she pulled out a crumpled red ribbon ripped from the handle of a gift bag, and tied it around her throat.  A media message "selfie" would have an even greater impact.

       Kneeling on a white sheet, she raised the smart phone over her head, careful that the back ground gave away no hints of her location, and snapped several shots from different angles.  Finding one that met with approval, she typed in a message and sent her future on its way.

___________________________

         He waited all of about 30 seconds after his sister and her husband had left the rectory to search for his cell phone.  The parlor was a complete mess, and despite frantic exploration, the device was no where to be found.  He used the land line to call himself, but had no luck.  Either the phone was on silent, or the battery was dead.  For the life of him, he could not remember Roxanne's cell number, having put it in his contact list a week ago, and never giving it another thought. And it wasn't like he could call and ask Maureen.  She'd never give it up without a hundred questions about why he needed it.  Like most people, he doubted Rox had a land line, so there was no way of making sure she was safe and sound from here in Dollyville.  He was sick with worry, not to mention the quantity of alcohol consumed by the now missing Fr. Murphy.  His head pounded, and he found himself teetering on wobbly legs.  In this shape, he couldn't even travel to Boston alone to check on her.
 
      For a moment, he considered calling Beckett, and throwing himself on the man's mercy.  He would explain what had happened.  Where he had been.  Why it was imperative that he get to Boston, and check on Roxanne.  Then the absolute absurdity of that situation hit him.  Beckett would never believe him.  Would never accept the fact that he had somehow time traveled to another period in history, and had been trapped in a different body.  Hell.  He didn't quite believe it himself, and he had lived it! No.  The Sheriff would surely have him committed to a mental hospital for observation.  And who could blame him?

       He plopped back on the sofa, and then regretted the sudden movement, as his head and stomach both revolted.  He felt his foot crush something soft, and squinting down through blood shot eyes, he wondered why the hell bread and honey was smashed into his carpet.  He leaned his head back, and closed his eyes, hoping the room would stop spinning.  He sat there quietly for what seemed like only minutes, slowly dozing to a state of light slumber, until a voice in his ear caused him to awake with a start.

       "I see ya arrived back, laddie.  An none worse for the wear.  Ya be all in one piece, far as me ole' eyes can see.  Quite the adventure you be havin'"

        Kevin turned his head with deliberate care, learning his lesson about sudden movements.  The little man sat on the back of the sofa, a piece of bread in one hand, and his mouth smeared with something sticky that smelled suspiciously like honey.   "Brian?  Is that you?"
     

Company in the rectory

______________________________

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2014
All Rights Reserved.


       

       

For Every End, There is a Beginning

                   

An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

           

Fr. Kevin... happy to be home

        "For Pete's sake, Kevin!  Just what in the world are you looking for?  If you tell us, maybe we can help you find it"  Maureen stood at the bottom, yelling up the flight of stairs.  When no reply was offered, she wandered back into the living room, joining her husband on the sofa, who was busy examining the abandoned pocket watch.  "Well, he seems to be be back to normal.  Mostly."  She gave him a finger poke to the shoulder, which earned her an arched brow.  "I told you I knew what I was doing."

            "You don't really expect me to believe that this...this hoodoo nonsense did the trick, do you?  The man is pulling our leg for sure.  I bet he's upstairs having himself a good laugh over your fairy dance."

             "Honestly, Ted...you're the most cynical person I've ever met.  You saw it with your own eyes, and you still claim disbelief.  Kevin is back to normal!"

              "Then why the hell is he racing around the rectory?  Explain that.  I think he's just embarrassed to have been caught going on a bender, and you offered him an easy out.  I suspect that he'll sober up a bit more and then apologize profusely for his...indiscretion."  He held the watch up, the gold cover reflecting the late afternoon sun from the parlor window.  "You ever see this before?"

                She shook her head.  "No, I don't think so.  My Dad had a pocket watch.  It was his father's.  But that one was silver, and I know for a fact that Patrick has it.  He wore it on our wedding day."  She fingered the fob hanging from his palm, but before she could inspect it, found it it ripped from her hand by a returning Kevin.

               "That belongs to me."  He shoved the time piece in his pants pocket, and without a single shred of additional information, headed through the kitchen and out the back door.

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              He felt lousy.  Queasy, with his head pounding, but...Thank the Lord Almighty... alive.  A hundred percent alive, and back to his own time and place.  He swept his eyes over the church grounds, over grown and weedy, but blessedly here in the 21st Century.  He tried to remember the final few seconds before he'd "jumped", but could only recall bit and pieces.  He on the floor of the bank's vault, so sick and exhausted.  Wanting to get the words out while he could.  Roxie in that strange body, covering his mouth.   And then, nothing.  Nothing at all until he woke up here on the sofa, staring up into Maureen's face, with no clue as to why she was there or what she was doing.

             His first thoughts had been for Roxanne.  Had she jumped with him?  Was she here in this time and space?  It was obvious she wasn't in the rectory, but reasoning...if there was any reasoning involved in all of this craziness...would put her where ever the other women had been at the time of the jump.  He needed to find her.   Make sure she was alright.  That she had really made it through the time warp too.  She surely must have, as the alternative wasn't knowledge he could live with.

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A storm gathers near the Cape

            From the second floor window of the beach house, she could see the storm moving over the water, the clouds heavy and dark.  She paused at the window for a few seconds, and then went about her business, setting the lap tops nearest the outlets.  Despite the gloom of the approaching bad weather, the huge palladium windows allowed enough light to work by.  Though it would have been helpful, she resisted the urge to turn on any lights, less it attract the attention of the neighbors who might find it odd in a house that rightfully should be empty.

          It was an old ploy, but one that had been successful in the past.  Most people never imagined that the things they were looking for might be right under their very noses.  For over a week, she'd been able to lead his people on a merry goose chase over five different states, while never being more than 100 miles from their very location.  They were good, but she was better.  And now he was back.  Of that she was certain.  Teddy might know the ins and outs of staying under the radar, but the silly bitch obviously did not.  First, it was that $3.59 purchase at the airport in Florida, then a cell phone call from Logan International.  It was things like that, things people took for granted, that made them track able.

           All she needed was a chance to talk to him.  Explain things from her perspective without the little twit's interference.  If he wanted to be married, so be it.  She could live with a part time arrangement.  Had done it plenty of times.  But he needed her as much as she needed him.  What they had went beyond a simple relationship.  It was symbiotic in nature...he could dish it out, and she could take it.  A complicated dance that was at the core of who they were.  She just needed Teddy to understand that.  Cross legged on the floor, she pulled the computer into her lap and struggled with the right words as the downpour finally reached the shores of the Cape.

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           She awoke with a start, mouth open and gasping for air.  It had been the same way the first time, the feeling that she was suffocating.  But unlike the initial jump, her return was a joyful realization that she was back where she belonged.  The water from the shower head beat down on her head and shoulders, and a look down at her naked self was proof enough that she was back.  The long narrow toes, painted purple and pink, the scar at the ankle left over from a childhood accident, the dancer's legs.  All there in a complete package.

          She turned the knob, and the water ran to a trickle, a luxury she would never again take for granted.  She grabbed the shower curtain, and was about to pull it back, then had a thought.  Kevin.  Did he travel with her?  Would he be on the other side of the tub?  And she standing there stark naked?
The thought made a giggle rise somewhere in the back of her throat.  Awkward, to say the least.  She grabbed the plastic, and draped it in front of her, then poked her head out.

              "Hello?  Anybody there?  Kevin...?"

           Her voice echoed in the empty bathroom.  She was alone.  At least here in the shower.  She reached for a towel, and stepped out of the tub, drying herself off in the process.  The sight of her worn terry cloth rub hanging on the door hook, her dirty clothes in a pile next to the hamper made her want to weep.  She was home.  Safe at home.
           

Home again

Copyright  Victoria T. Rocus 2014
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