Of Bourbon, Bacon and Brian

                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 searches for something...or someone.

     The next five hours was a circus of group emotion, the highs and lows swinging like a trapeze for every person forced into the performance.  Beckett moved from disbelief, to confusion, then concern, and finally landing into complete rage.  It took the strong will, and every ounce of muscle they possessed, for the two women to keep the town's Sheriff from pummeling his frantic brother-in-law.  From where he sat, this whole situation, if it could be believed, and he hadn't completely signed off on that, was entirely the fault of his wife's sanctimonious, idiotic brother, and the blame for any misfortune that might come her way, rested solely on this shoulders.

         For a man who prided himself on absolute control, the information pouring out of the mouths of the priest and his newest deputy, as well as the woman who looked like Maureen, but wasn't, rocked his foundation to the core.  In his dealings with The Powers That Be, there had been several times Beckett found himself shocked over the information that was passed to him.  Covert dealings with foreign governments.  Secret organizations that brokered power, and set world policy.  Even the truth about UFO sightings and alien abductions.  But time travel?  Bodily possession?  Those were the things of science fiction fantasy.  Of best selling pulp fiction.  Not anything that happened in real life.  To real people. To his wife.

        The Jameson had come out very early in the conversation.  It was O'Kenney's idea, and the only sensible advice the man had offered.  Ted hefted the bottle, and filled the crystal tumbler half way.  This was probably not the time to cloud his thinking with alcohol, but he doubted Fate would hold it against him, all things considered.  He stared at the woman sitting across from him, wearing Maureen's robe and her ginger curls.  Over the past few hours, he had noticed... things, little things, that were strange to his wife's nature.  The set of her mouth, the tilt of her head, the way she licked her lips before she spoke.  Not his Mo.  Not his Desert Rose.  And if she wasn't here, sitting safely across from him, within his protection...then where the hell was she?  And with whom?  Doing what?

         He pushed all thoughts of that nature from his mind, throwing the amber liquid down this throat, a liquid torch burning a slow track to his stomach.  The four of them now sat in silence, talked out, and lost in worried contemplation, and the scene rankled.  He was a man created for action, and it was time for solid planning.

      "So O'Kenney...let's say I actually buy into this whole body swapping scenario.  If Mrs. Revere is here in Maureen's form, then we have to assume my wife is inhabiting hers, Correct?"

      "I would guess.  At least that's how it worked for Roxanne and myself."

      "You guess?!  Damn it!  We're not guessing on anything concerning my wife!  Do we know where she's at, or don't we?"

      "As I explained before, Ted...the watch didn't come with any kind of instruction manual.   If you ask me, it seems to have a mind of its own.  Moves at its own accord."

      "Well, I am asking you, O'Kenney, and you're not giving me any kind of usable information.  Don't you care what happens to your sister, you fucking imbecile?  This is all your damn fault, and you're not offering a single reasonable solution."

         To his right, Roxanne came to the priest's defense.  "If I may interject, Sir...?"

         "No Deputy, you may not.  We're all aware you're Kevin's little cheerleader, and I doubt anything you say in his defense will help us get Maureen back."

         She blushed a deep shade of pink, but held her ground.  "You're being very unfair, Sheriff.  After all, I was in the same position as your wife.  Stuck in a strange body.  Lost in a time not my own.  I very well think I have something to contribute to this discussion."

          If he were embarrassed by the outburst, Beckett didn't show it.  Instead, he reached across the table, and hoisted the bottle in Roxanne's direction.  She nodded her agreement, and he poured a finger into the glass in front of her, waiting until she downed the shot before speaking again.  "I do apologize, Deputy.  Of course your opinions are valid.  Please continue."  He leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms across his chest, face blank of any expression, waiting for her to explain.

         "I don't think that harping on Kevin is going to help us at all.  He's right about one thing.  The watch is an essential piece to the travel.  It seems to control who goes where, and when.  But from our personal experience, the watch seemed to work better in certain locations than others.  For example, Kevin and I both disappeared from the location in the bank, and we left from there as well.  We tried using the watch in other places, and though we could feel some type of energy surge, it wasn't enough to switch us back to our own body. With that in mind, it seems to me that if Maureen has the watch in her possession, with a little insight and a bit of luck, she has the opportunity to return home."

           The room grew quiet again, the three of them not daring to express what each was secretly thinking.  It was Mrs. Revere who asked the question that no one wanted to answer.  "Do you believe your Lady Maureen can do this thing?  Switch us back?"  There was a tremor in her voice as she continued.  "It is my babes, you know.  There are seven, the youngest still in arms.  I worry much over their care."

           He would have given anything to be able to offer her some hope.  To be a voice of optimism in the room.  But he knew, as did the other two, that Maureen had very little in the way of anything resembling luck.  Her brothers had long ago named her "Wrecker Red", a name that implied her presence was less than fortuitous, and in the short time she had entered his life, he found himself understanding the reasons behind the moniker.  No, it was unlikely that luck would play any role in his wife's return.  If she were to find her way back, someone would have to go and get her.

         It was Kevin who eventually voiced this opinion, and his bluntness surprised even Beckett.  "I'm afraid, Mrs. Revere, that my sister returning on her own is...well...rather unlikely.  Maureen is a lot of things.   Compassionate, beautiful, creative...one of the nicest people you'll ever meet.  She has a heart the size of a mountain, and would give you the shirt off her back if you asked.  But insightful?  I think not.  She often jumps into things without considering the consequences.  And luck...well, I'm afraid she has quite a bit of it.  All bad.  Things just don't seem to go smoothly when Maureen's around.  It's been that way since she was very little.  I'm not sure why."  He fiddled with the glass in his hand, swirling the whiskey in the crystal, before downing it in a single mouthful.  "No.  I don't think any of of us here expect my sister to pop back here on her own.  We're gonna need to figure out how to get to her ourselves, explain what's happened, and see to it that she gets to the right spot, watch in hand."

           The color drained from the woman's face, making Maureen's few scattered freckles stand out like little red targets across the bridge of her nose.  "So Reverend, it appears I shan't be returning to my dear husband and children any time soon.  Is that correct?"

           "I'm afraid that at the moment, I can't give you any solid answers, Ma'am.  But you have my word that I will do everything in my power to see everyone returns to their rightful spot."

           His frustration rising, Beckett pushed away from the table, and rose, knocking the chair over with a loud thump, and startling the others.  "For once, the Reverend and I agree, Madame.  You have my solid oath that I will retrieve my wife, and return you to your husband and children, no matter what that entails.  In the mean time, please know that I will see to your absolute safety and comfort while you reside with us.  If there is anything I can do to make your stay with us more bearable, please do not hesitate to ask."

          "You are most kind, Constable.  I am grateful for your protection."

          "Yes, Ted.  That's very generous.  But I think it would be best served if Mrs. Revere moved into the rectory with me.  Until we figure out how we are going to go about this."

          "What?  And have the whole town gossiping about how my wife's left me... again?  Absolutely not, O'Kenney.  She will stay right where she's at.  Where Maureen would be if she hadn't been drawn into your crazy, supernatural bullshit!"

          "He's right, Kev.  For this all to go smoothly, we have to keep things exactly as they were.  We can't give anybody any reason to be suspicious.  It'll be hard enough for Mrs. Revere to have day to day contact with people as it is.  Let's not give them fuel to seek her out with a hundred prying questions."

         Beckett sidled up to the priest, cornering him against the kitchen sink, his nose inches away from the other man's.  "I do believe the good Reverend here thinks I'm some kind of lecherous fiend.  A man who can't control himself.  Don't you, O'Kenney?"

        Kevin held his ground, though he was pretty sure his brother-in-law was capable of opening the 2nd story window and shoving him out, with nary a second thought.  "I think no such thing, Ted.  You're my sister's husband.  You're...'family'.  I'm sure you'd treat our guest with the utmost courtesy.  I just thought that Mrs. Revere would feel more...secure on church grounds."

        "Gentlemen, please.  There is no need to argue.  Reverend, thank you for your kind offer, but I am quite satisfied to remain here with Constable Beckett.  I do not wish to call undo attention to myself while I remain in this...form.  I accept the man at his word, and shall be just fine in his care."

   ________________________

        Beckett picked up his speed, pushing himself for yet another mile.  The run had helped.  Had settled down his racing brain, and the consuming rage that burned like a furnace in his belly.  Nothing had been settled.  No plans for Maureen's rescue.  No teams assembled.  The frustration of not being able to act was almost more than he could bear.  His training had taught him that the solution to most conflict ended with the weapon in one's hand.  But not this conflict.  Maureen was gone.  Vanished into thin air while he sat one floor below, oblivious to the fact that his life line was snapped.

         It was still hard to accept the facts, though they stood before him in a woman who looked like Maureen, but was not.  If time travel was possible, as the situation proved, then there had to be a way to use it to bring her back.  For every action, a reaction.  He had resources available, but was unable to use any of them.  The Powers That Be would find his dilemma an opportunity, and Maureen just a pawn, dispensable in a trade for a weapon of unbelievable power.  If he was to get her back, he'd have to do it on his own.

           Kevin seemed to have some kind plan in mind, but was unusually close mouthed on what that  might be.  He had left the flat shortly after the woman had chosen to stay with him, explaining that he had morning Masses to say, and then would attempt to contact someone about Maureen's disappearance.  Who that was, he had no idea, and he didn't hold out much hope that the priest would be successful.  In the meantime, he would access the darknet, the realm most people were unaware of, for anything he could find on time travel.  If there was an answer, he'd find it there.

           It was nearly 8 AM, and though he hadn't slept in 24 hours, his body was wired with an adrenaline rush of fear for his wife's safety.  Maureen lost in 1775.  In the midst of the country's greatest unrest.  He had enough experience with countries at war to know what hardships she'd face.  Knew what embattled troops were capable of in the heat of aggression.  He had only prayed one other time in his life.  This would be the second.

             He rounded past the back of Holy Family Church, and out of the corner of his eye, caught sight of Kevin's red hair popping up among the green of the leafy bushes.  It was such an odd sight, it forced a need to investigate.  As he drew closer, he could smell the pungent aroma of weed, unmistakeable in the summer heat, mixed with the smokey scent of something else.  Bacon.  Weed and bacon.  He inched closer toward the bushes. So intent was Kevin on his search, the priest failed to hear Beckett's arrival until he was standing just a foot away, and when the Sheriff spoke, he jumped up startled, brushing dirt from the knees.

              "What the hell are you doing, O'Kenney?  Have you completely lost your mind?"

               "I...I uhmmm...I'm looking for something.  Someone."

               "Really?  And you think getting high, here in the bushes, in broad daylight, is going to help find Maureen.  You're really one selfish, crazy, bastard, you know that?"

                 The priest paused for a moment, and it was obvious he was weighing his words.  "Well, actually...I do think it might help.  Maybe.  It's the only option I could think of."  He rubbed a muddy hand across his forehead, leaving a streak of dirt under his hairline, the strain of the past day evident in his long face.  "You see...his name is Brian.  He lives here in the bushes.  And I think he might just know how to help us find Maureen."

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved

               

             



 

The Truth is Coming, The Truth is Coming...

                    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

The new "Maureen" spends the night with Beckett

       The woman who was not his sister looked back at him, her expression a portrait of horror and confusion.  He knew how she felt.  The memory of those first moments when he discovered he was no longer himself, still terrified him.  Still gave him nightmares.  Fr. Kevin took the woman's hands in his, cold as ice and trembling.

        "Don't worry.  You're safe.  No one will harm you.  You have my word on that."

         She gave her head a slight nod, a sign that she had comprehended what he had said, but remained stiff in Beckett's embrace.

        The Sheriff himself seemed tense, unusual for a man who normally kept such calm control over his emotions.   "There's glass all over the attic floor, Kevin.   That old mirror you had standing against the wall must have fallen over and shattered.  I'll be happy to replace it if you want."

        "There's no need.  It's not important."  He moved his attention back to the woman who remained silent as a stone.  "Are you alright?  Injured in any way? Do you need some water, perhaps?"

         She shook her head no, and attempted to speak.  When the words left her mouth, she seemed surprised at the sound of them.  "No, Sir.  I am well.  Thank you."

        Beckett looked at her oddly.  "Are you sure you're okay, love?  You seem...well...not yourself."

       The impostor Maureen turned at the use of his tender endearment, and Kevin could guess that she was trying to make sense of the relationships surrounding her.  She looked down at her clothes and smoothed them out, blushing as she did.

         "No.  I am well.  Well as I can see."

          Beckett furrowed his brow, maneuvering himself past the priest on the staircase, the woman in close tow.  "I think I'll take my wife home now, O'Kenney.  Have her lie down, and possibly give the doc a call.  We've both reached our limit for today."

          "Maybe she should just stay here, Ted.  At least until she...feels better.  It's possible moving her isn't such a good idea."

         "I'm perfectly capable of seeing to my wife's needs, Reverend.  If something should change, I'll be sure to call you, but for now, I think home with me is the best place for her."  He leaned in, putting his hands on her cheeks.  "Can you walk the block home, love, or would you rather I carry you?"

          The woman's attention was focused on several framed photographs hanging in the rectory parlor.  They were portraits taken of his ordination, and a few of his siblings' wedding day, Ted and Maureen's being the newest.  She examined the professional pose of he in his vestments, and looked at him with what seemed relief.  Then, she took note of the wedding shot capturing her supposed self, realizing for  fact whom the man next to her might be.  She blinked several times, and then hesitantly removed his hands from her face.  "I can walk, Husband.  There is no need for you to lift me."

         Her response seemed to puzzle the Sheriff, but he said nothing in return, instead gathering up his wife's handbag and phone from the table in the hall, and heading out into the humid night air. From his position on the porch, Fr. Kevin watched them amble down the street toward their apartment.  He could tell that Beckett was speaking to her, but couldn't make out the words.  For several minutes, he stood in the doorway, frozen in panic, unsure of what to do next.  He could see the lights go on in the flat above the deli, and his stomach and head worked in tandem to make him woozy.

         The buzzing from his pocket startled him, and it took his brain what seemed like an eternity to make the connection between the sound and his cell phone.  The screen showed an incoming call from Roxanne, and the relief he felt was a tangible thing.  Roxanne would know.  Would understand why he was crazy with fear for his sister's safety.  Roxanne was God answering his prayers.

         "Hello?  Kev?  Are you there?  Hello?"

         "Yeah. Rox.  I'm here."

         "I know this is gonna sound crazy, but...I...I had this horrible feeling that something bad's happened.  Are you okay over there?"

          It was hard to keep the shake out of his voice.  "No, Rox.  It's not okay.  In fact, it's a complete disaster.  Can you get over here?  Like now?  It's Maureen.  Something horrible has happened."

_________________________

       He was waiting outside when she arrived twenty minutes later, sweating and out of breath as if she had run the whole way over.  Despite the exertion, under the harsh lighting of the street lamps, her skin was the color of gray ice, and her tone just as frosty.

       "This is all your fault, you know.  I told you to dump that damn thing in the harbor, out of any one's reach.  You told me you were going to take care of it, and I actually believed you.  Silly me...thinking a priest would keep his word."  In her frustration, she gave his left shoulder a sock.

       The pain was a welcome alternative to the guilt.  He deserved her condemnation. She was right.  What happened to Maureen was all his fault.  His stupidity in opening his mind to anything the Aos Si advised.  He had no business even speaking to them.  He, a disciple of the church, conversing with things not human.  And now, he had no choice but to seek their unworldly advice if he had any hopes of seeing his sister...his real sister...again.  "I agree.  It's all on me.  My fault.  And I'm sorry to have to drag you into all this, but I need your help with Beckett.  He won't believe me, Rox.  Not a word.  He thinks I'm a complete idiot.  How am I ever gonna tell him what really happened to Maureen?"

       "What makes you think he's gonna listen to me?  I mean...damn...what happened to us was crazy shit.  I wouldn't believe me either!  Besides...he hardly knows me.  Why should he care about anything I have to say?"

         "Well, we gotta try.  He's not stupid. Just the opposite!  He's gonna figure something weird is up with his wife's...personality.  You didn't see her, Rox.  She was absolutely terrified.  Confused beyond imagination!"

         "Duh!  Of course I can sympathize.  It happened to me too, Kev.  To both of us.  And we didn't have the benefit of anyone around understanding what happened.  We were totally on our own.  So I do know what she's going through.  I'm just not sure telling the Sheriff the strange truth is going to help anyone."

          He grabbed the pair of crutches leaning against the porch railing, and began to hobble down the stairs.  "We gotta do something, Roxanne.  We have to at least try.  We need all the help we can get in figuring out how to get Maureen back.  He seems to know a lot of people. The kind of people who stay in the shadows.  Has a lot of resources.  Besides, I couldn't live with myself if I just left the poor woman alone with Beckett.  You know how...how intimidating he can be.  And what if he tries...you know...tries to...sleep with her?"

         Roxanne snorted.  "I bet she'd consider herself lucky, I suppose."  Seeing the look of horror on his face, she added quickly, "Jeez...I was just kidding, Mr. Prude, though if you ask me, the man is walking sin itself.  So freakn' hot.  But seriously, I don't think he's the type to force himself on her if she says no."

        "Great.  You're a card carrying member of the Beckett Fan Club. That's just fine with me.  But, I'm not willing to risk that innocent woman's safety...or her honor.  Besides, he's my sister's husband.  I need to do what I can to keep her marriage... intact.  It's the least I can do."

________________________

       By the time Kevin managed to wrangle his crutches down the street to the deli, the lights in the flat had gone dark.  It took a constant barrage at the doorbell before the Sheriff himself, dressed only in a pair of gym shorts and a nasty disposition, stamped down the stairs to open the door.

        "Damn it, Kevin...what the hell do you want now?"

        Fr. Kevin shifted his weight to the crutches, and grimaced, hoping against hope for the sympathy vote.  "I'm really sorry to show up like this, Ted.  So late and all.  But we really need to talk to you.   Both of us."

         "Who both?"

        The priest moved to the side, and Roxanne gave a small wave.

         "Spinelli?  You're part of this nonsense too?"

         Roxanne looked sheepishly at her feet.  "I'm sorry, Sir.  But Fr. O'Kenney is right.  It is imperative that we speak to you.  Now.  Tonight.  It really can't wait."

         Beckett narrowed his eyes, and for a moment, Kevin worried that he might shut the door in their faces.  Instead, he moved to the side and gestured them forward up the stairs.  There was a small night light over the stove, and even in its dim coverage, he could make out the figure of the woman hunched against the head board of the bed, covers pulled tightly up to her chin despite the warmth of the evening, her eyes as round as dinner plates.

          "All right, you two.  Spit it out.  What's so fucking important it couldn't wait until morning?  You woke Maureen up as well, after I told you she needed to rest.  As we discussed before, she just isn't herself tonight."

          Kevin and Roxie looked at each other, neither relishing the first opportunity to speak.  Then with a sigh, Kevin blurted the words out.  "You're right, Ted.  She's not herself.  Because she's not Maureen.  Not our Maureen, anyway."

          In the bed, the woman who was not herself let out a squeak, and buried her head under the covers, while her temporary husband slapped a hand on the counter top, rattling the dishes in the cabinet  "What in the hell are you talking about, Kevin?  Of course that's Maureen.  Have you lost your damn mind, you idiot?"

           "No, Ted.  She might look like Maureen...sound like her too.  But that woman...in the bed?  She's not the real Maureen.  She's someone else.  From a different time period.  Sharing Maureen's body."

           Beckett looked at them...the priest, his newest deputy, and his wife, and then began to laugh, a low grim sound, shaking his head as he did so.  "Maureen put you up to this, Kev?  Some kind of practical joke?  I must admit, you had me going for a minute there, though I'm not much a fan of pranks like these."

           But the faces in the room did not respond with mirth.  The woman in the bed began to wail, long breathy sobs unlike anything they had heard before, while her husband attempted to sooth her.  "It's okay, baby.  Don't cry.  I'm not angry.  Really I'm not.  It was a great joke.  Honest."

         She continued to sniffle, her nose red and running in the way Maureen's always did.  And when the words finally came, they poured out in one long stream.  "You don't understand, Sir.  You don't understand.  I'm not this Maureen person at all.  Not all all.  My name, Sir...my name is Rachel Walker Revere...and I just want to go home."

____________________________

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus  2015
All Rights Reserved

       

           

   

     



       

       

   

Close Your Eyes

                    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 and Kevin

                  Dinner was a dismal affair.  Both men knew that Maureen held strictly to the rule that the dinner table was no place to air dirty laundry, trade insults, or check your cell phone, so there was little conversation of the meaningful kind.  Across from him, Beckett stared with narrowed eyes, looking very much like a lion ready to pounce on the weaker gazelle.  His sister seemed preoccupied, complaining that since she'd arrived, she'd developed a terrible, grinding headache that wouldn't let up, and writing it off as having to do with that annoying humming sound coming from somewhere in the house.  From Fr. Kevin's perspective, life had suddenly taken a troubled twist, and his head and stomach both were in a state of churning upheaval.

           First it was the appearance of the young man with Fr. Murphy's face into their lives, and then it was the frightening knowledge that his sister could also hear the wretched watch in the attic.  Those things combined offered a sure threat to any kind of peaceful life.  He sat at his table, regretting with every fiber of his being, not throwing the watch into the Boston Harbor as Roxanne had begged him to do.  He couldn't even explain why he had taken Brian's advice over hers, except to note that the wee little man had been grimly adamant about his needing to keep it safe, warning of those who would selfishly change the course of time.  But having Mo involved...at risk, changed everything.

            Beckett laid his silverware across his plate, and leaned over to place a kiss on his wife's cheek.  "Fabulous dinner, love.  Thank you."   He eyed Kevin's untouched serving, and commented.  "You didn't enjoy your meal, Fr. O'Kenney?  You're usually a big fan of my wife's cooking.  See you at my table often enough."

           His brother-in-law's jibes rolled over his head without notice.  Ted was the least of his problems now.  He needed to figure out how to get rid of the watch, the sooner the better.  This very evening, perhaps, if his unwanted company would just go home.

           Maureen took a last sip of her wine, and began to gather up the plates.  "After what Kevin's been through today, you can hardly blame his loss of appetite.  Really, Ted, it was a harrowing experience for us all.  It's given me a damn, awful head ache."  She stacked the dishes in the sink, and ran the water.  "Why don't the two of you go watch TV, or something.  I'm gonna wash these dishes, and then Ted and I are gonna take off.  That is...if you think you'll be alright, Kev?  With that foot, and all?  Sorry to desert you, but my head is pounding like crazy."

             Fr. Kevin fumbled with his crutches, wobbling as he stood up.  "Don't worry about those, Mo. I'll get to them tomorrow."

             "Don't be silly.  It'll only take a few minutes, and then we can be on our way.  You can barely stand on those things."  Seeing his awkwardness in moving, she questioned, " Are you sure you don't want us to spend the night?  Make sure you're all right?"

              The thought horrified him.  "No.  You go on home.  I'll be fine.  I think I might just camp out on the sofa tonight."

             "Well, if you think you'll be ok."  She turned to her husband,  "Ted, can you help Kevin get settled on the couch.  I'll be done here shortly."

               Beckett took her hand, and pressed his lips to her knuckles.  "As you wish, darling.  I promise to rid you of that nasty headache as soon as we get home."  He raised his hand, and wiggled the digits on both hands.  "Magic fingers, you know."

            On any other occasion, Kevin would have answered with a smart ass retort.  But his brain was focused on the issues at hand, and he paid Beckett no mind.  He clumped out of the kitchen, and flopped on the sofa, a spot in which could hear the humming in the attic more clearly.  Beckett turned on the TV, and channeled surf until he found the ballgame.  He didn't ask the priest's opinion, settling in to watch the game while his wife finished up the last of her chores.  Just grateful to be off the Sheriff's radar, Fr. O'Kenney closed his eyes, outlining a mental list of places he could dump the watch.  Somewhere along the list, he must have dozed off.  He could hear the drone of the television, and bits and pieces of conversation between his sister and her husband.  But the lure of fatigue, and the effects of the Percoset kept his eyes closed, and his brain shut to the "going ons" in the room.  He never saw Maureen head up the stairs in search of some Tylenol, and an extra pillow for under her brother's feet.

______________________________

         Too distracted to worry about eating, Roxanne Spinelli lay across the bed in the Band B and fretted.  There was no other word that better described her state at the moment.  She had a queasy feeling deep in the pit of her stomach, and a nagging scrapping in the back of her brain.  It went beyond her feelings for Kevin O'Kenney.  Beyond the fear that their time travel had come back to haunt them in the form of a distant ancestor.  This was a living, breathing nightmare.  An ominous feeling that something was about to change everything she knew to be real and true.  She tried to force the thoughts from her head, tried to convince her self that what she was feeling was a product of her wild imagination, combined with the stress of the day.

        Several times, she picked up the phone to call Kevin, and then changed her mind.  He would act the voice of reason.  Explain that what she was feeling was a natural reaction to the harrowing situation at the clinic.  Even worse, he'd probably tell her to ease her mind with prayer, as if a few mumbled words and some rosary beads were gonna change anything.  It hadn't offered a solution in the past, and she was almost certain it wouldn't help now.  In frustration, she tossed the phone back into her purse, and pulled a pillow over her head.

___________________________

          He felt it first.  A crawling sensation along his spine, with all the hair on his arm standing up at attention.  The air in the house seemed heavy.  Thick with unexplained energy.  Then he smelt it.  The oppressive sulphur smell that awoke memories of a time earlier that summer.  At the other end of the sofa, Beckett sat unperturbed, eyes glued to the screen across the room.  Fr. Kevin opened his mouth to speak, but the sulphur filled it, and he gagged.

           Beckett looked at him oddly.  "You alright, O'Kenney.  You look a little green around the edges."

          It was an effort to force the words out.  "Mau...reen.  Where's...my...sister?"

          His brother-in-law narrowed his eyes, now concerned.  "She went upstairs to get some Tylenol for her head.  Said she was gonna bring down an extra pillow for your foot.  Why?"

           "Must...stop...her." He fumbled off the sofa, clumping across the parlor floor towards the stairs without his crutches, the air in the room charged like a living battery, his face stark with fear.

            The Sheriff was right behind him, yelling as he climbed the stairs.  "Stop what, damn it?  What the hell do you have hidden upstairs?"  He reached the second floor before the priest did, flinging open doors and calling her name.  "Maureen?  Baby girl, where are you?"  Not finding her in the bedroom or the bathroom, he looked at Kevin, who pointed towards the attic.  Before either of them could move, there was a crash, and the sound of breaking glass, and Beckett took the stairs two and three at a time.  Kevin moved as quickly as he could, but by the time he reached the landing, the Sheriff appeared at the door, an arm around his wife.

             "She's fine, Kevin. Just startled.  Must have knocked that old mirror over in the attic.  That was what we heard breaking."

              From where he was standing, Maureen looked to be in one piece.  But he knew better.  Her face was white with fear, and her body shook and trembled.  Although Ted had his arms around her, she held herself stiffly, looking about with round, startled eyes.   His heart fell to his feet, and for a second, he felt as if he would throw up right there on the spot.  It was the eyes that explained everything.  Made him want to cry.  Though they were set in a familiar face, they were not his sister's eyes.

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
All Rights Reserved




         

           


 

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

From Fr. Kevin, Maureen, Ted, Roxanne...and all of the rest of the gang in Dollyville...

   Wishing you all a wonderful holiday season, and the happiest of New Years!

I am very grateful to each and every one of you for taking the time to support my humble literary endeavors!   Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!

          I am taking this weekend off to enjoy time with family, and will return

with a new post next week, January 3rd, 2015!

All The Best,

Vicki

               

"Do You Hear What I Hear?"

                    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 hears something upstairs

       Fr. Kevin looked at him oddly.  "I suppose they're strong.  They are pain killers after all.  But I'm not sure there's a "happy" in any of this, Ted.  Frankly, it's been the kind of day I'd like to completely forget."

           Beckett dragged over the same chair that Roxanne had been sitting in a few hours before, and like she, plopped himself a foot away from his face.  Kevin sighed, as it appeared today was the day for interrogations of every kind.  The Sheriff was right.  The Percocet had taken the edge off the pain, and his mind did seem a bit fluffy around the edges.  He knew he should be careful in what he said to his brother-in-law, but the slight buzz he was feeling was far from unpleasant.

             "I would imagine so, O'Kenney.  Quite a frightening experience, being held hostage like that.  Especially with the women involved...your sister and Roxanne sitting there in harms way.  I bet you were very, very upset."

            He knew the Sheriff was baiting him, obviously seeking some kind of secret agenda, waiting for him to screw something up.  What it was exactly was unclear, so he decided to let him keep talking until the man got around to explaining his purpose.   "Yes...I suppose I was nervous.  It was, after all, an armed hold up.   I just wanted for everybody to get through the ordeal safely.  There was no reason for anyone to get hurt."

          Beckett looked at him with cold eyes the color of a frozen lake, and not for the first time, did the priest wonder what it was his sister saw in this man.  And not just Maureen, but women in general.  Sure he was handsome in a magazine ad sort of way.  But to Kevin's eye, his face seemed like a mask, artificial and phony, with no life pulsing beneath it.  Even at the death of his child, the man had seemed arrow straight, not allowing anything to pierce the hard exterior.  He couldn't understand the pull this man had over his sister, who herself was so open, and loving, and full of life.

         "Did you hear what I said, Father?"  About the gunman?"

         Kevin rubbed a hand over his forehead.  "I'm sorry, Ted.  I'm really tired.  Can you repeat the question."

         The Sheriff gave a huff of disgust.  "I said...you gave the police artist a pretty detailed description of the perp.  That's very unusual, you know.  In situations of high anxiety.  I'm curious how you remembered all that."

            The little voice in his head offered warning.  So that's where he's going with all this.  He's suspicious about the drawing.  About my knowledge of the gunman.  I need to tread lightly here.  He wouldn't believe the truth anyway.  "Can't really say for sure.  I just know I had the opportunity to speak one on one with him.  His face...well, it was just sort imprinted on my brain.  Stayed with me I guess."

         Beckett leaned back and folded his arms on the back of the chair, in the same manner Roxanne had done, and Fr. Kevin wondered if there was something common among people who went into law enforcement.  His brother-in-law must had seen that same something in Roxie.  The thought of them both crawling all over him, prying into his head, made him uneasy, though in Roxie's case it was a bit more complicated.

         "Odd, O'Kenney.  Very odd.  Most people have the direct opposite reaction to a stressful moment.   Try to wash the whole memory from their heads.  But you, in fact, can give the artist enough information to create a photo like drawing.  Highly unusual.  In my professional opinion, that is."

        Beckett's interrogation was beginning to annoy him.  He hadn't invited either of them over, and now, he was being subjected to the man's intense scrutiny.   Maybe it was the Percocet bolstering his confidence, but he considered throwing his brother-in-law out of his house.  Sending him merrily on his way without a second thought to any one's feelings.  But he could hear Maureen banging about in the kitchen, and for her sake, he knew he would do no such thing.

         "I'm not sure what to say about that, Sheriff.  I thought I was being helpful.  You do want to catch the men responsible, don't you?

         "I most certainly do, O'Kenney.  The question is...do you want them caught?"

         The question caught him completely off guard, and he struggled for the right words to answer.  Did he want the young man with Fr. Murphy's face apprehended?  And if he didn't, just why was that?
Before he could even let his mind wrap around those concerns, Maureen interrupted the conversation.

          "Dinner is ready guys.   I just have the toss the salad, and we can eat."  A look around the room gave evidence of the intense conversation that proceeded her.  She frowned, and spoke directly to her husband.  "Ted...you promised.  No discussion about the clinic during dinner.  We're here to help Kevin out.  To make him feel better.  After all, if it weren't for my brave, big brother somebody might've gotten hurt.  Kevin's the reason we all walked safely out of that place."

            Beckett rose from the chair, the smile on his face insincere.  "You're right, darling.  I should be offering the good Reverend my undying gratitude.  Thank you, Father O'Kenney...for being the hero of the day."

            There was an awkward silence, broken again by his sister.  "Okay, everyone, lets eat while its warm."  As she moved toward the kitchen, she paused next to the stairway leading to the upper floors, cocking her head.  "Do you hear that?"

            Beckett stopped next to her, and listened as well.  "I don't hear anything."

           "No seriously...can't you hear that?  That low buzzing sound coming from somewhere upstairs?"

___________________________________

             There was food on the table.  He knew it because he could feel it in his mouth, see it on his plate.  But taste it?  No.  All he could think of...all he could concentrate on...was the fact that his little sister could hear the watch.  Normal people couldn't.  It was obvious Beckett didn't hear the low droning sound, even when he went upstairs to investigate.  Oh my God...Oh my God...please not Maureen, Lord.  Not her too. 

         He hated lying to Maureen, but there was no way he could admit he heard it too.  Knew what it was.  Knew what it meant.  And so he acted as if she were hearing things that weren't there, which of course would mean her husband would insist on a visit to a specialist.  It couldn't be helped.  There was no way in both heaven or hell he would expose Mo to the powers of the damned watch.  The thought of Maureen, his baby sister, held at the mercy of time travel, made him sick to the core.  She had suffered enough.  He would get rid of the horrid thing against the advice of the other worldly.  And if it meant he'd sacrifice his own well being, then so be it.

____________________________________

           He was wrong.  About it all.  Stubborn and close minded when it came to anything that trampled on his tightly held beliefs.  Roxanne sat on the end of the bed in the cozy, rented room, and cursed Fate for working it all out the way It had.  She refused to give it a name.  Not God.  Not Father.  Not Allah.  That would give it a personality.  A character.  The thing that had directed her life didn't have character.  Didn't care about her personal happiness.  She knew Kevin would have all kinds of thoughts on that.  Would counsel her until he was blue in the face that the Will of God was not in accordance to her plan.  Her wants.

          Well, duh.  That was obvious.  Her plans would never have included a father arrested for racketeering.  A mother who coped with the shame by living in a bottle.  Her will wouldn't have included a series of moves, each to a neighborhood more desolate than the one before.  It wouldn't mean a daily struggle in which things never worked out.  And most of all, her way wouldn't have kept  her from the one person she wanted the most.  Fate was selfish and cruel, and had kept her desired prize all for Himself.  And for that, she had never forgiven Him.

         Not that she'd tell Kevin any of this.  He'd be mortified if she told him how she really felt.  Probably insist they never see each other again.  And that would kill her for sure.  Their time travel experience together reinforced what she had always known.  The two of them had forged a special bond the moment they had meet as kids.  Right there on the steps of his parent's home in Boston.  And despite being set on two different paths, it was a connection that could not be broken.  The watch that hummed away in the attic rectory of Holy Family, knew it as well.

Roxanne contemplates the issues at hand

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2014
All Rights Reserved

       


         

Secrets Buried With the Bones

            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

       

Roxanne states the facts

             He watched as she paced the room for a few seconds more, then flipped the chair around, and straddled it, her chin resting on her arms across the top.  "It makes sense, you know.  It really does...in a weird cosmic sort of way."

            It had been a long, crappy day, and Fr. Kevin was in no mood for any discussion on the spiritual make-up of life.  His foot was itchy and sweaty under the fresh cast, and the pain killers on an empty stomach were making him queasy.  He didn't even want to think anymore about the punk having Fr. Murphy's face, much less discuss the other- worldly reasons it might be there.  "Look, Rox, neither of us believes that Fr. Murphy's soul is floating around inhabiting strange bodies.  It just..just doesn't work that way.  It's probably some mental break down on my part.  A flashback from the whole time travel experience.  My fear kicked in, and I saw things that weren't there."

          "Maybe...or maybe not.  There is an alternative possibility, Kev."  She sat staring at him, the look of determination a sign that she'd have her say whether he liked it or not.

           He sighed.  The sooner she presented her theory, the sooner she'd be gone, leaving him to close his eyes and sink into the oblivion of sleep.  "Okay, Roxanne.  What's your possibility?  I'm listening."

            She looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.  Almost embarrassed.  "Do you remember what I told you...about my...research after we returned?"

              "Yeah...that Fr. Murphy died that same day in the bank.  That he was buried two days later in the diocese section of Bunker Hill Cemetery.  You told me you visited his grave.   Okay.  I get it.  It wasn't Murphy I saw today."   He tried not to sound cranky.  None of this was her fault either.  But he was tired of the whole nonsense, and just wanted her gone.

                She returned his attitude with some of her own.  "Look, O'Kenney...I don't like this anymore  than you do, but stickn' your head in the sand isn't going to make it go away.  I wasn't talking about Fr. Murphy.  I was talking about her.  Maria.  My host."

               He fought through the narcotic fog for answers.  And then it bloomed in his head, a mental beacon spilling into the room. He understood where she was going with all this.  "You told me she was pregnant."

              A flush of pink crept around her neck.  "Eight weeks from what I could tell before we left.  It was causing her...me...all kinds of anxiety that someone would find out."

               "And you think...this pregnancy...this baby..."  He struggled with words, the implications and the emotions crawling over him like a thousand stinging insects.  "It was his...Fr. Murphy's."

              She nodded, saying nothing further, giving him no fodder for argument.  He felt an overwhelming need to defend the man.  Defend the person whose body he had shared.  Whose vocation and commitment to God was the same as his own.  So he spoke without thinking, the years of seminary schooling slipping off his tongue.  "That's sorta a stretch, don't ya think, Roxanne?
We have no proof that...that Fr. Murphy...broke his vows.  That he was involved with this woman on an intimate level, or that he fathered this child.  Maybe he was just trying to counsel this poor soul.  Help her come to terms with her...her...?

                He knew from the look on her face he had said the wrong thing.  That he had hurt her on
several levels.

                 "Help her come to terms with what, O'Kenney?   Her 'sin'?   Is that what you wanted to say?   That Maria is some kind of damn harlot, and that Fr. Sean Murphy, sainted clergyman and pillar of virtue, couldn't possibly have climbed down off his clouds and acted like a real human being?"

               It was clear her damnation was aimed toward the living, breathing Kevin O'Kenney, and not the bones of a man dead over one hundred years.  The pain in his foot was a mere trickle compared to the pain in his heart, and try as he might, he couldn't think of a single word to say in response.  They sat that way, in silence, not looking at each other for what seemed like forever.  The she rose, and put the chair back in it's spot across the room.

              "Think what you want, Kevin.  We both know the truth, even if only one of us is honest enough to accept it.  Maria's baby was fathered by Sean Murphy.  When he died that day in the bank...of the cholera you contracted in the privy...she was left on her own.  What happened afterward, I have no idea.  I tried doing an Internet search of historical records, but came up empty.  Then things got crazy, and I decided to move here...and well...I haven't had a chance to pick up the trail."

               She gathered up her purse, and turned towards the door.  Before leaving, she leaned against the wall, her arms crossed against her chest, and her mouth set in grim stubbornness.   "We may not know the details of her life, but there's one thing that I'm absolutely certain of.  Maria went on and had her baby.  I'm sure of it.  And the kid today...the one in the clinic...has to be some kind of Murphy descendant."

              And then she was out the door, leaving the whole damn thing in his lap.
______________________________________

            He most have dozed off at some point, the meds forcing him into a deep, unnatural slumber.  It was the rattle of keys in the door that woke him with a start, his heart pounding in his chest.  Maureen stood in the foyer, her arms folded around two large grocery bags, with another hanging off her wrist.

            "I'm sorry.  Did I wake you, Kev?"   She shifted the bags to her hip.

            She had woken him, and for that he was grateful, the last few hours filled with crazy dreams in which he was left in a dreary, misty graveyard, holding a squalling baby, an army of ticking clocks armed with bayonets guarding his escape.  His sister's solid presence in the here and now was a relief, though one short lived.

            "I thought I'd come make dinner here tonight.  See if you needed any help.  Ted's right behind me.  I sent him back to flat to get my hand mixer.  Wasn't sure you had one in the rectory."

            At the mention of his brother-in-law's name, his heart sank.  The last he thing needed in his sorry state was the pompous jerk picking and poking at him.  The thought made him feel worse.  At one time, he and Beckett had been friends of sorts.  He had enjoyed the man's company, his quirky sense of humor and the way nothing seemed to ruffle his calm, cool demeanor.  But since the wedding to his sister, and the fiasco with the crazy woman, they had been at odds.  Part of the blame rested on Kevin's shoulders as well.  The time travel experience had left him uneasy and secretive, and he was sure Ted felt that something was being kept from him, as tempting as rattling a hunk a meat in front of a hungry lion.

       As if fate could read his mind, Sheriff Beckett appeared at his door, the afore mentioned hand mixer tucked under his arm.  He ignored his host all together, instead heading toward the kitchen in search of his wife.  There was hushed conversation, some shuffling around, and a series of giggles from his sister, a routine that had embarrassed him on many occasions before today.  The man took great delight in letting him know just how much hold he had over Maureen, as if he had a need to prove that she loved her husband more than her favorite brother.  It was a stupid thought on his part, and he brushed it aside.  With Beckett in the mix, he needed to reserve his concentration on not saying anything stupid.  He was sure the man would want additional information about the hold up, and would dig and prod until he was satisfied that all had been revealed.

          Beckett wandered out of the kitchen a smug expression on his face, and a bottle of Kevin's Guinness in his hand.  He raised the ale toward him in a gesture of question.

          "No.  I'll pass.  They gave me some strong meds for the pain.  Better not put alcohol in the mix"

           Like a beacon, the man honed in on the pill bottles lined up on the end table.  H picked up each one, reading the labels, until he seemed to find what he was looking for.  He shook the vial, the capsules clicking against each other like a baby's rattle.  "Hmmm...Percocet.  Strong stuff.  Bet this puts you in a pretty happy place, huh Father O'Kenney?"

Beckett examines the Percocet

Copyright 2014 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved



     



 

Drawing Conclusions

            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

                       

Police sketch of the gunman

     The story was crap.  He was sure of it.  Despite holding himself up like a pillar of virtue, his wife's brother was lying through his teeth, and not convincingly either.  There might be nuggets of truth somewhere in his account, but there were huge parts of the story he was leaving out.  The question was... why?
 
         Beckett leaned back in his chair, and watched through his office window as one of his deputies helped Kevin maneuver his broken foot into the back seat of the patrol car.  He remained stoic and white faced, while the two women fussed over the best way to position him.  A quick call to the ER  had secured them immediate attention, and if all went well, the priest and his entourage should be safely home in the next few hours, giving the him the same amount of time to do a little investigating of his own.

         A tiny finger of guilt wiggled somewhere in the back of his head.  He knew he should be grateful that the situation had gone down as it had.  He owed O'Kenney that much. The fifteen minutes it took to get from the station to the medical center had been like an eternity, the condition of his wife the only focus in his head.  When they pulled up, and he saw her calmly standing outside, not a hair out of place, waving to him as he slid to the curb, the relief had been so overwhelming, he was momentarily embarrassed, and glad to be in the car alone.  In fact, all things considered in the gravity of the situation, the hostages looked remarkably calm.

         They had all given similar statements attesting to how the drama had unfolded.  Two gunmen had entered through the main doors, and had announced a hold up.  The clinic staff immediately went on lock down, and called 911, leaving the patients in the waiting room at the mercy of the two perps.  The taller of the two seemed very nervous, and when the opportunity presented itself, had fled through the same doors he had just come through.  The remaining gunman had rounded up the hostages against the back wall, but then selected O'Kenney as a bargaining chip.  That was the spot the story entered a gray area.  The four remaining hostages claimed the priest and the gunman had discussed things between them, but none could say what was said, being too far to hear the whispered conversation.  O'Kenney claimed in his statement that he tried to convince the man to surrender, but that instead, the man had taken off toward the restroom, and had apparently escaped through a window that opened up to a vacant wooded lot behind the clinic.

           It wasn't unheard of.  Two punks... into a crime way over their heads... decide to take an easy way out, and flee before law enforcement shows up.   But something about this whole thing bothered him.  Years of training made him feel he was missing an integral part of the picture.  Beckett flipped open the folder on his desk revealing the drawings his sketch artist had made of the suspects from the hostages' description.  Most were useless, showing little of the faces of either men, due to the hoodies pulled low across their faces.  Spinelli's description offered some minor points of the remaining gunman, detailing a squared chin, and a faded scar that ran from the left corner of the lip up toward the cheek.  And then there was the drawing the artist had made from Kevin's description.  He pulled it from the pile, and laid it on top of the others.

          The face stared back at him in near living detail.  At his brother-in-laws direction, the artist had rendered a portrait photographic in its quality.  The eyes, heavily hooded and piercing, sat under peaked brows, arched in what seemed like constant surprise.  The jaw line matched that of the other drawing, but the scar was absent, an oddity that puzzled him.  None of the other hostages had been able to discern the set of the mouth, or anything about the nose.  But Kevin's sketch detailed both, down to the slight bump in the center of the nasal bone.

         It was true that the priest had more 'one on one' contact with the gunman.  Had spoken to him face to face.  But the quality of the details in the sketch went beyond a victim's memory. He had seen enough of them to know the difference.  The drawing had a definitive personality, as if the person doing the describing knew the party on a more personal basis.  This wasn't the first time O'Kenney had seen this face, and that troubled him greatly for a myriad of reasons.  Since he and Maureen had returned from their honeymoon in hell, something was different about the man.  There was that heavy drinking episode that his wife insisted on curing with silly fairy magic.  At the time, he had written off the need to lose himself in the bottle as a reaction to something that had gone on with Mo's friend, Roxanne.  But now, he wondered if there wasn't more to the story.  Since that time, the man had seemed more guarded, more secretive about his thoughts.

          There was another explanation to consider, and this recent event gave him fodder to consider.  He had known since he had first met the man that the priest smoked weed on infrequent occasions.  It had never worried him, and if anything, made the man seem more like a normal human being.  But in light of his recent odd behavior, and today's events, there was the possibility his wife's brother's had gotten himself involved in something much darker.  Today's attempted robbery had been all about drugs.  That was clear.  Each of the witnesses had stated that the gunman had demanded Oxci, short for oxcicontin, a narcotic with high street value, and a popular choice among the prescription junkie crowd.  Was Kevin a user?  A seller?  Neither option was good.  Kevin was the light of Maureen's life, and therefore, also his responsibility.  If the dumb shit had gotten himself into real trouble, then Beckett would just have to dig him out.

___________________________

          The last thing he wanted was company.  When Deputy Franks finally dropped them off at the rectory, it was the promise of his bed, the television, and solitude, that forced the last few steps up the walkway and in the door.  He was glad when Maureen took off in the direction of the deli, and hoped that Roxanne would do the same.  But no dice there.  She took his keys, insisting on getting him settled before she made her way back to the B and B she was temporarily calling home.  If that was all that was on her mind, it would have been okay.  But he could see from the set of her mouth that she had something to say that wasn't going to wait.

         There was no way he wanted her anywhere near his bedroom, so he contented himself with being settled on the couch.  Once she had stuck a pillow under his cast, and one behind his head, she dragged a chair from across the room, and barely made herself comfortable in it, before she began her tirade.

         "What in the hell were you thinking, Kevin?"

           The painkillers he had gotten in the ER had just begun to take effect, and the drum throbbing in his leg was reduced to a light pounding.  He knew where she was going with the conversation, and he wanted no part of it.  "Look Rox, it's been a crappy day, and I've had all I can handle for one 24 hour period.  Can we have this discussion another time?"

         "No we can not!  I saw the drawing, Kev.  The one the police artist sketched.  It was...was Fr. Murphy...you... during the time travel!  Why in God's name would you do that?"

         He knew if he told her what he thought, she'd think he'd gone off the deep end.  But he was too tired, too worried to lie.  She was the only human being he could trust with the truth.  "I'm feeling... well...uncomfortable telling you this, Rox...but the man today...the guy with the gun...it WAS Fr. Murphy.  I'm sure of it."

        She sighed, and rubbed a hand over her forehead, the strain of the day marking her face as well.  "Look, Kevin...I know it was a terrifying experience.  And you don't have to be ashamed in feeling...overwhelmed.  But you and I both now what you're saying is impossible.  It can't be Fr. Murphy.  He's dead, Kev.  Buried a long time ago.  I told you...I visited his grave.  He died the same day we traveled back."

      "I know what I saw, Roxanne.  I looked at that face in the mirror enough times.  Saw the world through his eyes.  That face is imprinted on my brain forever.  You didn't see the guy today close up like I did.  It was all there...the eyes, the brows, the nose.  Just the scar was new.  Murphy didn't have a scar."

      "What you're saying is crazy shit, Kev.  Dead people can't come back and time travel.  They don't come back and do anything.  They're dead, and their souls rest in heaven.  You, of all people, should believe that."

      "I'm not saying I understand how this could happen.  Just that I know what I saw.  And the guy I talked to today...in the clinic...was Fr. Murphy.  They even sounded the same.  I could hear the background brogue mixed in with the Boston dialect."

     He was sorry he told her.  He could see he doubt in her face.  Could clearly see the worry etched in the frown she wore.  He watched as she got up from the chair, and began to pace the room.  When he started to talk, she shushed him with a wave of a hand.  She stared out the window for several minutes, lost in thought, then suddenly turned to face him.

      "There is another possibility, you know.  One that makes sense.  That is... if anything about this whole time travel shit can be labeled sensible."
     

Roxanne ponders the possibilities

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2014
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