

## Revelations Of Evil

Everyone Has Secrets

### by

### Pernell Rogers

Copyright © 2019 by Anthony Pernell Rogers

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

These stories are entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 9780463935705

Don't forget to check out my other stories of supernatural horror at

### pernellrogers.com

### Table of Contents:

1. A Most Unusual Feast

2. Welcome, Claire!

3. Remembering the Bellflower

4. Manifestations of Guilt

5. Whispers of Cusco

# 1

# A Most Unusual Feast

"Alright boys, when we get there, ya'll know what to do, right?" Papa Reed asked with his head turned slightly right while keeping his eyes on the rocky dirt road.

"Yeah, Pa," Loomis answered, with a booming voice that filled the old pickup's interior. Then he planted his shotgun butt into the floorboard with a thud.

Jesse Reed, Pa's second eldest, sat in the darkened back seat behind Pa, leaning inward so he could peer through the front windshield. The large revolver planted between his belt and jeans jabbed his kidney each time the pickup bounded over the uneven road.

Jesse knew Pa was on a mission, and his older brother Loomis went along with anything their Pa demanded. Elmo, Jesse's younger brother, sat in the back seat beside him, leaning inward too, because both brothers wanted to know where the hell they were heading. Jesse took a quick glance over at Elmo. The whites of his eyes were clearly visible in the cab's dim light, and Jesse could see the fright in them. This would be his first time joining the rest of the family in their upcoming Thanksgiving tradition.

Jesse abhorred the tradition. He'd lost his virginity to it two years ago, and if he had had any say in the matter, he'd have preferred not to experience it again. But all it took was a single stern look from Pa's wrinkled face to change his mind. Loomis was Pa's favorite, and between the two of them, he dared not disobey.

Tonight was Jesse's turn to watch his younger thirteen-year-old brother become a grown member of the family, but Jesse thought he was much too young to be a participant in such a mission. He wasn't grown, at least not yet. He had had the same feelings two years ago when it was his own turn. His eye shifted toward Elmo again. How would his little brother react to what he was about to see? Sorrow seeped into Jesse's heart, but he couldn't be concerned about that now. It was time to focus on his own tasks.

Pa's pickup sent him shimmying right and left, and the pain from his pistol intensified. Tonight, peering through the windshield, the Tennessee backwoods rushed at the pickup as it raced down the dirt road, its high-beams exposing only a few yards out front. Dormant trees and bushes, devoid of any greenery sprouting from their craggy branches, enveloped the road. Insects streaked through the headlight's beams like zipping meteors.

Pa's foot leaned on the gas pedal like a lead brick. Nothing was going to stop him this frigid night. From where Jesse sat, he could see Loomis' squinting eyes staring straight ahead like a tiger stalking its prey. Any second he expected Loomis to start licking his chops.

Beyond the headlights was darkness and the unknown. No moon was available to assist them in locating their final destination. From the side windows, faint blurs of dead foliage whizzed by. Jesse swiveled his head to look out the back window but all he saw was a faint red glow, which illuminated the cloud of dirt kicked up by the pickup's rugged tires.

Jesse knew the plan, and its brutality made him squeamish; however, he kept that secret from the rest of the family. After all, he was a Reed, and their family had occupied that part of Tennessee for over two hundred years. It was their land, no matter what the county or state believed.

Inside the unheated cab, no one said a word. Gravel popped and pinged the pickup's undercarriage and doors. Its tires skidded as they breached the well-established grooves of the dirt road, kicking up clouds of dirt. The pickup's growling engine owned the night, signaling to all within hearing distance that it was on the prowl.

"Where we goin', Pa?" Elmo's shaky voice asked.

"You'll see when we get there. I don't want you hesitating, alright? You go and do just what I tell you to do."

"Okay, Pa."

Elmo's eyes couldn't disguise his fear. Would he really follow through with what Pa demanded, or would he freeze up? Elmo tended to take after Loomis, blindly doing whatever his Pa told him to do, but there were times when he second-guessed his father, and on those occasions, it usually meant the back of Pa's huge hand across the face. Tears were forbidden. They weren't appropriate for the men of the Reed family.

Pa made a sharp right turn, sending everyone flying left. Jesse found himself pinned against his door, and Elmo rolled into him, jamming the pistol even further into his side. How Pa had seen the opening between those two dark bushes amazed Jesse. The pickup bounced wildly as it bore down another smaller path, and Jesse wasn't sure if they were still on any type of road.

After a while, the headlights barely illuminated the ground. Jesse couldn't see anything out the side windows or windshield. He assumed they had to be in an open field somewhere. Pa stayed on the gas, terrorizing the pickup's shocks and springs. Jesse knew this ride had to end somewhere.

Seconds later, the pickup's roar softened. Through the windshield, Jesse's eyes discerned a small house with two illuminated lights; one stood over the front door, and another was attached to the wall on the side of the house which shone on a small two-seater car. Everyone in the pickup lurched forward as Pa hit the brakes in front of the house. Pa didn't want to pull too close. He killed the engine.

"Get out and do what I told ya."

Loomis had already exited the cab, with his shotgun tucked under his arm, and began marching toward the front door. Jesse saw Elmo open his door, pause, then leap from the cab with his revolver in hand. Jesse pulled out his revolver and got out as he watched Pa retrieve his shotgun. They all left the pickup's doors wide open.

Pa turned to Jesse and pointed towards the rear of the house. Jesse rounded the back of the truck, tapped Elmo on the shoulder, and Elmo followed his brother. Jesse glanced back and saw Pa catching up to Loomis, and knew they would be the first inside.

Elmo's eyes stayed glued on the house's windows, his revolver flashed briefly under the light hanging outside. Then Jesse caught a scent of fear. Was it coming from Elmo or himself? They continued heading toward the back of the house.

Jesse found a spot by the back door and crouched down. He waved for Elmo to move back so he could see both the back and side of the house, then motioned for him to get down. Elmo lifted his revolver and pointed it at the house as puffs of vapor exited his mouth in rapid succession. Would he pull the trigger if he saw someone trying to escape? Only time would tell. Jesse grabbed the front of his jacket with his free hand, clutched it, then hunched over to prevent the chilly November wind from creeping inside. He hoped Pa and Loomis wouldn't be much longer.

A shotgun blast sliced the late fall solace.

Jesse jerked, then watched Elmo fall backward. He was sure Elmo would start firing at any moment, but instead, Elmo returned to his knees, pointing his revolver at the house.

Thumping, high pitched screams, and deep yells came from inside the house. Jesse heard his father's deep twang followed by more commotion. Would there be another shot?

Suddenly, all the bumping eased, but there still was movement coming from inside. If everything went okay, Pa should be calling soon. His voice was unmistakable.

Jesse popped up and turned to see Elmo drop his hands and get to his feet.

"Come on boys. We have them hogtied. Let's get them in the back of the truck."

Jesse hated watching their pupils plead for help. He knew their fate and it made him feel ill. It was the same every year.

For the first time, Jesse thought he saw a spark of excitement in Elmo's eyes as he entered the front door. Jesse followed behind. Through the darkened, yet neatly arranged living room, he heard struggling. Elmo turned left down the hallway with Jesse on his heels. At the end sat a door, perched wide open. Loomis was down on a single knee, working feverishly to keep someone still.

"Is that them, Loomis? Are those the folks we gonna use?" Elmo asked, his voice stoked with excitement.

"Yep. This is them, little brother. Here, you and Jesse take out the lady and throw her in the back of the truck. Me and Pa will get this here man. Go on now."

"Oowee! Come on, Jesse. Let's get her out there."

That's when Jesse realized he was the only one left in the family with a conscience. The people they were abducting hadn't done anything but rented the house for some good old fashioned hunting, and because of that, they were about to pay for it with their lives. Jesse watched the woman's tears stream across her face, dripping from her nose and chin. There were those pleading eyes, sheer terror as she squinted through the tears.

"Elmo, you get her by the arms. I'll get her legs. She might try to kick or something."

"I got her. Let's go."

The woman shifted, writhed, and struggled, her nightgown exposing her trim figure. Her muted screams soaked the rag tied across her mouth. She was a slippery one. With one jerk, Elmo lost his grip, sending her head slamming onto the hardwood floor. He lifted her back up and began moving once again. Her movements became tame, and her sobbing was reduced to moans. Elmo flashed his teeth as he stared at the woman, then gaped his mouth like some sinister mad doctor. He was having too much fun, and for the first time, Jesse didn't think he knew his little brother.

As they passed through the front door, Pa was heading back inside.

"Good job, boys. Throw her in the back of the truck. We'll start preparing her when we get home."

"Yes, Pa," Jesse said, feigning excitement.

At the back of the truck, Elmo released her, and she moaned as steam rose from her mouth with each breath. He lowered the rear hatch and picked her back up. Then Jesse watched as his little brother took his father's words literally and tried throwing her into the back of the truck. Jesse still had hold of her legs, and the woman's head and upper back made a thud as she made contact with the pickup's bed. He dropped her legs, hopped into the bed, and pushed her all the way back toward the rear window to make room for her companion. Her moans were deeper now, and she began to shiver. Jesse found hiding his feelings difficult, but necessary because if Elmo knew what he was truly thinking, he'd tell Pa for sure. He had to keep up the act.

Jesse hopped back down just in time to see Pa and Loomis hauling the man out, and Elmo trotted over to assist when he saw how hard the man struggled. Jesse chose to stay back pretending to watch the woman, making sure she didn't escape. The man was a rough customer, and he knew Pa really liked that. The more they struggled, the more Pa tortured them. He was tossed in the back of the pickup, shirtless with only pajama bottoms on.

Loomis followed close behind and tied both hostages to the rails of the pickup so they wouldn't try to leap from the bed.

"Tie them up good, boy. If they try to jump out, we'll just drag them all the way home."

"Right, Pa." Loomis' eerie grin stuck in Jesse's head.

Once Loomis finished, he leaped from the truck and Elmo slammed the back hatch closed. Jesse took a final look at the couple and sighed. The easy part was over. He climbed into the back seat and waited for Pa to pull off into the darkness.

*****

When the pickup pulled in front of the large wooden shed behind their house, Jesse turned and peered through the back window, wondering if either of them had tried to jump from the bed of the truck. Could they have been dragging a dead person behind them all this time? The brake lights cast a devilish glow through the cloud of dirt, enough to see that two bodies were still back there but weren't moving. Maybe they were unconscious from the cold or playing dead. Whatever they were doing, Jesse didn't want them to be truly dead. Not now. It would spoil the celebration, and he didn't want to go back out to find others.

Once again, Loomis lept out the truck first, and his excitement about what was going to happen baffled Jesse. What they were about to do was not fun or pleasant. In fact, it was downright deplorable. But Jesse understood why it was happening, and trying to reason with Pa and Loomis was no good. Their memories were too sharp. It was all payback, and the Reed family always got those that hurt them: a true family tradition.

Pa left the cab next, followed by Elmo. Jesse wanted to be the last one out so he could watch how this scenario would play out this year. Pa headed directly into the shed, switched on the overhead light outside, and opened the shed's doors wide. Loomis had already dropped the pickup's hatch and jumped inside the bed to shake the couple. They had to be alive, or the family was going out again tomorrow night. It would be much worse if they had to go out two nights in a row.

The soft moans from the couple somehow soothed Jesse's nerves because another night of this would probably have broken him. Nevertheless, the night wasn't over...it was just beginning.

Just as they had at the house, Elmo and Jesse moved the woman's chilled body into the shed. Her gumption to struggle was non-existent. Pa and Loomis hauled in the ornery man, who was barely awake but still had enough energy to struggle. Jesse knew at this point their fate was sealed.

The shed had been around since the old main house was built. To manage and till their vast property, a big shed was needed. Its slats had taken a beating over the years from the chill and snow of winter and through the thunderstorms of spring. Portions had been rebuilt due to tornados grazing the property. It remained sturdy and somewhat warm—warm enough to keep someone from freezing to death. Generations of the Reed family had been raised on that land. They'd experienced it all: the good and the bad, the generous times and the lean ones, bountiful harvests and starvation. No matter what, the Reeds were the backbone of the sparse but close-knit community, always willing to help a neighbor and gracious enough to realize when they themselves needed help. Their family history was a proud one that Jesse's Pa continually expressed to his three sons. Jesse's mother had been just as proud, but unfortunately, she was no longer with them.

Jesse stood next to Elmo while he watched Pa and Loomis prepare the cages for their two captives. He couldn't help recalling the tale about how this ritual started with his grandfather.

In the late nineteenth century, while searching for game to feed the family during a tortuous early winter blizzard, Grandy Reed, Jesse's grandfather, and his brother, Clyde, had happened upon two strangers hunting on their land. As a warning to get them to scat, Clyde fired a shot into the air, but instead, the strangers fired at them, clipping Clyde in the shoulder. In retaliation, Grandy killed both strangers. Being unable to make it back home until the blizzard died, Grandy and Clyde retreated into a shallow cave in the side of a cliff, and with Death salivating for their souls, the only way to keep _it_ at bay was to go back out and drag one of the strangers inside. It was then that they were forced to consume portions of the stranger's body.

Pa often relayed to them how Grandy had told the family to do whatever they had to do to protect their land.

Pa told Jesse to get some blankets and a couple of pillows for their captives, then directed Elmo to fetch some food from the house. After brutally abducting them and forcing them into the back of the pickup, the sudden shift toward compassion would have seemed out of character to their prisoners, but Pa knew exactly what he was doing. Both Jesse and Elmo took off toward the house. The thick wool blankets and quilts sat in Pa's bedroom closet. Each captive would receive one of each; the quilt would be what the captives would lay upon, and the wool blanket was to keep the cold at bay. The move was so deceptive. Pa wanted their stay to be comfortable until the last minute.

The quilts were thick and awkward to carry, so Jesse chose to take them out one at a time. Loomis positioned the woman on top of the quilt and when Jesse came out with the second quilt, Pa made the man lay on it. As Jesse returned to the house to heft the heavy wool blankets and two pillows, Elmo passed by him with a couple of bowls and a pot of steaming stew. Its smell made his mouth water, and he was sure the captives would not pass up a chance of having a nice warm meal on such a cold night. When Jesse returned with the blankets, the captives had their gags removed and hands untied. Pa and Loomis had transformed into caring hosts, but the woman's tears never stopped, and the man continued asking why this was happening. Pa never answered.

After they had wrapped the blankets around themselves, bowls of stew were set in front of them. It was apparent that the hostages were wary, so Loomis put a spoonful into his mouth to prove the stew was okay. After a little more convincing, each began consuming their bowls. When asked if they'd like more, they both nodded their heads without speaking. Loomis dished out more, and everyone stood around to watch them eat.

When they had finished, Pa said, "Alright now. We're gonna leave you two out here tonight. I'll leave that light on for ya. In the morning, we'll get you all prepped for the celebration. You'll be our guests of honor."

"What do you mean?" the woman asked. Her voice shook.

"Oh, we have a celebration just like this every Thanksgiving. It's our way of accepting you into our little community. Now come on, boys, let's leave these young folks alone so they can get some sleep. Go on now."

As Pa closed the shed door, the hostages pleaded to be set free. When Pa locked the door, no more pleading could be heard. He'd found a way to make the shed soundproof. Jesse chose to lag behind while he listened to Pa and Loomis make plans for tomorrow. Elmo was right up there with them, soaking up their knowledge. Jesse felt sick. None of this should have been happening, but he was helpless to do anything to stop it.

*****

It was the day before Thanksgiving. Jesse awoke to a still house, and it was the unusual silence which he dreaded. He leaned up on one elbow and turned an ear. Still nothing. The sound of Elmo bumping about was absent and there was no smell coming from the kitchen.

Where is everybody? Where'd they...Oh no!

This year they had let Jesse sleep in, not like in previous years. Elmo was always the one who slept in, but Jesse bet he was with Pa and Loomis, learning the secrets to preparing the Thanksgiving feast. Jesse jumped from the bed and rushed to put some clothes on but tripped over his boots nearly falling. Before stepping into his jeans, he peered out his bedroom window and noticed the door to the shed was still closed, but he couldn't tell if it was still locked. The arms of his flannel shirt fought with him, but he eventually won the battle. His clock read nine thirty-eight, and he was sure they must have started already. Pa and Loomis always started in the morning just after seven. He was tempted to leave his boots untied, but taking a fall due to some loose bootstrings on the cold hard Tennessee ground would be a mistake. He fumbled with the thin wisps of cloth until they formed knots.

He stopped at Elmo's door, which stood open, and peered inside. His bed hadn't been made. It was likely Pa or Loomis had come in and got him up in a hurry. He entered the kitchen. An opened loaf of bread sat on the kitchen table, along with an opened stick of butter and a dirty knife. They'd made a quick breakfast, then left the house. He opened the cupboards underneath the counters. The large pots were gone, and he felt his breath escaping. _It's started_. He closed the cupboards as he stood up and peered through the windows in the door. They had to be in the shed.

He opened the kitchen door and a cold blast of air shocked him, so he dashed back to his room and found his coat. He wouldn't need any gloves, because they'd just get in the way. He exited the house and traveled toward the shed, taking timid steps. His heart wasn't in this stroll, and he kept asking himself questions. Why was this happening? How was Elmo taking it? Would he be petrified, or would he join in with all enthusiasm, just like Pa and Loomis?

The shed resembled a decrepit mausoleum that he didn't want to enter, but if he didn't join the rest of the family, questions may be asked, and Pa's questions usually came with some type of pain. The door was closed but unlocked. They were definitely inside. The deep howl of the cold breeze buffeted his ears and joined with the crunching of gravel and leaves beneath his feet. He prepared himself to remain emotionless once he entered the shed. It was imperative he did that.

The slightest hint of fear would signal an immediate response.

His hand trembled as he reached out to rap on the door because opening it for himself might have caused him to get hurt. He felt like he was rapping on Hell's door, and that the Devil would open it. After a few seconds, Elmo peeked out with wide eyes. A big smile grew on his face once he recognized his older brother, and he pushed the door open farther to let him inside. Jesse noticed his hands were stained with blood.

Jesse girded his stomach in order to contain whatever remained in it from last night's supper. The expected horror had already begun as soon as he had stepped inside and shut the door.

The urge to pinch his nose due to the smell of feces was overwhelming, but he kept his hands at bay. The cages were emptied of the blankets, quilts, and pillows and tossed to the side off to the left. He turned to Elmo. It wasn't the expression he'd hoped he would see. Elmo didn't blink or cringe at the sight before him. In fact, the anticipation on his face made Jesse apprehensive.

Breaching the top of the cobweb-shrouded shed were two ropes, which were thrown over silt-laden wooden rafters. One end of each rope was anchored to a metal U-bolt that stuck up from the concrete floor. Just by the sheer tautness of the ropes, and their gentle swinging back and forth, Jesse knew what was supported on the other end. His stomach somersaulted when he saw the couple, suspended by their feet with their hands tied behind their backs, swinging naked and nearly unconscious. A sudden quake deep in his gut sent gastric acid up his throat, which he caught at the last second, and its vile remnants caused spit to pool in the back of his mouth as he watched Loomis expertly slice a strip of skin from the man's hip.

How could he take his eyes away, and why should he? Just last year, he had been the one perpetrating the same horrendous act. His mind regurgitated the memory of slowly skinning that young couple, forcing their minds in and out of consciousness. Their wild, haunting screams had echoed within the soundproof shed of death, just like this morning, and all to please Pa.

With their mouths gagged, Jesse listened to their muted screams. Strips of skin were missing from their arms, legs, chests, and backs. That was Pa's way of tenderizing their captives. Just like with wild game, Pa knew frightening animals just before they died gave their meat an enhanced flavor, that gamey taste, which he loved. Jesse recalled the strong, astringent flavor of the meat served at past Thanksgiving feasts after Ma had died. Loomis had done a fair job of preparing the meat, but the gamey taste of human flesh wasn't Jesse's favorite thing. Regular turkey would have suited him just fine, but how could he go against Pa's wishes without getting popped in the mouth?

Judging by the amount of skin being sliced away, the couple weren't far from their final act. The tarps covering the shed's floor were soaked with strips of skin, bodily fluids, and waste. Jesse turned to Elmo as he stepped forward. Pa turned with a smile and handed Elmo the long blade, and it appeared that Elmo's hands shook as he took hold of it. Would he be able to go through with Pa's wishes? Pa patted him on the back and pointed toward the woman. Her eyes widened as Elmo approached. Her screams became more determined and filled the shed. Elmo walked around to her back and took a second look at Pa.

"You can do it, boy. Go ahead," Pa said. His voice gruff and commanding.

Elmo steadied her swinging body as her muted screams became louder. He raised the knife horizontally and took a few seconds to find where he wanted to start his cut. The woman's body stiffened and her eyes bulged as the knife cleaved into her skin. Jesse wanted to cover his ears but couldn't do so in Pa's presence.

Elmo smirked.

Jesse couldn't believe it. Elmo was enjoying himself, and it was a sure sign that he would fall in line right behind Loomis. Jesse felt alone now, the only one that couldn't understand the dastardly tradition the family had developed. He cast his eyes to the ground as the screams continued.

The sadistic show was coming to a close.

Pa called all three boys together and said, "Okay, boys. I think these folks are scared enough. Can't you smell the fear in the air?"

"I don't know, Pa. All that shit piled up on the floor is all I smell," Elmo remarked.

"That's what Pa means, Elmo," Loomis replied. "When their bowels let loose, we've got them scared shitless. Ain't that right, Pa?"

"That's right. Now for the final task before we begin preparing the meat for seasoning. Elmo, since this is your first time, you take the lady. Loomis here will take the man. Elmo, go right across the throat. Nice and clean. Don't try to chop her head off. Just go straight across and watch for the blood. It's gonna spurt outta there like a shaken bottle of beer. Now go to it, boy."

Jesse could feel his heart racing as a murderous gleam lit in Elmo's eyes, and he backed away. He had first-hand knowledge of just how far the blood could spurt. Elmo greedily approached the lady and held her steady by tugging on her dangling brunette hair. With her eyes red and water-logged, she tried shaking loose. She didn't want to die.

Elmo placed the knife at her throat and drew his arm back with a single stroke.

A fountain of blood erupted, but Elmo stepped back a tad too late. The bottoms of his pants were in the line of fire. She didn't struggle long, which pleased Jesse. Unfortunately, her husband was near hysterics, and Loomis did away with him with an expert hand. The worst part was over.

Jesse assisted in lowering both bodies to the ground as Pa stepped up to begin his task of dismembering them. With Elmo assisting in the celebration this year, Jesse was able to hang back and watch, but he knew he couldn't do it for long. This was a family affair, after all. He helped cart the bodies to the back of the house, where the chopping and cutting were to be performed, while Loomis taught Elmo how to clean up the shed. It was a disgusting job, and Jesse didn't envy Elmo one bit.

Once again, Jesse was forced to gird his stomach as Pa showed him the secrets of preparing the meat. As harsh as Pa's attitude had become since Ma died, his unsophisticated hands moved with precision about the human remains, disregarding all entrails and other unnecessary organs that weren't to be part of the celebratory feast.

Both Loomis and Elmo joined Jesse about an hour later, and Pa passed on the preparation techniques to his sons. Pounds of flesh soaked in his unique brine concoction, followed by a penetrating rub to give the flesh a special flavoring. Loomis and Elmo sucked up everything like a Hoover while Jesse wished he could obliterate the last twenty-four hours from his head. Once the meat was placed in the massive brick smoker in the backyard, they all re-entered the house to relax and talk about the day, forcing Jesse to relive everything in explicit detail. He cowered when he heard Pa state how little he did to help. It was sudden and unexpected, and a stinging sensation overwhelmed his body.

His heart raced as Pa continued, adding that Elmo had gotten a lot of experience that day, and Pa was proud that Jesse had allowed him to do it. A wave of relief rushed through Jesse, which felt odd, but strangely satisfying.

Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. The horror of this holiday was halfway over.

*****

Jesse heard Pa rise early that morning, fumbling around in the kitchen drawers, the clanging of silverware piercing the quiet homestead. Jesse rolled over when the back door slammed shut. Pa must have been going out to check on the feast. The meat was the only thing he was to bring to the community event. The rest of the meal would be supplied by others living in the community, and he couldn't help but wonder if they had any idea that they were participating in a cannibalistic ritual.

Pa's meat was always a hit at the gathering, with many coming back for seconds and even thirds. He welcomed questions about his preparation process but never revealed the source of the meat. Others tried to duplicate it, and Jesse enjoyed the taste of true beef and pork, but everyone hovered around Pa's presentation.

The back door slammed once again, and Pa's footsteps passed Jesse's room. Two hard knocks on a door down the hall, then a call to Loomis. The meat must have been ready. He always woke Loomis whenever he needed help moving the meat to the table for slicing. A chill slipped beneath Jesse's door, and he pulled the covers beneath his chin and waited, thinking that the next knock might be on his door. This could be the year he would learn Pa's slicing technique. He listened while two sets of footsteps, one heavier than the other, approached his door. He held his breath. Their footsteps passed by. This year wasn't the year.

Just before noon, Elmo and Jesse joined Pa and Loomis at the back of the house. The wooden table sat filled with foil-covered trays of meat. Countless flies were attracted to the smoky tang of their feast and buzzed around each family member like miniature jets. Swatting at them was a fruitless endeavor since they merely circled back to attack once again. The trays were extra-large, needing two people to carry them. Loomis retrieved the pickup and backed it up to the table. Pa and Elmo loaded the first tray. Jesse and Loomis loaded the second. A total of six trays were stowed in the back of the pickup. Then everyone went back inside to get dressed for the celebration.

Pa drove, and Jesse sat in his usual spot behind him. Today's drive was much smoother than the nighttime terror trek they had taken a couple of nights ago. Jesse enjoyed going to the celebration grounds, located in a clearing deep in the woods. Most of the community showed up, each bearing their contributions to the feast. The entrance was protected by townsfolk that had volunteered not to let any outsiders in. What he found amusing was that local law enforcement officers sometimes visited and partook in the festivities for a while. He'd even seen some of them enjoying some of Pa's contribution.

Pa pulled up to the waiting line of pickups, all idling for their turn to pass through the entrance into the grounds. The barren tree branches arched overhead like a skeletal cathedral, while a baby blue sky, dotted with soft wispy clouds, hovered above. Unlike the past two nights, a feeling of goodwill and joy was in the air, and it was obvious to Jesse that the upcoming celebration was going to be very good. But there was much more to celebrate than food. He was ecstatic to see old friends he hadn't seen in about a year and reacquaint himself with families that lived quite far away, especially his Ma's friends. They were always kind and asked how the family was doing without her being with them anymore.

Numerous tables were set up in an orderly fashion, with the ones up front designated for food. Each family placed their contributions neatly on those tables, and when Pa, Loomis, Jesse, and Elmo arrived with their contribution, oohs and aahs were heard. Once all the food was unloaded, people gathered with one another, hugging and shaking hands, laughing and drinking. For a moment, Jesse forgot about the events of the last couple of nights.

Around 3:00, everyone gathered around their respective tables while the celebration leader led them in a beautiful Thanksgiving prayer. With bowed heads, each person voiced their thanks in a low tone, creating a murmur throughout the gathering. Once it was over, it was time to eat.

Each family approached the line of seemingly endless tables, all filled with food. Pa kept his family together while they stood in line, with the youngest up front and him in the back. If only Pa would go first, Jesse could get away without getting a portion of the flesh he had prepared, but it was not to be. Jesse approached Pa's contribution, his stomach swaying at the thought of consuming it. A quick glance backward; Pa had his eyes on him. He grabbed the two-pronged fork, stabbed two large pieces of flesh, and slid them onto his plate. He dared not look back, lest Pa would think he didn't want any. He stepped forward and finished filling his plate with other goodies.

Jesse sat next to Elmo at their table. Soon, Loomis and Pa joined them, along with two other families. Jesse started with his mashed potatoes, trying to avoid the meat for as long as he could.

One of the male young'uns from the other family said, "Mr. Reed, your meat is so good. It's always good.'

"Why, thank you, son. I take tons of pride when I prepare it. There should be plenty more if you finish soon enough."

Elmo said, "Pa, you outdid yourself. Thanks for letting me help ya this year."

"You did real good, Elmo. I'm proud of ya. Didn't he do a good job, boys?"

"Yep, he did just what we told him. Just like a true Reed."

Jesse looked from side to side and saw Elmo, Loomis, and Pa staring at him. He was in the spotlight, so he had to say something.

After a couple of seconds, he cleared his throat and said, "Oh yeah. Elmo did real good this year. It'll probably be even better next year. I can't wait."

Then Jesse stabbed the meat with his fork and took a hefty bite, smiling as he chewed.

## THE END

# 2

# Welcome, Claire!

Claire Walsh's eyelids slowly parted, and the spell of her Ambien-induced sleep was rudely disrupted by a shrill wail reverberating outside her bedroom window. As her mind passed the murky barrier back to consciousness, she could barely make out the moonlight that slipped through her closed blinds and pasted itself onto the curtains.

Soon, silence returned, and her heavy eyelids shut.

The sound met her ears again, but this time it roused her enough to synthesize a distant and unsavory memory. Her eyes opened and grew wider as she struggled to halt her gathering thoughts, but they clawed at her. Memories flowed with unyielding velocity until one of them ignited a spark. Now it was sealed, where nothing could shake it loose. Her heart thumped, and goosebumps rose. She knew dread loomed nearby.

She rolled beneath the covers and realized she'd only been asleep for forty-five minutes, according to the clock on the nightstand. There was more than enough time to get back to sleep, so she shut her eyes again and concentrated on those moments before she had been awakened in a desperate attempt to suppress that unwanted memory.

Another wail set the air afire. Her eyes popped open, and her nerves quaked. The mournful sound dashed any hopes of returning to her slumber.

Why is she wailing?

She clutched the sheets tightly around herself as a childish means of protection, while her big toes flicked back and forth against one another. The horrific sound reminded her of a long lost Irish folktale narrated to her by her Grandma when she was but a child.

It was only an old tale, like many other tales she'd heard when she was young, but she had discovered as an adult that none of them were true. Not one.

But this tale had always been different than the rest. She could still hear the tone of her grandma's voice as she had told it and visualized the intensity carved on her face. Her recollection was so clear. Maybe it had been due to the lighting inside her childhood bedroom that night, or the fact that Grandma's black, soulless eyes had resembled those of a shark, glowering without blinking. Could it have been her bushy eyebrows casting dark shadows over her eyes, or the bright sheen outlining her curly wig, leaving the rest of her hair dark and looking unkempt? Grandma's mouth had resembled an ever-changing black maw devoid of teeth. Her nostrils and the creases along her forehead pulsed with each syllable.

Grandma had warned, "Beware of the wail of the banshee. Beware! It signals death is nearby."

That night had become one of the most frightening memories of Claire's childhood, and for a moment, she became that frightened little girl once again.

Death is nearby!

The lump in her throat held fast as she lay on her side, racking her brains, trying to determine why a _banshee_ wailed for her. The wailing commenced again, and covering her ears didn't douse the high-pitched screeching.

Why won't it stop? Please stop!

Seconds later, silence, and during this time she wondered what disaster could be awaiting her. Who would want to hurt her, and why? She hadn't done anything to anyone.

Another round of mournful wailing ensued, and all previous thoughts were snuffed out. Before long, tears soaked into her pillow as she lay in a fetal position. Then another wail, the loudest of them all, filled her bedroom. She bared her teeth, smothering her head with her other pillows. When it ended, a profound silence settled, as if the world were absent of life itself.

With the needle of her mind replaying her Grandma's childhood story like a recording, she envisioned the scene in her bedroom that night. A small lamp sat on the dresser by her door barely illuminating the room, and her sweet Grandma sat perched on the edge of her bed, holding her hand and speaking with a soft, reassuring voice.

Why had Grandma divulged that scary piece of folklore to her that night? Had she had some premonition or received an omen that her granddaughter would be in danger in the future? Was it a cautionary tale, telling her to be wary of those she associated with?

She unveiled her head from beneath her pillows to check the time. one seventeen in the morning. In less than six hours her alarm would sound.

What about her interview tomorrow? Stepping up to the panel of senior partners, wearing smart clothing and with bags sagging beneath her eyes, wouldn't make the best impression. She had no doubts that co-workers, Sandra and Noel, would be dressed to the nines, ready with the answers to any questions the panel asked. She needed to get back to sleep, but her mind couldn't stop chugging forward. She rolled over onto her back and yawned, flicking her big toes against one another, a habit she had developed as a little girl to help calm her down.

Her eyelids drifted shut. Although the wailing had ceased, she could still recall its tone. She let herself concentrate on the sensation of her toes, and soon, a feeling of lightheadedness flushed over her.

*****

When her eyes opened again, the time on the clock read one twenty-seven. A small, confident smile breached her lips with the knowledge that she had fallen back asleep, albeit briefly. She resumed flicking her toes and was soon overcome by slumber's heavy hand.

Her alarm clock buzzed, and she hopped up on her elbows. The clock read seven o'clock: time to get up and prepare for a day that could determine a new direction in her life.

She silenced the clock's annoying buzz and returned to her elbows. Above her, a silent fan spun steadily, interrupting the ceiling's smooth white tapestry. She found the shroud of sleep difficult to cast aside. The morning sun streamed through her blinds, and a deep blue hue filled her bedroom.

As her grogginess subsided, her idle mind became polluted by the events of last night once again; the banshee's wailing. But had it truly been a banshee, or was there some other reasonable explanation? It had seemed so real. Too real.

She sat up, searching for evidence that she'd awakened last night. Something like finding her slippers out of place, or a half-empty glass of water sitting on her nightstand. Anything at all. Alas, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was where it should have been.

Uncertainty dominated her morning while she prepared for work. She'd studied hard and obtained her Juris Doctor a few months back, but so had Sandra and Noel. The three paralegals had worked together for the same firm for over five years. There was friendship, but just below the niceties, jealousy existed.

As the morning wore on, her confidence revved up. She took a good look in the mirror after applying her makeup and getting dressed. She looked good, and she knew it. The strikingly blue pantsuit, with a red power blouse and black heels, made her feel invincible. This promotion would be all hers.

While preparing breakfast, she reached up and pulled on the cabinet's brass-plated handle above the counter.

Its hinges gave a high-pitched shriek.

She snapped her hand back, expecting something to leap out. Staring at the cabinet door, she'd realized how silly she'd become. She rolled her eyes, stepped forward, and pulled the cabinet door wide open. Just as expected, nothing but instant coffee, some creamer, and other pantry items stared back at her.

While eating, she imagined herself at her interview in front of her seniors, sitting up straight, hands folded, and sporting a demure smile. As the interviewers tossed questions and situations at her, she'd remain composed as she answered them with a steady even tone and full eye contact.

After finishing off the last bite of toast, she swallowed the remainder of her coffee and sighed. Such contentment had been absent in her life for a long time, and she chose to revel in it for a few more minutes. An old REO Speedwagon song entered her mind, and she began humming its tune as she placed her used utensils and plate in the sink with her other dirty dishes, leaving the crumpled napkin on the table. Then she snatched her purse off the counter and opened the door that led into the garage. A subtle burst of exhaust-fumed air brushed her skin as the pressure changed.

Muted daylight streamed through the garage's windows, giving her a welcoming view of her grey SUV. Today would be a busy one: a deposition first thing in the morning, followed by the excruciating wait for her turn with the panel. Not exactly a typical day, but definitely out of the ordinary. She backed out of the garage, frowned at the cloudy sky above, and pulled away.

*****

Erratic drivers were her main concern during the morning's drive. With many of them performing last-minute lane changes to enter the Alcoa highway, she chose to detour from her normal route, instead preferring the slower but longer commute navigating Knoxville's surface streets. A near-collision she had experienced yesterday afternoon on the same highway continued to haunt her, and besides, at the slower speeds, she could drive with the windows down and still keep her hair intact.

Street traffic moved at a brisk pace, and the thought of using surface streets from now on crossed her mind. Up ahead a traffic light turned red. She hit her brakes while fumbling with the radio's volume knob to turn it down. She came to a gentle stop and continued tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, silently mouthing the words to the playing song.

An earsplitting, high-pitched squeal approached from behind. Her fingers dug into the steering wheel and her body stiffened.

She spun her head to the right.

Through the open passenger window, an enormous muddy tire rolled forward. The eighteen-wheeler came to a stop, and even after recognizing the behemoth in the adjacent lane, her heart continued racing. She loosened her grip on the steering wheel causing her fingers to pulse with pain. After taking a few deep breaths, a semblance of normalcy returned. The traffic light turned green, and the eighteen-wheeler's engine thundered. She pressed on the gas, and her SUV lurched forward.

Calm down, Claire. Everything's okay.

For the first time that morning, her ears paid more attention to the sounds of traffic than her radio.

She continued driving, concentrating on the road as best she could, and although she hated radio commercials, she dared not touch the dial. Let them play. More music would play soon. Her ears stayed attuned to every sound around her now, and her mind worked overtime, separating the mundane from the extraordinary.

She gazed at the clock on the dashboard. It read seven minutes after eight. She was running a bit behind, but there was still time to spare. Up ahead, another traffic light turned red, and she thought that maybe taking surface streets this morning hadn't been such a great idea. She braked and came to a stop. The sound of her radio finally dominated the noise outside her windows. She sat back and listened to Nirvana's hit, _Smells Like Teen Spirit_ , but in a hidden corner of her mind, the word _spirit_ reminded her of the banshee once again. Her eyes gazed down at her radio, and she let her mind drift.

Her Grandma claimed to have seen it one night while growing up back in Ireland. A forlorn wail had awakened her, and she peeked out from her bedroom window. It stood near a malformed tree on the property on that moonless night. An unnatural light had emanated from its ghostly white robes, which swayed to and fro, and its eyes appeared as glowing red embers. The next day, her aunt, who lived with the family, claimed to have seen it also, and on the previous night, too. Three days later, her aunt had slipped into a coma for an unknown reason and passed away. Again, Claire questioned why her grandmother had relayed such a horrific story to her.

Beep! Beep!

Claire jumped.

The traffic light was green, and vehicles passed her by, so she pressed the gas to get up to speed as fast as she could. The stress of this morning's commute was turning out to be more than she had expected, so she switched off her radio and concentrated on the drive.

*****

Pulling up to her job site, she turned into the detached parking garage. The misery that engulfed its interior this cloudy morning absorbed her SUV, and the pungent odor of stagnant exhaust fumes climbed through her open windows. The corner parking spots appeared as voids leading to nowhere, much too dark for her comfort level. She switched on her headlights as she cruised up the ramp to the second level.

As she rounded a corner, her tires let out a soft screech. Her headlights flashed across a particularly dark section, where one of the main support beams stood.

She thought she saw a woman, in a white dress, stooped over.

Who was that?

She continued forward, then decided she wanted a better look. She pressed her brakes and nearly came to a stop while peering in her rearview mirror. It was too dark to see anything back there, so she assumed it must have been a woman, looking for something she'd dropped.

_She'd better be careful in that white dress_.

Her foot eased off the brake, and she proceeded through the light-starved platform in search of a parking spot near the elevator. This particular morning, an open spot sat adjacent to it, but it also overlooked the side of the garage. She preferred parking near the interior walls due to her tendency to experience vertigo, but today, she considered this spot a gem, and possibly a good luck sign. It was a rare gift and well worth a few breathless moments.

She pulled in, switched off her headlights and engine then scrambled through her purse for some lipstick, knowing she had to look her best this morning. The visor's mirror cast a reflection she admired, and she knew she was ready. Time to head inside.

At the elevator doors, she pressed the down button with her knuckle as she always did. Who knew what germs lurked on its opaque white surface? The elevator doors whisked open, and she stepped inside, being careful not to lean against the walls, although they appeared quite clean. She pushed the button for the ground floor with her knuckle.

The brief trip came to a gentle rest, and the doors swooshed open.

For a fleeting moment, she could have sworn she saw that same woman in the white dress. She did a double-take and stuck her head out from the elevator.

No one was there.

She stepped out and heard tires squealing above her. It was a common sound she'd heard many times, due to the garage's filthy, slick surface, but this squeal was different, and goosebumps rose on her skin. It sounded more like mournful grieving.

She quick-stepped from the elevator, checking her watch as she crossed the courtyard to the glass doors of the building next door.

*****

"Good morning, Bruce," she said, greeting the daytime security guard standing behind his glass-covered desk, set just inside the tinted glass doors.

"Hello, Claire. How's the mornin' been treating ya?"

She feigned a smile and replied, "Oh, this morning has been great. I've got to pop up to a meeting. You have a terrific day." Her voice stayed very upbeat, and she was sure she'd fooled him. No need to let him in on how stressful the morning had been. She strolled across the spacious lobby's grey faux stone tiles towards the four elevators and proceeded to the fourth floor.

She pulled out her cell phone to get a jumpstart on her email, allowing her index finger to swipe across the screen, tapping it only to read a message. Soon a reminder popped up for both the morning meeting and the interview later that day. She acknowledged them just as the elevator doors opened.

Turning the corner, she encountered a few coworkers crisscrossing the hallway, who greeted her as they stepped into conference rooms and offices carrying folders, papers, and tablets. Claire entered her wood-paneled office and planted herself in the high-backed black leather chair behind her desk. The papers she required for the meeting in thirty minutes were already stacked in a manila folder off to the right. She switched on her monitor, then pulled her keyboard closer. A few taps on the keys and she was logged in. Twenty-three emails sat in her inbox, and two scheduling alerts appeared. She closed the alert for the upcoming meeting but left the alert for the interview on the screen.

With a little time to spare, she opened a browser and navigated to the local news website. She was a stickler about keeping tabs on the events taking place in her city; however, nothing really stood out this morning. In fact, it was a typical news day, both bad and good stories. National news was the same. She did focus on the weather, however. Waking up to cloudy skies was unexpected, and she checked to see if rain was in the forecast. Her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth drooped when she read that rain was forecast in the afternoon and for the rest of the week. So much for washing her car. Now she'd have to drive home with all those knuckleheads that seemed to forget how to drive whenever it rained. But it was out of her control. She slipped the forecast aside, grabbed her folder and headed to her meeting.

*****

She sported her best smile as she stepped into the conference room and took a seat. Sitting across from her was Sandra, one of the interns up for the promotion.

"Hello, Sandra," Claire said, her head tilted slightly down.

"Good morning, Claire. You look really nice today. Good luck with the interview this afternoon."

"Thank you. As usual, you always dress well. I want to wish you good luck also."

"Well, thank you."

It was perfect. A short, sweet conversation with a rival. There was one thing Claire knew for sure. If she didn't get the promotion, she hoped Sandra would get it. Having to work for Noel could very well be a resume-updating event. Moments later, the clients arrived, and after all the greetings were passed amongst them, the meeting got underway.

Just over an hour later, all the agreements were made and the papers were signed. It was a successful meeting, although some contention did arise. It was bound to happen, so Claire made sure to include Sandra and Julian, one of the firm's partners, in the discussions with her. The disagreements ended up being much smaller than their clients had imagined and making small modifications sealed the deal.

As they all stood, saying thank you and shaking hands, Claire gazed over at Sandra. Sandra nodded. Claire smiled. As usual, the clients were allowed to leave the conference room first. Julian followed, then Claire, and finally Sandra. Julian waved to the clients as they entered the elevator and turned to Claire.

"Claire, you were amazing in there. Excellent job!" Then Julian turned to Sandra, and said, "You too, Sandra. Awesome job! You two make a great team. Goodbye, ladies, and thank you!"

As he walked away, Sandra commented, "Yes, he's a cute one, isn't he?"

Clair flinched.

The smile Sandra gave as she turned back concerned Claire, but she let it go and returned to her office to continue working until lunchtime.

When the noon hour hit, she strode toward the elevator, peering inside offices to catch what her coworkers were doing. No one looked up to see her leave.

When the elevator doors opened to the first floor, she stepped out, wondering which restaurant to patronize. Bruce flashed a smile at her and resumed working with a visitor who was checking in at his desk. She returned the gesture and exited the building. The ground was wet, and she surmised it must have rained while she was meeting with the clients.

There it was again—the squealing tires coming from the parking garage. But she didn't understand why. Was the garage floor so slick right now that the noise had become constant, or was it due to the tracks of rainwater left by the tires? The sounds ceased before she hopped in the garage's elevator. She still hadn't made up her mind about where to eat.

As she stepped out onto the second floor, more screeching sounds were bouncing off the garage's walls. She'd never heard it so noisy before, but it would all cease once she climbed inside her SUV.

*****

After a satisfying meal at Souper!Salad!, a small wave of apprehension washed over her as she re-entered the parking garage. She chose to keep her windows rolled up this time. Upon reaching the garage's second floor, she noticed her old parking spot had remained open. It was unbelievable but true, and she pulled in without hesitation.

Bruce greeted her once again, but this time her smile was sincere. All the fear she had harbored earlier that day had been set free after lunch. She boarded the elevator and proceeded to the fourth floor. The hallway leading to her office stood empty, which was no surprise. She usually arrived earlier from lunch than everyone else, just to enjoy the quiet and privacy. She stepped into her office and shut the door behind her. This was the perfect time to go over her answers for the job promotion interview.

*****

Someone knocked on her door at one-thirty this afternoon. She gazed upward, and Stacey Freeman, one of the office administrators, motioned for her to come outside. Claire had maintained a close working relationship with the young office admin. Although she was another slim woman in the office, she dressed very professionally and did not throw her sex appeal around like others. Stacey loved to laugh and was not a gossip, which Claire appreciated.

Claire stood, brushed the wrinkles from her clothes, and cleared her throat before opening the door.

"Hi there, Stacey. It's so nice to see you today," Claire said with a broad smile.

"Hi yourself. Well, Claire. Are you ready to get this promotion?" Stacey leaned in as they headed down the carpeted hallway.

"I'm so ready for this. I don't expect any real difficult questions, but I am a little worried about my competition."

"Look, I've been watching both Sandra and Noel the past week," Stacey whispered. "You're the only one I've seen actually studying up on court procedure. Personally, I think you've got this."

Claire grasped her hand. It was warm. She leaned in toward Stacey and said, "I think I've got this too, but keep it to yourself, okay?"

"Oh, sure. You can count on me." Claire released her hand when they arrived at the conference room door. "Good luck, Claire," Stacey whispered before knocking.

A stern male voice behind the sturdy wooden door said, "Please, come in."

Stacey raised her hand, crossed her fingers, and whispered, "Go get 'em," before opening the door.

*****

Claire took a deep breath then exhaled making her cheeks balloon just before she entered the room. Sitting at the long conference table near the middle was Julian. Next to him sat the other three partners whose names were associated with the law firm: Tom Grayson, Nicholas Cohen, and Paul Fitzgerald. Claire had worked with all of them at one time or another, just like Sandra and Noel, and in Claire's mind, they were truly upstanding men—extremely intelligent, and diligent in their duties to their clients. But the underlying code still existed. It was a boys' club, and she was willing to claw her way to the top, to have her last name displayed in the lobby of the fourth floor along with theirs. Even though this promotion would not make that happen, it was the first step to breaking the glass ceiling, and she knew she had the hammer.

She glided in with her head held high and took a seat across the table from the panel of men. Her heart raced like she'd just finished a marathon, but she made sure to control her breathing. Her nostrils flared now and then, but she made it a point not to appear too relaxed. She scooted her chair forward so she sat close to the table, but not close enough to have her chest perched atop it. Her forearms lay on the table, but not her elbows, and she placed one hand atop the other. That was it—perfect posture. She'd rehearsed it many times until it became natural. During her entire seating routine, she kept her eyes on the panel, examining every nuanced expression for acceptance or rejection.

After settling in, she waited for one of the partners to speak, but to her surprise, the first words were spoken toward Stacey. "Stacey, are you ready to take notes?"

Her head swiveled left. There was Stacey, sitting at the far end of the table.

How did she get there without me noticing?

That sent a shock through Claire's confidence. How could she represent someone in a case when she didn't notice someone so close? She felt her toes as they began to flutter up and down in her shoes. Now, real nervousness had kicked in.

"Yes, Mr. Cohen," Stacey answered.

"Alright then. Good afternoon, Claire." Nicholas Cohen spoke in a clear voice which had a high-pitched tinge to it, but his inflections were superb. "Sorry you're the first one to be interviewed, but your office was closest." A small amount of chuckling ensued and Claire smiled enough to bare her teeth. It was time to be a team player. "Anyway, as you know, we're looking for the most qualified paralegal to join our team. We could have gone outside the firm. It was our right to do so, but the partners realize that we have real talent in-house—talent we'd hate to lose. So we decided to find which of our paralegals was the most talented. Fortunately, you were chosen as one of them."

Claire smiled and was ready to reply, but Nicholas continued.

"We'll select the paralegal with the most experience and team her with the person who comes in second. The one we choose will mentor the one that comes in second. The last interviewee will remain with the company in their current status. Is that clear?"

Claire didn't particularly like the idea, but to make waves now was career suicide. "Yes, Mr. Cohen. I understand." Her voice was steady and confident.

"Excellent! Well, let's get started now."

*****

"Thank you, gentlemen, for giving me the opportunity to answer your questions. I hope they were satisfactory," Claire stated as she rose at the end of the interview. She made sure to make eye contact with everyone. Stacey stood, and Claire turned to see her smiling face. Returning her focus to the panel, she saw that Julian's face displayed a slight grin, and he gave a small nod. Claire didn't return the nod, but she kept her smile as Stacey led her out into the hallway then closed the door.

"Claire, I think you did wonderful in there," Stacey said, clutching her notepad to her chest while bouncing up and down.

"You really think so? Some of their questions really threw me, but I think I did okay."

"I'm sure you did. Listen, you go back to your office and relax. I have to get back to the conference room so they can tell me when to bring in Sandra or Noel. You did great, Claire. I'm rooting for you."

Claire grabbed Stacey's hand, gave it a soft squeeze, and said, "Thank you, dear." She returned to her office and shut the door.

Before sitting down, she clasped her hands together and raised them to her mouth.

"Dear Lord, give me the strength to wait here with divine patience while Sandra and Noel are participating in their interviews."

She took a seat and stared at her computer screen until her excitement relinquished its grip, allowing her to finish her work.

At four-thirty, someone knocked softly on Claire's door.

"Come on in." The door opened slowly, and Stacey peeked inside. Claire found that odd because Stacey usually paraded inside with all kinds of energy.

"Are you busy, Claire?" Stacey asked. Her voice sounded mousey.

"Not too busy for you. Come on in."

Stacey stepped inside and closed the door behind her, but remained there with her back to the door. Her eyebrows arched upward and the corners of her mouth pointed toward the floor. Claire's heartbeat increased and a warm, prickly feeling flushed over her.

"What's wrong, Stacey?"

"Claire, I'm so sorry. I...I mean. Oh, God, I'm so sorry to tell you this."

"Stacey, what is it?" Claire sat forward.

"Umm...Noel. Ah, Noel got the position and she will be mentoring Sandra. I'm so very sorry, Claire." Tears shimmered in the corner of Stacey's eyes.

Claire remained silent. Her world had been ripped from beneath her, and she was falling into an abyss of nothingness. She couldn't understand the crush of emotions assaulting her at the moment. All she could do was sit there, staring _through_ Stacey, with wide eyes.

"I'm so, so sorry, Claire."

"Huh? Oh, that's okay, Stacey. Thank you." Those were the only words Claire allowed to leave her lips. There would be no more working today. She switched off her computer and prepared to leave. Her mind was on automatic, not giving a passing thought to any of her movements. After closing her office door, she proceeded to the elevator.

Julian stepped into the hallway and stopped when he saw her. Her mouth dropped when she saw his doe-like eyes, and when she was a few steps away, Julian said, "Good evening, Claire. I'm so sorry you weren't selected."

"Good evening, and thank you, Julian." Her voice cracked as she stared into his eyes.

She continued walking, then turned the corner to the elevators. When the doors opened, she found it to be empty. She stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor. When the doors closed, she sobbed softly.

*****

When the doors opened for the ground floor, she'd composed herself, but had no idea how long she'd be able to keep it together. Running out of the building was her preferred option, but that would only draw more attention to her, and right now, she wished she was invisible.

Every step she took across the lobby felt weighted, and reaching the glass doors seemed impossible, but she trudged forward. No one else in the lobby paid her any attention, to her great relief, but there was one person who never failed to speak to her...Bruce. If she could get past him and not break down, she'd consider it a small triumph.

Please don't let him ask me if something is wrong. Please don't ask.

Just her luck—Bruce was not assisting anyone at the moment and was free to speak to her as she passed. Would she be able to fool him again just like this morning? She had serious doubts, but she had to try. Instead of appearing pleasant, she chose to appear tired, which was partially true.

Her gait became more haggard and she dropped her shoulders. Maybe if he recognized the posture, he'd keep any conversations brief. His eyes met hers, and his usual smile softened.

"Hard day, Claire?" Bruce asked. His concern was obvious.

"Yes, Bruce. A very hard day."

"I'm so sorry. Well, you have a good evening."

There it was again... "I'm so sorry." She was tired of hearing that phrase, and it struck a nerve. She felt herself welling up again and said, "Good evening." Tears began falling again just as she opened the door.

*****

Her walk across the wet courtyard was a lonely one. There was a feeling of total abandonment from everyone she'd worked with. Even as she stepped into the garage elevator to go to the second floor, a man and woman refused to enter before the doors closed. Another tear rolled down her cheek. Her future at the law firm was in question now. Did she have the strength to face everyone in the office for an extended length of time? Now that she sat at the bottom of the totem pole, would she have the ambition to try to climb it once more? Why had her life taken such a crummy turn?

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. A blast of air whipped at her clothing and her moist face became frigid. She drew her chin to her chest, leaned forward, and proceeded to her SUV, relieved that it sat right around the corner. The persistent wind caused wailing to come from many directions, but she didn't care. The only wailing she'd hear soon was her own once she arrived at home.

As she rounded the back of her vehicle, there was a crash from below, and she headed toward the railing. In the courtyard, one of the maintenance worker's carts had tipped over, spreading its contents over the wet ground. Seconds later, symptoms of her vertigo kicked in, and the dizziness became too much. She backed away from the railing.

"Claire. Claire," a voice whispered—or at least, she thought that was what she heard.

She turned.

An apparition, a stooped old lady with long unkempt white hair flowing freely in the wind, floated by Claire's vehicle. Its white robes waved in all directions, and her eye sockets were black, devoid of eyeballs.

A craggy arm reached out toward Claire, and it lunged at her, mouth agape, wailing.

" _Claire_!"

Claire screamed as loud as she could, desperately backpedaling to avoid being pounced upon. Her back hit the railing and her momentum caused her to tumble over it. She slammed into the ground, headfirst.

The apparition floated above Claire for a moment, then whispered, " _Welcome, Claire!_ " before vanishing.

## THE END

# 3

# Remembering the Bellflower

Act 1

Firm knocking on the front door of the Valdes' home disrupted Sebastian from a dreamless sleep early that December morning. He could still taste his mother's abondigas soup and wished he would have brushed his teeth before bed. Beneath his bedroom door, he spotted the long, thin sliver of light from their dimly lit hallway. The only other source of light were the red LED numbers on his clock, which cast a warm glow on his nightstand. It read one twenty-seven.

_Who'd knock on the door at this time of night?_ An annoying lump sat in the back of his throat, and he grunted to clear it. He tossed back the covers, sat up, and swiped his feet across the floor until they glided into his slippers. The bedsprings squeaked as he stood, and in the dark, he lifted his robe off the bedpost and slipped it over his shoulders to douse the chill as he headed for the bedroom door. He opened it just as his parents, both in their robes, passed by.

The hallway light made him squint as he followed them; the smell of last night's tasty soup still hung in the air. He found the slapping of his father's slippers annoying, but it would end soon. From behind, he watched his mother's gaze switch between his father and the front door. _What's wrong with her?_

His father placed an eye at the peephole, and exclaimed, "Oh, God!" in a deep tone, which shook Sebastian. His mother's hands clutched his father's arm.

When the door open, Sebastian's eyes widened, and he felt his heart thumping. Fall's crisp fingers sailed past the door and grazed about Sebastian's bare legs. Standing on their porch was an officer with his hands clasped in front.

He took a step back and asked, "Are you Mr. and Mrs. Valdes?"

"Yes, we are," his father answered. A chill came over Sebastian and goosebumps rose on his arms.

"Do you have a son named Tomas?"

"Yes, we do. Why? Has something happened to him?" Sebastian held his breath.

"I'm afraid so. Tonight, about an hour ago, your son became mixed up in an altercation with some known gang members and was shot. I'm sorry to say he didn't survive."

"You mean he's dead?" his mother asked, her voice strained.

"I'm extremely sorry, ma'am. Yes, he is." The officer dropped his head.

A guttural scream exploded from his mother as she dropped to her knees. In a single motion, she cocked her head backward and looked toward heaven with balled fists raised above her head as tears flooded her face. Sebastian remained frozen as the realization that he'd never see his little brother again sank in. The corner of his eyes stung as they welled with tears.

His mother's crying snapped him back to reality, and he saw his father bend over and grab both her arms to lift her back up. Sebastian moved in and assisted by hoisting her beneath her shoulders. She leaned over and hugged his father. That's when he saw a small stream of tears fall from his father's eyes. Sebastian turned to the officer and noted how he shifted and adjusted himself.

"Officer? Do you know which gang it was?" Sebastian asked, trying to hold back his own tears.

The officer stared and opened his mouth, then paused. Seconds later, he said, "I'd better not say."

"Okay, can you tell me where it happened?" he said, raising his voice over his mother's sobbing.

The officer's eyes told Sebastian that he wasn't fooling anyone. He was very aware of what Sebastian was getting at. Then his eyes softened, and he said, "We found him by the grocery store on Webb Chapel Road." Instantly, Sebastian saw the officer become even more uncomfortable, having given out that bit of information.

To put his mind at ease, Sebastian said, "Thank you, sir. I'm sorry you had to be the one to come to our house so early in the morning to deliver bad news."

"That's okay, young man. It's the part of my job I deplore, but it is my job. I'm very sorry for your loss, sir and ma'am. You too, young man. If you can, try to get a little rest tonight. Tomorrow we'd like you to come down to the station to ask you some questions and identify your son."

Sebastian's father answered, "We'll be there. Thank you." His voice cracked.

Act 2

Sebastian decided to return to school the day after he and his family buried Tomas, very much against the wishes of his parents, but he needed to be there before the high school let out for Christmas break. He'd bet anything that Tomas' friends would be in school, and he wanted to have words with them.

He strolled into homeroom that Wednesday morning and took his seat as usual. He could feel the stares all around him. The girl who sat in the desk on his right reached over and touched his shoulder.

"Sebastian? I'm so sorry about your brother. Are you okay?"

"Thanks, Carla. I'm okay. I am sort of worried about my parents, though."

"Oh, I hope they'll be okay."

"I think they will after a little while."

He felt someone's hand on his left shoulder. He turned. It was Dominic.

"Hey, man. I'm sorry, too. Tomas was cool people."

"Thanks, Dom."

He watched as others in the class approached him to give him strength, which made him well up. His eyes were full of tears when the morning bell rang, and he was grateful for the reprieve. He wiped his eyes and prepared for another school day.

"Good morning, everyone," Mr. DeLuca said after everyone had settled down. "Before our announcements, I want to express my sympathy to Sebastian. I'm sure everyone has heard what happened. Sebastian, I've talked to most of your teachers, and they are willing to give you some time to yourself if you need it. Just ask."

The gesture was unexpected and made Sebastian well up again, but he kept himself in check. It fit in perfectly with the plan he had devised, but he still had to play the part. He replied, his voice cracking, "Thank you, Mr. DeLuca. Thanks."

The announcements sounded over the PA system, but Sebastian's mind was elsewhere. He knew every class Tomas had been in, and he knew Tomas' friends were in most of them. He was going to find out if they were in school today.

*****

He walked into second-period Geometry, and the teacher, Mrs. Humbolt, displayed a sympathetic smile as he passed by. He smiled back, nodded his head, and continued to his seat. The class started immediately, and he paid attention as always. Twenty minutes later, while the class was busy working practice problems, Sebastian left his seat and approached her desk. She looked up.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Humbolt. Do you think I can be excused for a little while?"

She slumped a bit in her seat, smiled, and said, "Here's the hall pass. Come back when you're ready." She handed him the hall pass.

"Thank you, ma'am." He took the pass and quietly left the classroom, closing the door gently behind him.

This was perfect. He headed down the hallway to the English class Tomas would have been taking during second-period. His sneakers barely made a sound, and the hallway was empty. He took the stairs down to the first floor where all the ninth grade classes were held, poked his head out before leaving the last step, and saw no one cruising around. He continued on his way until he came close to the door of Tomas' class. He walked by as slow as he possibly could, peering through the window in the door. He spotted two of Tomas' friends. It looked like they were bored out of their minds. _Good. That's two._ He headed back upstairs to Geometry class.

*****

The bell rang for lunch, and Sebastian followed the flood of students downstairs towards the lunchroom. At the last minute, he took a detour through the school's front doors.

The clouds hung low on that day, and the cold December air penetrated his thick sweater and jeans, but that didn't bother him. He needed to be free to move about. He strolled along the sidewalk just outside the school, then made a right, around the corner toward his destination: the back of the gymnasium. It's a place he'd found Tomas many times, hanging out with those derelicts as they smoked their cigarettes, acted like they were tough, and talked shit to each other. They were usually hold up in a small cubbyhole where an emergency exit door sat.

As he approached, he heard them spouting off at one another and he caught quick whiffs of cigarette smoke. He stopped and listened. There were three distinct voices; all of them were there. He continued until he found himself standing in front of the cubbyhole. The three of them stared and their eyes grew.

Sebastian said, "I knew I'd find you back here."

One replied, "So what. What's it to you?"

"You're gonna tell me what I wanna know about my brother."

"We're not telling you shit."

Sebastian felt heat growing inside as tension hung heavy in the breeze. He stepped forward. The so-called leader stepped forward also, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"What happened the night my brother was killed?" Sebastian felt his heart thumping and his body stiffening.

The leader blew cigarette smoke towards Sebastian's face, but the breeze dispersed it. "Hey, your brother did the right thing, man. He took one for the team. You know what I'm sayin'?"

Sebastian's shoulders dropped, and he stood up straight. "What did you make him do?"

"That's none of your goddamn business, brotha!" the guy said, ending with that same smirk.

Sebastian took a step forward and swung, clocking the guy on the side of the jaw. His cigarette flew away as his body was flung to the side. Sebastian jumped at him and, using a wrestling hold he'd learned in school, he soon had the guy's left arm twisted behind his back while Sebastian's right arm was around his throat. If he made any sudden movements, that left arm would pop out of the socket, and he knew it.

"Let's see you talk shit now, asshole! Come on, say something...anything!" Sebastian heard him groan, then turned him around so the other two hoodlums could see the pain on his face. "Either of you want some of this? Please say yes. Please! That way I can pop his shoulder out and start on you two." The two other guys remained motionless, their eyes shifting between Sebastian and their subdued friend. "So which one of you punks wants to speak up, huh?"

The shorter one, wearing a blue V-neck sweater and black jeans said, "Look, man. We didn't do anything. Those guys just shot him."

"Bullshit! That's a damn lie." Sebastian looked down at the leader and with gritted teeth said, "What did you tell Tomas to do? Tell me!" He pulled up on the leader's arm.

"Arghh! Okay! Okay!" Sebastian didn't release any pressure. "We were looking for some bud that night, so we headed over to Webb Chapel."

"So you went and messed around with the T-Knights. That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard." Sebastian placed even more pressure on the leader's arm.

"Ow! Yeah! Okay! I told Tomas to get a quarter ounce, but we didn't have enough money."

"What? Why didn't _you_ go, instead of telling my brother to go?"

"I don't know!"

Sebastian turned his attention to the other punks. The taller one remained petrified, while the shorter one spoke.

"Hey, man. We didn't know they were gonna start shootin'. We thought they'd let us slide. We just wanted ta get high."

"So you told my brother to cop for you. I know you know he didn't smoke that shit. Isn't that right?"

"Yeah! So?"

"So you made him a sacrificial lamb. Sending my brother to do what one of you should have done."

The short guy dropped his head and backed away.

"Ouch!" the leader screamed. "Let me go, man!"

"Shut the hell up! I should break your damn arm for the fun of it."

"Don't, man....don't!"

Sebastian shoved him away and kicked him in the ass. The leader of the group turned with tears rolling down his cheeks. His compadres dared not touch him. In fact, they moved away.

"You three better stay the hell away from me from now on. If I see you doing anything wrong, I'm going to the principal then the police. You've just confessed to me, so remember that."

The three guys stared, seemingly aware that he was telling the truth. They backed up further into the cubbyhole and Sebastian turned and walked away, but not before giving all three the finger.

Now that he knew the circumstances of how Tomas died and who had done it, he struggled with the question of telling his parents or not. They deserved to know how he had died, but it may rehash too many hard feelings too soon. He chose to keep the details to himself, at least for a little while. His parents had been through enough. Now, with only a few more days until school was out for winter break, he had plenty of time to devise a plan to deal with the T-Knight gang.

When the officer had answered Sebastian's question that fateful night, he had recognized that the Webb Chapel area belonged to the T-Knights gang. They were known for their drug dealing and savagery. An ongoing gang war between them and the nearby Love Field gang had resulted in deaths on both sides. Even the heightened police presence hadn't made a difference. Sebastian had never had a reason to visit the area until now.

Act 3

The morning of December 31st settled over the Valdes household along with the rest of Dallas. High wind-stripped clouds floated in the chilly, pale-blue sky. Sebastian woke and rolled beneath the covers to watch the subtle movement of a tree's bare branches outside his bedroom window. Winter had definitely arrived. He pulled back the sheets, stepped to the window, and gazed at the myriad of dead or dying leaves covering the lawn, wondering if he'd be joining them by night's end.

Later that morning, Sebastian joined his family at the kitchen table to enjoy a warm New Year's Eve breakfast. As they ate, he pondered over the question he wanted to ask his parents, but he had no idea how to bring up the subject. Would they believe it was a real request, or some silly, fanciful idea? After giving it more thought, he concluded that the best way to spring it on them was to wait until they were almost done eating. That way, if they didn't like his request, he wouldn't be forced to sit there in uncomfortable silence for the rest of the meal. No need to get them upset in the middle of such a tasty breakfast.

Conversations were sparse but light and upbeat. His eyes periodically focused on his father's plate. Once it was empty, which wouldn't be long now, he'd find the courage to ask the question. His father's fork clinked as he set it on the plate, and then he pulled his cup of coffee to his lips.

That was Sebastian's cue. He set his fork down and asked, "Mama and Papa. Is it okay if I use the car to go to sleep in the cemetery next to Tomas tonight?"

His father's eyes shifted to his face, and he set his coffee cup down while continuing to stare at him. Sebastian turned to his mother. She'd set her fork down and stared back. An old habit returned: his bouncing knees. Their rapid movement could have churned butter. His head swiveled right and left between his parent's questioning eyes. _What's wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?_

Moments later, he watched as their straight faces were replaced with full grins.

His father leaned over, patted his shoulder, and said, "Sure. I know you miss your brother just like we do, and I'm proud you remembered our old Chilean custom. Honoring our deceased loved ones and celebrating the New Year with them is sacred."

From the other side of the table, his mother stood up, stepped over, and kissed his cheek. She gave her blessing also. With both of their blessings given, he'd managed to remove the first hurdle. With his father working the night shift, it made removing the second hurdle that much easier. His plan would begin tonight.

*****

After the sun set, Sebastian gathered small bags of snacks, a couple of bottles of water, some warm blankets, and his sleeping bag, because the temperature was expected to drop quite a bit tonight. He carried everything into the living room and placed it on the floor next to the sofa. Second thoughts began nagging at him. Did he have to courage to do what needed to be done?

He entered his mother's bedroom, where she lay in her bed, reading a magazine. In the back of his mind, he figured that, if this was the last time he was going to see her, he wanted to leave her with a special memory.

He surprised her with a tight hug. Her familiar warmth was soothing, and he wished he could just stay home.

Upon releasing her, his mother gave him a puzzled look, then said, "Is everything alright? I didn't expect that from you."

He looked her in the eyes and said, "Yes, Mama. Everything is fine. I just wanted you to know how much I love you."

She let out a deep sigh, and her face softened, and for a moment, he thought he spotted a tear beginning to form. She pulled him in for a tighter hug.

Go ahead and be careful. I love you," she said as she released him.

"I will, Mama." He turned to leave, then swiveled around and said, "I love you," one more time before exiting her bedroom.

He strolled to the hall closet on the other side of the house and opened the door. The lighting was dim inside the musty closet, but it was enough for him to see what he was doing. Inside sat his father's gun safe. He pulled his heavy coat from the hanger, then knelt down next to it and began entering the combination. Each button on the thick metal door clicked softly as he ran through the numbers. He lifted the handle, and the door swung open. The sharp scent of gunpowder and steel entered his nose as he retrieved the weapon and some shells. He paused and took some time to truly contemplate what he was about to do. He held the power to inflict death in his hands. Once he pulled the trigger, there was no turning back.

He stuffed everything inside his coat pocket, then slipped it on, but the weapon weighed down his right shoulder and it felt unnatural. He closed the safe and backed out of the closet, propping the gun up with his hand. The house was quiet except for the sound of his jacket rubbing against his pant leg. He grabbed his mother's keys from the decorative bowl sitting by the front door, along with the rest of his gear for tonight's sleepover, and headed out of the house.

As he drove, he knew what he was going to do, but he still hadn't devised a plan on how to do it. Scenarios began dancing in his mind. Should he walk by the group and shoot the leader outright? His chances of survival would be cut severely if someone else carried a gun. Should he do a drive-by? While it was a livable scenario, he could miss the gang's leader. They could also get a look at his car and the license plate. Should he park nearby and perform a sniper maneuver? Livable once again, but his accuracy had to be spot on. It seemed like the _idea_ of avenging his brother's death was much easier than doing it. For his own safety, he chose the drive-by method. It was fast, and the car offered him some sense of safety. He planned to cruise by the group a couple of times to see the location of the leader.

*****

As Sebastian drove that night, it appeared that the headlights from oncoming traffic stared deep into his soul, as if they knew his intentions, while the taillights in front issued warnings that tonight, someone's blood would flow.

He pulled into a grocery store parking lot, set up surveillance, and watched as a police cruiser approached the corner where the gang distributed their filthy street products. It was his chance to see how the gang reacted in the presence of authority. The gang members stepped back and turned away from the street, and after the cruiser drove past, they returned to gesturing at passing cars. _That's some really bold shit!_ It was as if they didn't care about anything. Nothing and no one was going to stop them from having their type of fun.

Well, tonight, at least one of them would be stopped, and the time to do it was now.

He started the car and pulled into the street to merge with traffic. His plan was to drive by and get a better idea of how they reacted to passing cars. As he closed in, they waved gestures, asking him and other drivers to slow down, but he continued past them, gazing in the rearview mirror. At the next block, he turned right. That was his first pass, and he needed another. Their same gesturing took place during his second pass, and the leader still sat behind them. He was easy to see and easy to kill. Sebastian pulled around the corner and parked on the street. He slid the gun from his jacket, checked the chamber and clip. This time, as he drove by, he'd be ready.

A sudden chill swept through the car once he rolled down the passenger window, and he began to shiver. He sat still and allowed his body to adapt to the colder conditions, and during that time, he dropped his head and said a prayer. When he finished, a surge of fear spread through his body as he realized there were only three outcomes from his actions: he'd be caught, killed, or would get away scot-free.

His mind was full. He pressed the accelerator, and the steering wheel vibrated. It was the first time he had paid attention to it. As he rounded the backside of the block, he reached over to position the gun to make it easier to lift and fire. His heart thumped as he approached the last right-hand turn.

My escape route!

He'd forgotten to make one, but it was too late now. He rounded the corner and drove by the grocery store parking lot. He spotted them up ahead and took his foot off the accelerator. Then he picked up the gun and held it out to the side, pointing it at the open window. His racing heart made his hand jitter while oncoming traffic approached. Did their lights reflect off the silver gun barrel? There was no turning back now. One of the guys began approaching his car. That wasn't the guy he wanted, but he kept his arm steady. The leader came into view, sitting in the same spot.

This is for Tomas!

He held his breath and pulled the trigger.

Multiple shots rang from the gun's barrel, filling the car's interior with deafening blasts, and he swore he'd remain deaf if he lived through this. Sparks ignited, and the recoil vibrated through his stiff arm with each shot. Through it all, his eyes never left the leader.

He dropped the gun on the car seat and punched the accelerator as the yelling behind him nearly drowned out the sound of his screeching tires. His chest was ready to burst, his ears rang, and trying to catch his breath was impossible as he leaned forward over the steering wheel. He kept straight, checking the rearview mirror to see if he was being pursued, then made a right turn down an unfamiliar side street. Next, he made a quick left turn at the first intersection he encountered.

Where am I?

He was lost. The names on the street signs made no sense. He lifted his foot off the accelerator and the quiet of the neighborhood smothered his engine. There were no other cars on the street except those parked by the curb. He had other questions. Had his plan worked? Had he killed the leader? Had he killed anyone else? Until he answered those questions, he couldn't calm himself down. His eyes shifted back and forth across the dark streets and a frightening thought occurred to him. Was this where the gang lived? Was this their turf? If it was, his predicament had just worsened, and a feeling of isolation crept in, a deep-seated fear that this was where he would die. He continued driving, rolling through stop signs as he tried to figure out which way he should turn.

At one intersection, he made a left-hand turn and spotted a traffic light down the street.

Is that Webb Chapel Road?

Headlights crossed beneath the traffic signal, and his heart settled down. Upon approaching the signal, he spotted a street sign off to his right. It read Webb Chapel, the same street where he had fired the gun. But which way should he turn? Right or left? He still had no idea where he was, so he turned left.

After a while, he spotted red and white lights sweeping across the buildings up ahead, and there was commotion on the left side of the street. A crowd had gathered, and he was hesitant to pass, but midnight approached and he still had to get to the cemetery. Then it dawned on him that he was about to pass the corner where he'd fired the shots.

He pressed on the gas and glanced to his left. He thought he saw someone staring at his car as he drove by, and prayed it was just a bystander. He headed toward the cemetery, still shaken up at the prospect that he'd possibly become a murderer tonight.

Act 4

Numerous vehicles, packed with revelers, choked the streets, all waiting for the midnight hour to drop. For Sebastian, fear and regret ruled the evening. As he drove, he kept a constant vigil on his rearview mirror. The headlights of the car behind him were a little too close; another tailgater. He continued driving toward the cemetery, trying to shake the weight of his actions from his mind. After a few turns, he peered into the rearview mirror again, and it looked like the same headlights behind him. There were plenty of stores and shopping centers along the same route, and he hoped whoever occupied that vehicle planned on visiting one of them. He tried not to pay attention to it. About a mile before reaching the cemetery entrance, he checked his mirror, and the vehicle was nowhere in sight.

He'd phoned the cemetery caretaker, Mr. Yanez, a couple of nights ago to see if the cemetery gate could be left open on New Year's Eve. When the caretaker had asked why, Sebastian had relayed his desire. To his surprise, Mr. Yanez had extensive knowledge of the custom and had agreed to meet him at the gate tonight. Sebastian wondered about the awkward coincidence. What were the chances that someone else in Dallas knew of his native country's unique custom?

As he turned left toward the cemetery gate, his headlights flashed on a man perched in a chair. Sebastian pulled forward and rolled down his window, and the chilly winter draft swiftly replaced the cab's warmth. Beneath the streetlight, Sebastian watched the elderly man hoist himself from the creaky lawn chair and approach with a heavy, mildly bowlegged gait. He was dressed in a thick dark zippered jacket, and beneath it was another lighter jacket with a hoodie attached. His wrinkled pants were gathered atop his worn black boots.

"Mr. Yanez?" Sebastian asked, in a voice just above a whisper.

The man placed his hands on top of the vehicle's roof, and then a soft, ancient voice answered, "Are you the young man that called me a few days ago?"

A thick accent met Sebastian's ears and the connection became clear. On his breaths were hints of garlic, onions, and a touch of pumpkin, and Sebastian wondered if the man had just finished a meal of charquican.

"Yes, Mr. Yanez. My brother is buried inside the cemetery, and I'd like to spend New Year's with him."

"Ah, the old tradition, yes...yes. Don't meet many people that know about it. Sure...sure. I open the gate for you. Long ago, I did the same thing in this cemetery when my wife passed away. You go and spend New Year's with your brother. I leave the gate open...yes?"

"Thank you, Mr. Yanez. I won't be too long. It's getting close to midnight now."

"Yes...yes. Your brother's spirit will be there to protect you, in just the way you tried to protect him. He'll be there."

Sebastian found his comments curious but dismissed them. "I see. Thank you, Mr. Yanez, and have a Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year to you, too."

He smiled at the caretaker, rolled up his window, and pulled inside the gate. His headlights guided him along a small winding road as the beams illuminated the various headstones, tombstones, and mausoleums of the deceased. He tried keeping himself at ease as he crept along the road in search of his brother's resting place, but it was no use. No matter how comfortable he tried to make himself feel, he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering about. A small white plastic bag tumbling across the lawn grabbed his attention.

The combination of the shooting, being tailgated, and the cemetery gave him the jitters. He had to get hold of himself and stop his imagination from dominating the reason he was there.

He turned right at a three-way intersection and headed down the road. His headlights illuminated a large white angel with spread wings atop a white spire. Tomas' grave wasn't far away. Three white crosses came into view, and next to them stood a large headstone with a rounded top. Sebastian stopped the car and switched off the headlights and ignition. Tomas' grave sat next to the large headstone.

He sat still for a minute, reminiscing about the time he had spent with Tomas. In a million years, he'd never thought he'd have to do something like this with his brother. Once he opened the car door, he inhaled. The clean, brisk air chilled his esophagus and lungs.

After gathering his sleeping bag and flashlight, he headed toward his brother's grave marker, being careful not to encroach on anyone else's grave. He set his sleeping bag down to the right of Tomas' marker, then placed his hand on top of it while illuminating it with his flashlight. It was cold, but Sebastian's heart warmed.

There lay his little brother. A mental movie started in his mind, replaying all the good times they had shared together, both in Chile and in Dallas. How he wished his dear brother was with him now.

A soft snap somewhere in the surrounding darkness interrupted his reminiscing, and he scanned the area. When nothing came into view, he strolled back to the car to grab his book, the small sack of snacks, and his blankets.

When he returned, he set the rest of his items next to his sleeping bag and kneeled down. As he spoke to his brother, his voice cracked, and tears slid down his face. He apologized for letting him become so lost within the bad elements at school. He should have done something more drastic _before_ everything had happened, not afterward. He further explained how he had located the gang that had hurt him, and how he had tried to avenge his death. His sniffles joined the nippy breezes blowing through the tree's rustling leaves.

He wiped his eyes and nose, then checked his watch. In twenty minutes, midnight would be upon them. He placed the blanket inside his sleeping bag, then slid inside far enough to still hold his book within reading distance. Propped up on his elbow, he positioned the flashlight so that it lit the pages. The leftover moisture around his eyes stung from the cool breeze, and they began scanning the pages as he waited for midnight to arrive.

*****

_Pop...pop...pop_...! It sounded like gunshots.

He rose up, staring into the darkness. Then it dawned on him that the explanation was much simpler – the sounds were only fireworks. Midnight must be very close. He shined the flashlight on his watch. It was midnight, New Year's Day.

He turned to his brother's marker, placed his hand atop the frigid marble slab again, and wished his brother a Happy New Year with a smile and sad eyes. As he lay there, wondering what his parents were doing right now, a soft crackling sound in the distance jolted him from his thoughts.

He sat up on his hands, keeping the rest of his body snuggled inside the sleeping bag, and peered through the darkness. He slowed his breathing so that it was imperceptible and moved as little as possible to keep his heavy jacket silent.

The crackling came closer, joined by a low rumble. His breathing became deeper. He pointed his flashlight into the darkness, letting his eyes stay with the beam, and each headstone it illuminated made his heart jump. He focused the beam on his car. It was still there, but the sound of crackling and rumbling grew closer. He swept the beam to the road that led to Tomas' grave. It remained empty. Wiggling out of the sleeping bag was a chore, and the flashlight's beam inadvertently fell upon the spired mounted angel. He gasped. It looked like the angel was coming at him, but it was all in his mind. With his body out of the bag, he switched off the flashlight but kept hold of it.

The soft crackling sounds were much closer now. It was coming up from behind his car. He sat perfectly still, hoping that whatever or whoever it was would leave him alone.

Suddenly, unfamiliar headlights illuminated the rear of his car, and he ducked. _What's that?_ The crackling stopped, leaving only a low rumble. There was muffled talking, then the sound of car doors opening, followed by footsteps. A bright light shone in his face, blinding him. He placed his hand in front of his eyes.

An unfamiliar voice behind the light said, "Now we've found your ass. Time to pay for what you did."

"Get that damn light out of my face. Who are you?" Sebastian yelled.

"Oh, you don't know who we are? Well, we know who the hell you are, and don't tell me what to do, asshole. You've gotta pay."

"Man, I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't do anything."

"Fuckin' liar. Yeah, it was definitely you. Trey saw the car. You did a drive-by on our turf, and you killed T-Dog and Skully, and then you had the balls to drive back by to see what you did. Big cojones, yo! Yeah, we know it was you. Yep, you're in the right place, son. You'll be eatin' worms next to your punk-ass brother. We took him out to prove to those little punks that they can't play with the big boys. Start prayin', asshole."

The four ominous thugs approached him, and he heard a click which made his blood run cold. He squeezed his eyes tight and threw his arms over his head. That's when he realized the rapid thud of his heartbeat would be the last thing he'd ever hear.

A cold, stiff wind swept down and overtook them.

"Man, what the hell was that?"

"I dunno. It's comin' over here."

"Yo, let's get the fuck outta here! Let's go!"

Sebastian lowered his arms, and in an instant, the wind dropped a thick fog, and Sebastian couldn't see the crew anymore. One of the guys who stood in front of him let out a blood-curdling scream.

Sebastian sank to the ground, and another spine-tingling scream pierced the mist. The flashlight beam that shined in his face suddenly fell to the ground, leaving a white, wispy glow around it. He lay there, too scared to move. The unseen fallen leaves around him rustled, but what had caused it? He stuck his hand out, feeling around for his sleeping bag. Instead, his hand grazed over his flashlight. He gripped it and switched it on. He found himself enclosed in a misty, white aura.

Sounds of struggling were all around him, but he couldn't see beyond the mist. Then, in the mist's glow, a dark protrusion swiped by his face before disappearing back into the mist. He yelped and scooted back. More screams and cursing came from within the mist. Any sense of direction and time vanished, and he wasn't sure if he was still earthbound. Sounds of gagging and heaving spewed by the thugs frightened him as he'd never been frightened before. Whatever was happening to them would be happening to him next.

Suddenly, all sounds ceased within the mist.

Sebastian's breaths came in rapid succession. Whatever was in the mist hadn't found him yet. He gazed from one side to the other. Finally, his eyes glanced skyward. Nothing but the white wispy glow surrounded him.

Sebastian sat there, petrified and wide-eyed. Then within the glow, two dark protrusions reached out at him. He held his breath as the protrusions took on the shape of skeletal arms with long slim fingers. Another protrusion appeared just above, and between, the first two, and Sebastian was sure he'd lost his mind as a face materialized. Had one of the thugs found their way to him?

No. To the contrary, this didn't look to be alive. Dark smoky features began to appear, recognizable features.

Sebastian's eyes bugged, but for some odd reason, curiosity overtook his fear. He watched as contrasting shades of grey defined two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. What was this thing?

In the silence, a silence he'd never experienced, he found himself face-to-face with Tomas' spirit. There was no mistaking him. The spirit of his dead brother floated in the mist. Sebastian felt tears running down his cheeks because his brother was there to take him to the place where death resides. He believed one of the thug's bullets had surely ended his life.

Tomas' spirit stayed put as Sebastian relinquished his grasp on this life. He was ready to go. As he stared at the apparition, it appeared to smile. Sebastian didn't understand, but it was too late to try, so he returned the smile. The facial features began to fade.

Sebastian called out, "Tomas, come back! Tomas, please come back!"

The face became engulfed in the white mist. The two arms also withdrew and were also consumed. This had to be what death felt like. Sebastian leaned forward, then realized he was sitting on something hard. Then he placed his hand down and felt grass beneath him. He wasn't dead.

Another cold, stiff wind rolled in, causing the mist to churn as it dispersed. He gazed over his right shoulder, and his flashlight illuminated Tomas' marker. In shock, he wrapped his arms around his knees, squeezing with everything he could as he surveyed the surrounding area. The thugs were no longer standing over him, but their car was still parked behind his. What about all the screaming he'd heard? His mind swam in a sea of nonsense and uncertainty. Was it all a horrific dream, a preview of death? Using the bit of recognizable reality he had left, he took hold of his flashlight and shined it outward. Seconds later, his stomach convulsed, and he rolled over to puke.

Exhausted from spewing the remaining contents of his stomach, he lifted his flashlight once more and scanned the area. Decapitated heads, pieces of arms and legs, and shredded torsos lay strewn about him. What he had experienced was no nightmare; it was all too real. Whatever existed in the mist had not only saved his life but slaughtered the gang members. Then he recalled Tomas' face appearing in the mist. Was it Tomas' spirit that had saved his life?

He pointed his flashlight's beam back to Tomas's marker. Atop his brother's name sat a bright, pink flower – a Chilean bellflower, the national flower of Chile. It hadn't been there when Sebastian had arrived.

## THE END

# 4

# Manifestations of Guilt

With the cops no longer following behind him, Keith relaxed his grip on the U-Haul's steering wheel. Having to cancel this heist would have been something he regretted for a long time, and he was sure his cohorts, Ruiz and Scotty, would have been very disappointed. But right now, everything was perfect, and their chances of getting nabbed were close to nil. For once in his life, all the stars had aligned to allow him to conceive the easiest plan possible for such a caper. After this, his dream of purchasing his own home would be within reach. For Ruiz, the smartest of the three, he would do something financially wise with his portion of the take. And Scotty? Well, Scotty would be Scotty, but Keith thought it would be enough to keep himout of trouble for a long time. He just hoped there would be no more surprises by law enforcement.

The rest of their trip remained uneventful, just as he had hoped. Scotty noticed that most of the traffic came from the other direction as they headed toward the affluent community of Aurora Springs, and Keith reminded him it was a good thing. Fewer people meant fewer witnesses. Scotty nodded, then commented on how smooth their roads were, and Keith agreed. They looked freshly paved in the brilliant Tuesday morning sun. The yellow and white pavement marking and matching embedded reflectors made him feel like he was taxiing on a tiny -runway. Their curbs were also different from the ones on his side of town. They were soft slopes instead of the solid concrete blocks he was used to seeing. Living in Twinsburg, Ohio his entire life, he knew that potholes throughout the city were as common as streetlights, but not in Aurora Springs. He hadn't encountered any of them since they entered the community.

It was a little after ten o'clock, and, as Keith had expected, most of the community's driveways were empty. He was familiar with this time of day. He'd observed the working-class people of Twinsburg placing their midmorning Starbucks orders, transporting truckloads of merchandise up to Cleveland, or beginning to convert the fast food grills from the breakfast menu to the lunch and dinner menus, but he'd never observed what affluent people did. Was working a necessity or a hobby? They could visit one another, volunteer at charity events, or just lounge around the house doing their own hobbies, since they'd already obtained their fortunes. Keith and his two friends wanted to make their own fortunes the easy way – by stealing it.

He had never imagined how many wooded areas surrounded some of the upscale properties. Some homes were set way back, almost hidden, while others kept their curb appeal close to the street. He took his time driving through the manicured streets and glanced over at Ruiz and Scotty on occasion. Their eyes were lit as they admired the sights. There was a definite feeling that they were out of place, but Keith wasn't worried. Included in his plan had been their haircuts. He had chopped off his dreadlocks and shaped up his short afro while Ruiz, with his schoolboy looks, just needed a trim, and Scotty, who looked like a poor man's version of Jesus Christ, required both a haircut and shave. He knew their non-threatening looks would make it easier to move about.

While they drove deeper into the community, the parcels of land and their homes became much more substantial. Some were gated, while others lay open with long winding driveways. To Keith, these homes were outstanding, but his final destination sat near the center of the community. In particular, he was searching for a single mansion.

Keith had seen the news reports about the estate a couple of weeks ago and hadn't let Scotty in on any details until he drove down from Cleveland. Ruiz was the only one left without a full grasp of the reason the heist was taking place, but Keith knew how adaptable Ruiz was. It wouldn't be a problem.

Upon seeing the huge estate, Ruiz gasped, and Keith glanced over at the unexpected response. Ruiz's eyes stayed glued on the property while his lips parted. Keith heard Scotty chuckle, and nothing was going to diminish the grin on Keith's face. Seconds later, Ruiz displayed the broadest smile he had ever seen.

That's when Scotty said, "That's right, Ruiz. It's almost time to go shopping."

"I think we're gonna need a bigger truck," Ruiz replied.

Keith had already informed Scotty about the full plan and knew Ruiz would never pass up anything like this, even without all the details. However, Keith had a reason to keep his doubts, apprehensions, and questions under wraps. The only reason there was a plan in the first place was because he hadn't fallen asleep fast enough to avoid overhearing a news report from Cleveland while he lay on the couch about a week ago.

*****

An affluent family of four abandoned their fantastic home in the middle of the night. In the news report, the father stated while holding on to one of his daughters, "It's easier to start over than to go back to that damn house! My oldest daughter won't stop praying!" The camera had panned over to the man's wife as she clutched a teenage girl. The girl's hands were clasped and her eyes remained closed while she mumbled Biblical scriptures at an amazing pace. "Guilt has consumed her."

Keith slowed as they arrived at the driveway of 198 Timberleaf Road. The U-Haul's brakes emitted a long, ear-piercing squeal, and the neighborhood's mid-morning solitude was shattered. Keith's flesh continued to crawl even after the truck came to a stop.

He felt eyes upon him and gazed over at Ruiz and Scotty. Sure enough, they glowered at him. They wanted to avoid witnesses at all costs, but during their journey, none of them had paid attention to the sound. Now the brakes had spewed out a call to the entire neighborhood. It couldn't be helped, so Keith raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

Scotty and Ruiz hopped down onto the street and started up the driveway toward the massive wrought-iron gate, which stood partially open. Scotty took a firm grip of the iron post and pushed. The wheels running along the railing in the driveway sent out a second series of high-pitched squeals, which reverberated through the neighborhood once again. Keith was sure neighbors would poke their heads out from their homes now. Scotty ducked his head beneath his shoulders in a futile effort to cover his ears, or face, or both. Ruiz's hands were already clasped over his ears, but after a few revolutions, the wheels quieted down to a hushed rumble.

Keith pressed the gas, and the U-Haul made a low growl as it passed through the gate's opening. He stopped just past the front door, pumping the brakes this time, and then he stared straight ahead while Scotty and Ruiz walked along side. For the first time, he appreciated the immense size of the property and how far away the next door neighbors lived. The mansion dwarfed him, and that wasn't good. Just then, Scotty slung open the passenger door.

Keith leaned over and said, "Guys, this place is huge! I really underestimated how long it might take to get everything, so to save time, let's haul in some boxes and a couple of dollies after I open the front door. That way we can check the place out and start packing the good stuff up right away."

Scotty agreed and headed toward the back of the truck, while Keith jumped from the cab. Behind the seat sat his key to get inside the mansion: a crowbar. He pulled it out and concealed it by letting it hang next to his leg. He wasn't sure if he'd need it or not, but it was nice to have around, just in case.

After the family had fled, the bank had hired a moving company to remove all of their belonging so they could put them up for auction, but something had happened inside. After packing a few boxes, the movers had fled the home. One of the crew had agreed to be interviewed. Keith would never forget the look on the guy's face. He'd never seen another black man look so pale! When asked what had happened, the man had begun stuttering and reworking his words so that they scooted around the question. Near the end of the interview, he had simply turned away from the cameras and walked away. To this day, neither Keith nor anyone else knew what he'd experienced.

Keith's curiosity had been piqued, and so had his desire to get what was left inside the mansion. Although Ruiz and Scotty were good friends of his, he had chosen to keep the odd news reports about the movers to himself. No need to get them jumpy about something that may not be there.

*****

Keith shut the driver-side door and stood still, allowing himself time to scan the neighboring homes while keeping the crowbar pinned against his leg. The shuffling of Scotty and Ruiz in the cargo bay, and the birds chirping in the trees, were the only sounds he wanted to hear. Everything was clear. He sauntered around the front of the truck, preparing himself mentally for the task at hand.

A thought struck him right before reaching the door – the house's security system. He had no idea if one was installed. He also had no idea if the other moving companies had encountered one.

There were no reports of any security system, but if an alarm sounded, he'd have to gather his two friends and get the hell out of there pronto. He paused and stared at the door's sculptured brass handle, then reached out and pressed on the finger lever.

He held his breath and gave a gentle push, expecting it not to budge.

The door eased open without making a sound. It was unbelievable. All this time, the mansion had been open.

He returned to the back of the truck and snatched up a handful of collapsed cardboard boxes, and said, "The door was already open, boys. Let's hope no one has beat us here."

All three stepped inside and were met by a circular, well-lit, and very spacious foyer with two curved-banister staircases; one to the left and the other to the right, ascending to the second floor. A beautiful crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and Keith wished he had something to take it down with.

Off to the right were three large boxes stacked one upon another. There were also some cardboard boxes leaning against the wall, and Keith figured they must have been left behind by the first moving company.

He turned to Ruiz and Scotty. Both were looking skyward, checking out the entire space with gaping mouths. He turned his attention to the hallway straight back from the foyer. The sunlight streaming from the glass above the front door illuminated the entrance into a sunken living room.

"Okay, guys," Keith said, his voice echoing throughout the foyer. "I'll check out the living room back there. Scotty, you take the rooms downstairs to the left; Ruiz, you take the rooms off to the right. Let's just find what we can take. No screwing around." Without a word, the three went their separate ways.

As Keith strode through the elongated hallway, his eyes stayed glued on what lay before him. Upon reaching the other side, he stood at the precipice of a lesser version of a contemporary museum. He glided down the off-white carpeted stairs into the spacious room. Giving it a cursory glance, he concluded his entire apartment could fit inside the immense room. The thought of pilfering everything in sight shuffled through his head, but he soon checked himself: _find the most valuable items and move on_.

Starting on the left side, he rummaged through items he could actually take with him. Expensive knick-knacks littered numerous embedded shelves within the sunset-yellow walls. The seventy-two-inch television was much too large to chuck into the back of the truck, but he'd bet his life any sporting event would look spectacular on that set.

At the back of the room, four picture windows, extending from the floor to the ceiling, allowed for a breathtaking view of the backyard patio and pool. He absorbed its view, wishing he had a chance to enjoy it with someone else — his sister, perhaps.

He broke away from reminiscing and continued moving off to his right. Through the large opening in the wall to the right, he could peer right into the kitchen and spotted Ruiz scouting around. He turned and gazed at the living room one more time and wondered why it appeared so neat if it was abandoned in the middle of the night.

*****

Ruiz's head was still in the clouds. That foyer was the prettiest thing he'd seen in quite a while. The home was absolutely luxurious, and in his mind, he felt fortunate that Keith had invited him along on the heist. Keith had always been a good pal, and Ruiz wasn't about to let him down. All he had to do was look around and find out what to take, but even Ruiz knew that was much easier said than done.

When he stepped into the massive kitchen, he paused and let his eyes roam. He'd never seen anything like it, ever.

Back to the task at hand. He'd never heard or felt drawers pull out so quietly before, but it was what sat inside that shocked him: authentic silver flatware. The last time he'd seen it was at a rich family's home back in Shaker Heights. They were exquisite, and he'd make sure they would come with him when they left. He turned to the cupboards. The hinges gave out soft hisses as he opened them. His head fell to the side as his eyes beheld some of the most beautiful glassware he'd ever seen, and plenty of it. All of it had to go. But there was one more thing he couldn't stop himself from doing, so he yanked on the refrigerator doors. Food galore and more. Half a turkey sat inside and his mouth began to water. Why not have a snack—no, a complete meal—right now? As the turkey's aroma hit his nose, he shut the door. First things first. Scout out what they could take. No playing around. Right before leaving the kitchen, he spotted Keith, standing at the large windows peering at the backyard patio, and smiled.

*****

Meanwhile, on the other side of the mansion, Scotty found himself standing in the doorway of the downstairs bathroom. He sighed and wondered what the hell could they pilfer from a damn bathroom.

He caught himself staring into a space created for royalty. His mind went blank while his eyes roamed. This was too much. A line of medicine cabinets decorated the left wall, and he wondered what was inside.

He opened the first cabinet, and his eyes beheld a miniature pharmacy. With fervor, he opened the rest and concluded that these people had to be drug dealers. There was no way anyone could use so many drugs. Labels? Why read the labels? All of it was going into the U-Haul. He closed the cabinets and gazed at the magnificent room again. Something was funny. The bathroom was spotless, almost like it had never been used. No dirty towels, no water spots...nothing.

Scotty returned to the hallway and faced two massive oak doors standing side by side. Doors that large had to hide something valuable. He twisted the brass knob on the left and pushed. He was right. Inside was an office big enough for the president of one of the country's largest companies. A sturdy solid oak table dominated the room. In front were two brown leather lounge chairs. Luscious oak bookshelves sat along the left and right walls, and behind the desk was a black leather high-backed chair. The window behind the desk gave him a clear view of the mansion next door, and evergreen velvet drapes hung on either side of the window. On the desk sat two laptops. He'd definitely be stuffing some boxes with items from this room.

*****

Keith's voice echoed through the halls as he called for Scotty and Ruiz to meet him back in the foyer. He couldn't help but smile when he spotted their satisfied faces.

"This place is unbelievable!" Ruiz said. "We've got it made. We might have to come back here tomorrow. There's so much to take."

"You got that right," Scotty replied. "I wish I could take the whole bathroom with us. Oh, by the way, they have pills galore. Do you know how much we could make by selling them?" he giggled.

"Yep, the same thing goes for the living room," Keith added. "I want every stick of that furniture, but we have to check upstairs. You know bedrooms have the best shit."

Ruiz raised his hands, and said, "Keith, you know more about this house than either of us. Do you think the police will show up?"

"You know, I don't think so. Another moving company was here already and no police showed up. We're just another moving company, that's all. Don't get all nervous now. Man, there is so much stuff to take, we could retire after this job."

"Let's do it, then," Scotty said.

Ruiz hunched his shoulders, and all three turned their heads skyward to glance at the second story. They split up again, with Scotty taking the left staircase, while Ruiz and Keith took the right one. Keith pointed at the master bedroom, while Ruiz took the right side of the hallway, and Scotty took the left.

*****

Keith could only dream of living in an apartment as magnificent as the master bedroom, and, just like downstairs, he wanted it all. To start off, he hit the man's closet because men always hid the good stuff in there. He made his way through a series of expensive suits, dress shirts, and ties, each with their own separate storage areas. Pushing in further and shoving some hanging clothes aside, he looked down.

Jackpot!

Of all of the marvels he'd seen so far, this was the best. On the floor sat an open gun safe with weapons inside. He could barely contain his excitement and nearly yelled out for Ruiz and Scotty, but he found reason to pause. _An open gun safe with weapons and ammo? That doesn't make any sense!_

While he mulled it over, he turned his attention to the three large fireproof safety deposit boxes that also occupied the closet. All three could serve as early Christmas presents for them. He turned and exited the closet.

Next, he entered the woman's closet, and for a moment, he thought he'd stepped inside the woman's department of Macy's or Dillards. There were rows and rows of clothes and shoes, many with tags still attached. Sitting on the floor inside her closet were two combination safes which seemed out of place. More early Christmas presents.

*****

Meanwhile, down the left hallway, Scotty spotted two doors opposite each other. He opened the door on the left and entered what looked like a girl's bedroom, immediately thinking there wouldn't be anything of value to pilfer. Indeed, he assumed a young girl, somewhere around the age of twelve, slept there. What leaped out at him, again, was the room's sheer neatness, just like the masculine office and the immaculate bathroom downstairs. Almost too neat for someone that young, and if he hadn't known better, he'd have thought the room was staged.

Nevertheless, he rummaged through the closet and dresser drawers. Everything was neatly hung and perfectly stacked, and finding a wrinkle in her clothing was like trying to find Waldo. He exited the bedroom and went across the hall to the other door.

He opened it, peeked inside, and nearly slammed it shut again, but he gave pause and stood there with his mouth agape. Perched upon the bedroom's soft pink walls were holy crosses...at least fifty of them, in all styles and sizes.

Clothes were strewn across the unkempt bedspread and more clothes sat crumpled on the floor. Scattered atop the chaotic dresser lay many tablets of paper with writing on them. He scanned the bedroom's walls again and discovered that the closet door was cracked open. Repulsion and curiosity fought one another as he went over to peer inside.

It was in disarray also, but it became apparent the clothing belonged to an older teenage girl. Crosses were hung inside the closet too. He figured there couldn't be anything worth looting inside such a junky closet, so he left the door open and moved over to the dresser. Maybe something of value was inside.

He scavenged through the drawers, shifting items around until he spotted a Bible. He pulled it out and used his thumb to flip through many pages. The corners of some pages were folded down, and finger smudges stained others. Somebody had used this book a lot, and he figured whoever lived in this room was afraid of something. He pulled open the bottom drawer, and gasped. More crosses – a drawer full of them.

*****

Scotty backed out of the room, shutting the door, and returned back down the hallway. Keith and Ruiz were discussing something as he approached. "Guys, I don't think it's a good idea for us to be here," Scotty proclaimed.

Keith looked over, his head cocked. "What? Why not?"

"I don't like this place. I think something bad happened here."

"Come on Scotty, we can clean up in here and make a mint," Ruiz said as he whirled his finger in the air.

"Yeah, Scotty. We can't do this without you. How about it?"

"Alright, but you two can go back down that hallway and get anything you want. I'm not going back down there."

"What happened? Did you see a ghost?" Ruiz asked. A smirk crossed his face.

"There's a bedroom full of crosses down there."

"Crosses? What type of crosses?" Keith asked.

"Dammit! Holy crosses. They're all over the walls, inside the closet, and in the bottom drawer. There's probably one hundred of them!"

"Maybe someone who lived here was a religious freak or something," Ruiz joked.

"I don't care. I'm not going back down there," Scotty demanded.

"Alright, we're wasting time. We've been through the whole house. Now let's go back downstairs and start loading up the stuff we found down there," Keith said, and they headed back to the staircase.

Each took an armful of cardboard boxes to the rooms they had reconnoitered downstairs. This was the reason Keith had wanted Ruiz and Scotty along: they were good and fast. With all three of them working efficiently, all the boxes were soon packed and stacked in the foyer with only the most expensive and profitable items. No unnecessary souvenirs. Since Ruiz had finished his side of the downstairs first, Keith suggested he use the dollies to move the boxes into the back of the U-Haul while he and Scotty continued packing up items. Keith kept a subtle smile on his face until Scotty approached with his boxes. What he saw in that room upstairs really bothered him. He'd never seen his friend look so serious. In no time, the downstairs was done, and everyone headed upstairs with armfuls of boxes.

Scotty said, "There's no fuckin' way I'm going back into those bedrooms down that hallway."

"Scotty, this is the first time I've seen you crack while on the job," Keith said, shaking his head.

"Oh, I'm not cracking. I just wanna get the hell outta here as fast as I can."

"Alright, alright then. Scotty, you check out the guest rooms. Ruiz, when you're finished with the kid's bedrooms, give me a hand in the master bedroom, and if Scotty needs help, I'll go down there and help him. Alright, let's go."

*****

As Ruiz approached the bedroom on the right, a flush of adrenaline rushed over his body. He paused before grasping the doorknob. He leaned against the door as it opened, giving himself a chance to shut it tight if he didn't like what he saw. When it was halfway open, he stopped, and his lips parted.

The most extensive collection of crosses he'd ever seen were set before him. He'd known for a long time that he'd lost much of his Catholic religion as he'd grown older, but before going any further, he gestured the sign of the cross over his chest.

Once inside, he moved through the room, packing up everything he thought had any value, his eyes continually sweeping from wall to wall as if he expected something to tap him on the shoulder. Lastly, he pulled three large crosses from the wall and retrieved the Bible he had spotted from the drawer and placed them in a box, making sure they were on top. He wasn't sure why he packed them, but felt a pressing need to do so. He set all the boxes in the hallway, but wanted to carry the box with the Bible and crosses to the master bedroom. He didn't want to leave that one behind.

Ruiz heard humming coming from the master bedroom, along with the sounds of packing as he approached. Keith spun around and stared, displaying apparent fright.

"Man, are you alright? You look like shit! You're pale as hell," Keith said.

"I'm okay. I just want to hurry up and get out of here."

"You, too? We're going as fast as we can. Did you finish with the kid's bedrooms?"

"Yeah. The boxes are in the hallway."

"What's in that box you're carrying?"

"Ahh, just something I didn't want to leave behind with the other ones. I'm gonna put it down right over here."

"Alright. Well, look. I'll help Scotty. You can stay here and finish up, okay?"

"Okay. Be careful down there," Ruiz said as Keith turned away.

Keith swiveled his head around and said, "Hey. Cheer up, man. We're almost done, and soon we'll be rolling in it." Keith shook his head as he turned and walked away wondering what could have spooked his two friends.

*****

As Keith moved down the hallway, he didn't hear any sounds of Scotty packing. _He'd better not be admiring items he wanted to take_. The door to his left was open, but the one on the right was closed. Keith entered the open door first.

Before him was another room, which looked better than his apartment, and a severe jealous streak climbed up his spine. Boxes were packed and stacked by the door, which meant Scotty was plenty busy, so he must be in the room across the hallway. He exited the room, but the absence of Scotty moving about behind the closed door bothered him.

Keith grabbed the doorknob then released it. It was frigid. He grabbed hold again, turned the knob, and pushed.

He stopped breathing at what he saw.

Scotty sat crumpled up on the far side of the room, his hair mussed, tears streaming down his face, staring up at the ceiling. His crying was silent. Keith looked up to see what Scotty was looking at, but nothing was there. Nonetheless, it seemed as if Scotty's eyes beheld something, very close to him and incredibly terrifying. Keith moved toward Scotty until he caught something moving in the corner of his eye.

He turned.

A misty apparition swooped toward him, and he ducked. Then the door slammed shut behind him. A chair moved under its own power and lodged itself against the door.

"What's happening?" he shouted, his chest heaving as he remained bent over.

He watched the apparition gather itself in the corner, then tumble in the air past him again to the other side of the room. This time he thought he recognized something, something from long ago, but he couldn't place from exactly where.

He got on all fours and hustled over to Scotty, but Scotty retreated even more, his eyes remaining glued on the ceiling.

A cold chill crept up Keith's spine, and he swiveled around.

The apparition was in his face. He let out a scream that soon faded.

That face...he knew that face. It couldn't be. Oh God, it was! He cowered next to Scotty and screamed, "Get out of here, Kaitlin. Leave me alone. You shouldn't be here! I'm sorry, baby sis!"

The apparition moved away then darted towards the corner of the room and began tumbling. Keith was near hysterics as the guilt over his baby sister's death consumed him. It swooped back down and got into his face once again.

He screamed and covered up.

Something shook his shoulder, and he screamed again. It shook his shoulder once again and he peeked through his arms. Ruiz was kneeling over him trying to get his attention.

"Keith! Keith! Take this. Take it!" Ruiz forced a cross into Keith's hand. "Hold it tight and put it out in front of you." Ruiz took hold of Keith's hand, which held the cross, and pushed it out in front of him. "Keith, whatever you see, tell it to go back. Tell it that it doesn't belong here."

Keith mumbled, "Get back. Go home. You're dead. You don't belong here."

"Say it louder, like you mean it. Tell it to go away."

"Go away, Kaitlin. Go back!"

Keith saw the apparition retreat back to the corner and dissipate. Before he had a chance to relax, he turned and watched Ruiz hold out a cross in front of him and speak to something unseen.

"You don't belong here, Hector," Ruiz pleaded. "You don't belong here. Go back and leave me alone." Ruiz jerked back as if something came right at him, then he forced the cross out once again along with the Bible. "Go back!" Keith watched as Ruiz's eyes turned toward the corner of the ceiling and stare. Seconds later, he pulled his arms back and dropped his head.

Still in a daze, Keith could only watch as Ruiz jumped over him to get to Scotty.

Scotty was in bad shape. Whatever he had seen already had a grip on his soul. Ruiz took hold of Scotty's arm and tried forcing the cross into his hand. His hand remained limp, so Ruiz helped him hold it out in front of him.

"Scotty, tell it to go away. You have to tell it, Scotty. I can't. I can't see it. Only you can speak to it. Tell it to go away."

Keith could only listen as a series of unintelligible sounds oozed from Scotty's mouth, but he was sure he recognized the word _grandpa._

"Come on, Scotty. Tell it to go away. If you don't, it will take you. Tell it to go," Ruiz begged.

Scotty's arm remained limp. His mouth moved, but no more words came out. Keith gazed around the room again, but saw nothing.

Suddenly, Scotty's body convulsed, then stiffened. Ruiz released his hand, and Keith turned to look at Scotty's face. His eyes had turned grey, his mouth was frozen open, and the skin along his jawline was sunken. It seemed as though he'd aged fifty years in a snap.

Keith backpedaled on his hands and knees, panting. Ruiz jumped over and grabbed hold of him, lifting him up.

"Keith, let's get out of here. Come on. Scotty's gone. We can't do anything for him anymore. Let's go."

The chair that was lodged under the door was toppled over now. But then it turned upright on its own. Ruiz held a cross out in front as they opened the door and backed out. Keith glared as the chair shifted around like a watchman, ensuring they left.

Once out, the chair levitated before the door slammed shut. Keith could barely move his legs and Ruiz hauled him along. They scurried down the hallway and the curved staircase.

Ruiz stumbled, nearly falling.

Out through the foyer and front door they went, leaving it wide open. Keith felt Ruiz shove him into the passenger side of the U-Haul, and once seated, he felt Ruiz rummaging through his pants pockets for the keys.

Keith slumped in his seat as Ruiz started the truck and backed out the driveway. He felt himself about to lose consciousness, but not before hearing Ruiz comment,

"Man, I done! Tomorrow, I'm looking for a damn job!"

## THE END

# 5

# Whispers from Cusco

"Anne, what's in the package?" Teresa asked, stuffing an appetizer between her brightly-colored red lips. Anne Caldwell lifted her eyes and smirked without saying a word.

Her close friends, Teresa Dresden and Renee Osborn, joined her at the dining room table, which sat by the large curtained window in one corner of the suburban Houston home. It had been inevitable that one of her friends would ask that question. In fact, she had expected it. She scooted her chair back and paraded into the kitchen to grab a pair of scissors, and when she returned, Teresa and Renee paid no attention to her. Instead, their eyes remained focused on the box as they nibbled at the large tray of appetizers: hot wings, crab ragoons, shrimp eggrolls, celery, and carrot sticks, and, of course, both blue cheese and ranch dressing.

Outside, the setting sun stained the clouds' bottoms with a bright orange hue. Anne paused for a moment when the color caught her eye through the sheer, white dining room curtains, and wondered if it could be some type of omen. She hoped not. After all, she'd planned this reunion as a means to relive a portion of the Peruvian vacation they'd all returned from less than a week before. Enough strange events had already taken place down there.

Planted on the living room's chestnut-colored sectional sofa, a few feet away, were the three women's husbands, all engaged in the afternoon football game. With only the backs of their heads rising above the back of the sofa, Anne could easily make out who was who. Anne's husband, Broderick, sat on the side of the sofa closest to the dining room with his head tilted back, taking gulps from a Coke Zero can. In the middle, with his close-cropped red haircut and his hands clasped behind his head, sat Renee's husband, Kenneth. She didn't know for sure, but his body posture made it look like he wasn't happy with how the game was progressing. Finally, Teresa's husband, Nick, who needed a haircut, sat on the far end of the sofa, leaning forward as if ready to jump for joy.

Anne barely reached the height of five foot and was the de-facto leader of the group. She had met the two couples by chance at a local club one weekend about two years before. With all three couples being childless, it was easy for them to find time to do many things together. All were in their late twenties, all except Renee. She was in her mid-thirties, but still loved to hang out with the younger set.

Anne could barely contain her anticipation as she stood at the dining room table with scissors at the ready, and with one smooth stroke, she raked the tip across the taped seams of the sealed box. The sound filled the dining room. Renee and Teresa never took their gaze from her hand. Anne glanced over into the living room and all three guys had turned their heads toward her, each wearing the most peculiar looks upon their faces.

The flaps of the box popped up, and Anne braced them back.

"Everyone ready?" All eyes stayed glued on her.

"Yes. Yes. What is it?" Renee said. She tucked her straight black hair behind her ears and rose from her chair, leaning forward.

"Okay. Surprise!"

She reached inside, removed the packing material, and pulled out a second box, secured by clear plastic wrap. Then she scanned everyone's faces to see their reactions.

Their expressions varied. There were some widened eyes, a sideways glance or two, and puckered faces. It was if they had all seen a ghost. Anne had expected a more jovial mood, but everyone remained silent as they stared.

"Is that what I think it is?" Broderick asked, his voice deep, but not too loud, as if he didn't want to upset anyone.

"Yes. It's that Incan beer we drank at that restaurant in Cusco. I bought six bottles. One for each of us. Go ahead, grab one."

No one came forward. Instead, the girls stuck to the appetizers, and the guys went back to the football game. Anne had never expected that reaction.

"What's the matter? You all chicken or something? Look, I'll open mine now. I know how this stuff affects me, so I'm ready for it."

The sound of ripping plastic wrap made an awful racket, but it didn't stop her. She brandished one of the bottles from the box and headed back into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle opener. As she searched through the drawer, she heard some shuffling and a couple of bottles clinking together. Maybe some others had been bold enough to grab a beer. After locating the opener, she popped the cap and headed back to the dining room with it.

Two bottles were left inside the box. She looked over at the guys, and each of them held a beer, so she strutted over and handed Broderick the bottle opener. There she stood, watching each guy pop their cap until they were done. Then she strolled back to the dining room table, removed the last two bottles, popped the caps, and slid them in front of Teresa and Renee.

Teresa's eyes grew wide, and Renee looked ready to sprint out the door. Anne smiled and continued to watch both of them. Teresa ran her fingers through her long mane, then threw it over a single shoulder. She reached out for the bottle. Her long fingernails, with polish that matched her lipstick, tapped the side of the bottle a few times before she pulled it closer. Renee watched Teresa; then her focus returned to the bottle in front of her. She sighed. Anne wasn't sure what Renee was going to do. Then, in one smooth motion, Renee pulled her bottle closer.

"Hey, you guys on the couch. Guys!" Anne called with a raised voice. "Leave the television and come over here for a second. The football game isn't going to run away. Come over here."

Once everyone had gathered at the table, Anne said, "I want to make a toast. This toast is for all of you who accompanied me on my trip to Machu Picchu and made it so memorable. I love all of you. Cheers!"

Everyone raised their bottle, clinked them together, and each took a small sip.

The journey to Machu Picchu had been on Anne's bucket list since she was a teenager, and after she and Broderick were married, she had made sure to share that information with him. Now, in their late twenties, they'd acquired the means to travel there and invited the two couples to join them.

With her first sip, Anne recalled everything that had happened that afternoon and evening after they had descended from Machu Picchu. They had all showered, gotten dressed and searched for an authentic Peruvian restaurant in the small town of Cusco, which sat well above the ancient Incan citadel. The beer's bitter, vinegary taste was more noticeable now, which made her eyebrows scrunch together and her nose crinkle. Just like at the restaurant, she struggled to swallow the brew, but once it went down, it was her turn to watch her friends. Everyone else's face held the same pain—the ugliest expressions she'd ever seen, but they still made her chuckle.

"Damn! You should see your faces. Each of you could scare the shit out of the Devil!"

She continued laughing, and as soon as they had pushed the brew down their throats, they joined her. It didn't take long before their conversations started revolving around the incredible buzz they had had after drinking the beer for the first time in that restaurant: rooms tilting, a little stumbling, and those blood-red eyes that had scared everyone.

Then Teresa spoke up.

"Remember that wrinkled old lady in the restaurant putting the yogi hex on me? She said I was going to suffer. No, wait. She said that _I_ was going to make _all of you_ suffer. That old rag didn't know what she was talking about."

The laughter died down a bit, and Anne thought Teresa might have touched upon a sore subject. Teresa's usual prissy attitude had nearly ruined everyone's evening that night, especially the owner of the Peruvian restaurant. The poor old lady had gone out of her way to make everyone welcome, but Teresa's fiery tongue couldn't be stopped. Her complaints about not getting something to drink after everyone sat down, and asking the old lady which food wasn't "nasty," had been grossly inappropriate.

Nevertheless, Teresa had continued with her rudeness: she hadn't wanted to perform the local custom of sharing a meal with another man who wasn't her husband. She had had to share food with Renee's husband, Kenneth, while Renee shared her meal with Anne's husband, Broderick, and, finally, Anne had shared her meal with Teresa's husband, Nick. Everyone had accepted that custom except Teresa, but she had been outvoted.

Even as they had departed the restaurant, Teresa wouldn't turn off her mouth. The old lady had gotten in Teresa's face to remind her of how rude she'd been. As soon as the group was outside, and with the restaurant door closed behind them, Anne remembered how Nick had torn into Teresa. He had let loose a tirade of cursing, directed at his wife, right there on the dimly lit streets of Cusco. Everyone had been so angry with her that night.

Then Anne recalled the words the old lady had kept muttering, over and over again, right before they left, with such a craggy voice that it had sent shivers up her spine.

"Yage* will show you."

_Yage_ was the Peruvian herb which Anne had noted on the menu that night. It was in both the food and the beer. Anne's curiosity about the substance had prompted her to gather more information from a checkout clerk in the airport's store, where she had purchased the Incan beer before they flew back home.

The clerk had told her, "A few of my friends use yage in their food. They say it makes the food a little bitter, and it gives them strange dreams. Some of them who stopped using it said they had dreams about the other people who shared their food. Supposedly, it stays in your body for about a week if you eat it directly, and if you eat or drink anything else containing yage within that week, those same dreams will come back. I don't know about you, but I'd never want to relive a bad dream."

It had just so happened that Anne had had a terrible dream the night after eating and drinking at the restaurant. It had been so horrific that she was scared to tell Broderick about it.

"Hey, here's to this beer, and the buzz we'll tie on tonight," Anne said. That was enough to raise the room's mood again. The guys refilled their plates with hot wings and bacon-wrapped pineapple appetizers as the girls nibbled away on the crab ragoons.

*****

As the evening wore on, everyone made a slow migration back into the living room. The guys took their old positions on the sectional while Anne took a seat in a comfy slipper chair near Broderick. Renee took the other slipper chair, opposite Anne, on the other side of the coffee table. Finally, Teresa pulled over one of the padded wooden chairs from the dining room table and sat it between Broderick and Anne. Anne turned down the television's volume and soft conversations began as the brew made its way through their systems. This was just what Anne had wanted: a nice get-together where everyone felt relaxed and comfortable.

Renee stood and said, "Oh my God. I can feel my buzz coming on now. Boy, it brings back memories. There goes that dizziness."

"Now, see," Anne added, "I was feeling fine until you said something. Now I feel it."

Teresa spoke up. "I feel it, too."

"Check it out," Kenneth said with a smile, turning his head from side to side towards Nick and Broderick. "All the ladies are lightweights."

Nick and Broderick laughed.

"Hey, listen to this," Kenneth continued. "I just remembered something—that night, after we left the restaurant and went back to the hotel, I had a wild, crazy dream, and it was about you, Teresa."

"Me? Why did you have a dream about me?"

"I have no idea, but it was definitely about you." He uncrossed his legs, sat forward, then paused for a moment, dropping his head as if trying to remember. Seconds later, he looked up.

"Uh-oh, Kenneth. You had a dream about another married woman? Everyone better get out of Renee's way. She's gonna kill him!" Kenneth joked. Smirks and giggles erupted, and both Kenneth and Teresa joined in.

Renee interrupted the jovial mood saying, "So that's it, huh? Dreaming about another woman instead of me." She leaned forward, eyes squinted and a dimpled smile and continued, "Well, my good stuff is closed to you, my dear." She couldn't contain her laughter anymore so she set it free. More laughter filled the room.

Anne found Kenneth a jolly soul who got along with everyone in the group, but it looked like he'd let himself go over the years. Only eight years younger than Renee, he sported a potbelly. Of course, he blamed it on his metabolism slowing down once he hit twenty-five, and he may have been right, but Anne attributed it to all the beer he drank on weekends whenever sporting events were on. It definitely didn't help matters.

Anne watched as Kenneth's easygoing laugh faded. Then he said, "I'm serious. I really did have a dream about you, Teresa."

"Damn! It wasn't a sex dream, was it?" Teresa asked with a scrunched face. She ran her finger through the hair laying over her shoulder. Softer giggles passed through the room.

"Nah! Nothing like that. In fact, it wasn't pleasant at all."

"Well, what was it about?" Teresa's voice sounded serious.

"In my dream, an old boyfriend of yours killed himself over you."

There was still residual laughter, but everyone turned toward Kenneth.

"What did you say? What the hell are you talking about?" Teresa asked with wide eyes as she sat back down.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you know what I'm talking about. What I had was more than a dream. It was more like a snippet of your life. I saw it all, and just by your expression, you know it's true." Kenneth displayed a frown.

The room became quiet, and Anne didn't understand what happened.

"Shut the hell up, Kenneth," Teresa retorted.

"Hell no! They're going to hear this. You see how she loves to throw around orders?"

Anne interrupted, "Kenneth, stop! Stop this now."

"Uh-uh! Our precious Teresa has been hiding this for a long time, and you all need to hear it. She thinks everyone was placed on this Earth to serve her. Look at how she treats all of us, especially Nick."

Nick sat forward and said, "Wait one damn minute!"

"Dude, you know it's true. We all know it's true. Teresa walks around like she's some type of queen. Well, this so-called _queen_ has been playing with her friends' minds all her life. She even messed up her father, making him love her more than her mother."

"That's bullshit, Kenneth!" Teresa shouted as she rose.

"Sit your ass back down. You know it's true. Tell them about all the jobs you were fired from because of your mouth." Teresa became silent, smoothed out her tight-fitting mini-skirt and sat back down. "Yep, your big mouth. The same big mouth that insulted that old lady in Cusco. You even used your poisoned tongue to invade your parent's marriage, spreading rumors to your father about your mother. You did the same thing with your sister's marriages also. And you were good at it, too, weren't you? So good that you ended up destroying all of their marriages. I saw it all."

Teresa's face softened, then she said, "Kenneth, I think you've had enough beer. You're sounding crazy right now."

"Don't try to sugar coat this. This is happening. Everyone, did you see how mad she was earlier? That's because what I'm saying is true, isn't it? Well, let me get to the point and see how she reacts."

Kenneth had everyone's attention, but Anne felt her heart start to race, and she spoke up. "Kenneth, don't you think that's enough? I mean, it was only a dream, right?"

"Oh, it was much more than that." He stared at Teresa. "When her father passed away, he left her everything, and you refused to share it with the rest of your siblings, you selfish bitch."

Anne couldn't believe what she was hearing, and everyone watched and listened as if Kenneth were preaching a sermon about the end of the world.

"Now, here's the real story. She had a boyfriend who treated her with respect and loved her. But that wasn't enough for her, was it, Teresa? All she did was complain like she does now. She knocked him down with her words every chance she got, and because he didn't have the backbone to stand up to her, he killed himself." A low gasp filled the living room. "Yep. He left a note proclaiming his love, then sliced his own throat. In essence, she's a murderess, and this murderess didn't even show up at his funeral."

Nick leaned forward so he could see Teresa's face, his mouth agape. He asked, "You didn't go to his funeral?"

Anne sat forward, petrified with parted lips as a horrified silence filled the living room. Then she gazed over at Teresa, who sat next to her. Her friend's gorgeous face twisted with rage, her nostrils flaring like those of a dragon. Her doe-like eyes narrowed into slits, and her jawbones bulged. Anne expected Teresa to bolt past the coffee table and kick Kenneth's ass.

"No, I didn't go!" Teresa's hand covered her mouth and she glanced at the faces in the room. That was a confession, and she knew it. The group's stunned expression at her admission was difficult to swallow, and she went on the defensive.

Nick rose from the couch, making eye contact with his wife, and said, "It's true, isn't it? All of it is true."

Teresa stared back at Nick, and then her mouth opened.

"Yes, it's true. I don't know how Kenneth could possibly know. I've never told anyone that much about me." Then she glowered at Kenneth. "So you know that much about me from a fucking dream? Well, it's my turn, because I had a dream about _you_ , you psychopath."

Kenneth leaned back, dropped his chin, and pointed to himself. "Me?"

"Yes, you pot-bellied punk. I saw you in my dream that same night. Why don't you tell them about yourself, huh? Tell them how you left your girlfriend to die, asshole!"

"Wha...?" Kenneth couldn't finish getting the word out before Teresa interrupted.

"Don't act dumb. It was a girl you met in a club long ago." Teresa turned to Renee and said, "This was before he met you, girl. He was in love with a psychopathic woman, and he moved in with her. Did he ever tell you about that?"

Renee stood and glared at Kenneth. "No. He told me he never lived with anyone but his parents."

"See, he's a liar. He moved in with her, right, Kenneth? Admit it."

"So, what does that mean?" Kenneth snapped. His stare resembled that of a wild bull.

It was evident to Anne that Renee knew nothing about this woman. What Pandora's Box had she opened by getting everyone to drink the beer? Then she recalled the comments the clerk in the airport had made about strange dreams. Could the yage in the beer be making their dreams resurface?

Sitting between Broderick and Nick, Kenneth looked like he was about to jump up and go after Teresa. Nick threw his arm across Kenneth's chest, and Kenneth leaned back.

"Renee, you'd better listen to this so you can see who you really married. As I said, she was just as psycho as he was."

Anne slowed her breathing, wanting to hear everything Teresa said.

The last rays of sunlight vacated the room. Anne wanted to get up and switch on the lights, but Teresa started up again, pointing her slender finger at Kenneth, saying, "Your relationship began falling apart when you found out how demanding she was. Then, when you couldn't take it anymore, you told her to go to hell and that you were moving out. Remember when she rushed you and started throwing her fists at you? Remember? What did you do then?"

"I hit her ass back! That's what I did."

Another collective gasp filled the air. Anne had never thought gentle Kenneth would ever hit a woman.

"And then you pulled a gun on her."

"You're damn right I did, because she pulled a butcher knife on me!"

"Kenneth, you didn't!" Renee shouted.

"I had to. I wasn't gonna stand there and let her stab me."

Teresa took over the conversation. "And when you saw the fear in her eyes, you loved it, basking in her terror. She ran from the room screaming, and you continued packing. You heard her wailing in the other room and knew you'd scared the shit out of her, but you didn't care. You'd already put up your walls to hide your emotions. Then you grabbed the gun and your suitcases and stormed from the house.

"As you backed out of the driveway that night, she ran up and jumped onto the hood to stop you. You hit the brakes, and she rolled into the windshield. Then you gunned it backward. She rolled off the hood and cracked her skull in the driveway. Before pulling away, you smiled when you saw her still body lying in the driveway, with a small stream of dark liquid flowing down the concrete, but you didn't care. Then you just drove away, allowing her blood to drain into the street. Renee, that's what you married!"

Nick and Broderick both leaned away from Kenneth, surprised by his apparent callousness.

The room became silent. It felt like a massive soundproof blanket had descended on top of the group.

Anne got up and switched on the lights in the living room and dining room, and when she returned to her seat, Renee's horrified expression and welling tears said it all. Anne could see the betrayal in Renee's eyes and prayed that switching on the lights would lift the gloomy mood off the gathering.

"Wait. Wait. Wait," Renee said, pleading. "Both of you said these were dreams you had of each other, right? Just dreams? But by your reactions, it sounds like both of you are telling the truth about each other. Otherwise, why would either of you get so defensive?"

Teresa stared down at her beer while Kenneth took another swig of his and looked away.

Then, out of nowhere, Anne's husband, Broderick, lit into Renee.

"Renee," Broderick said as he sat forward, "you need to keep your damn mouth shut because you're no better than him. You've killed, too." He picked up his beer and took a couple of deep gulps.

Anne blurted out, "Oh, come on." She remembered that Broderick and Renee had shared their meal down in Cusco.

Broderick tipped up his bottle, took two more gulps of beer then wiped the foam from his thick mustache, his eyes wild. Kenneth's jaw dropped.

"That was in my dream in Cusco, the same night we shared our meal at the little restaurant. Everybody, listen to this."

Anne was positive the beer was affecting everyone now, and she became scared at how far things might go.

"In my dream, Renee had to grow up fast, because her mother was never around. Instead, her mother preferred going out, carousing with the other men and women at the local bars and nightclubs. Isn't that right, Renee?" The whites of Renee's eyes held a pinkish hue, and she remained stone-faced. The beer was affecting her.

"She despised her mother because she never had a chance for a normal childhood, but a threat by her mother to blackmail one of her brothers because of his meth use was the last straw, so she came up with a plan to get rid of her permanently."

Renee stood up and began to walk behind the couch. Anne kept her eyes on her older friend, but a quick glance at Broderick's pink eyes sounded an alarm.

Anne stood and yelled, "Broderick!"

But Anne's husband didn't stop. Nothing or no one would stop him now. He turned and pointed at Renee and said, "See! Look at her! Look how defensive she is. She got one of her brother's meth-head customers to kidnap their mother after she left her favorite bar and kill her in exchange for free meth and cash. After the deed was done, and payment dished out, they both attended their mother's funeral. Matricide, folks!"

All eyes turned to Renee, and she dropped her head into her hands. Broderick's dream had struck a nerve. He turned around and sat back with a smug smile on his face. He almost looked relieved to have gotten that story off his chest, but his smile didn't last long.

When Renee lifted her head, her eyes were bloody red, and she gritted her teeth before saying, "Look who's talking, you asshole. I had a dream about your sick ass, too." Renee headed back to her chair.

Broderick growled, "Your dream can't be half as bad as mine."

"Oh yeah, you whore. You were sleeping around with anyone you could find and the thought of using protection was like a curse to you."

Broderick turned and said, "Shut up, Renee! You don't know what the hell you're talking about." He began to lift his slender body off the couch. Anne reached over Teresa, grabbed him by the arm, and he sat back down.

"How many girls did you impregnate in high school, Broderick? Next question. Why didn't the girls tell on him? That was easy; he just threatened them. Told them to get abortions or he would do it for them. How's that for a loving husband?"

Anne's world started to crack. This couldn't be true, but Broderick's silence began raising doubts.

"Remember the one very pretty girl who stood up to you and said she was keeping her baby? That really pissed him off, so he decided to get rid of it for her by sweet-talking her into joining him at a football game at the big stadium. Their seats were in the second row of the upper deck. As they joined the crowd of people descending the stairs looking for their seats, he shoved her from behind, making it seem like an accident. She tumbled down the concrete stairs, her head slamming against them many times. When they took her away in an ambulance, she was unresponsive. Isn't that right, Broderick?"

All eyes were on Broderick now, especially Anne's. She stood up, praying that Broderick would deny it.

Renee continued, "You left her in a coma with a fractured skull, and two weeks later, they pulled the plug. Both the mother and baby were dead, and, of course, the police did exactly what you expected and ruled it as an accident. How does it feel to get away with murder, Broderick? Your hands are just as bloody as mine!"

Anne didn't _want_ to believe any of it, but when Broderick took two deep gulps of the brew and sat there, not putting up any kind of defense, Anne walked towards the dining room, hanging her head and wondering if she was married to a murderer.

"Broderick, did you kill that girl because she was going to have your baby? Did you do it?" Anne's shaky voice asked.

"Shut the hell up, Anne!" Nick yelled. Anne jerked back. From the dining room, she watched Nick take a swig of beer, stand up, and walk around to the back of the couch. With blood-red eyes, he said, "I know all about you. Yeah, I do. That's right, sweetheart. I had a dream that night about you."

Anne's heart dropped. She knew what she was about to hear. She'd never told anyone her deepest secrets, and now all of them would know.

"Nick, don't. Don't tell them. Please, don't tell them," Anne pleaded.

Nick began, "Everyone thought Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes over there was cute because of her short stature and sweet personality. But what you don't know is that she's a two-faced little liar, spreading gossip at every turn. Vicious arguments always broke out when she was around, and many times, blows were thrown."

Anne was beside herself as his words stabbed her over and over. Her jaw and fists were clenched as his story raised her ire. She was ready to destroy him, but he began spouting off again.

"Broderick, did you know Anne got two people killed before you were married? I remember waking in the middle of the night because that damn dream frightened me so much. I had no spit, so I got up to get a drink of water. I got back in bed, dismissing the dream, but the dream didn't forget about me.

"It picked up again just after she graduated high school. Her best friend, Kathy, was going out with a guy named Gregg, and Anne wanted to be with Gregg badly. This was when she approached her best friend and told her that Gregg was cheating on her with another former classmate. Anne was aware that Kathy was unstable at best. The girl did drugs and drank beer and alcohol all throughout high school.

"One day, Anne stopped by Kathy's house when she saw Gregg's car parked out front. Before she knocked, she could overhear Kathy screaming at him from outside. Kathy's parents were at work and no one had a summer job yet. It was perfect. Today, Gregg would be hers.

"Anne knocked on the door. Kathy opened it, and all hell broke loose. Kathy asked Anne to confirm the rumor, and she said 'yes.' Gregg called her a lying bitch, but Anne just giggled. Kathy was livid and stormed from the room. Gregg stepped into Anne's face and started cussing her out, unaware that Kathy had returned to the room with a pistol and had it pointed at the back of his head. Anne stepped sideways just as Kathy pulled the trigger. Anne screamed. Her crush was dead. She looked over at Kathy just in time to see her pull the trigger and blow her own brains out. Isn't that right, Anne?"

Tears streamed down Anne's face, smearing her mascara. She leaned on the table, crying.

"There you go, Broderick, my boy! That's what you married. You married a little puppet master, capable of manipulating people. Oh, and I almost forgot, because this was the strangest part of my dream. Maury Povich was in it. Why, do you ask? Because Anne tried to convince people to go on his show. She wanted to see their pain broadcast all over America. She convinced them that she was helping when her real purpose was to exploit them. Whaddaya think about _that_?"

Five wild pairs of deep bloodshot eyes stared through Anne. Five stories, five secrets, five confessions. Her head was swimming. _Why not make it six?_

She left the dining room table and walked right up to Nick. "You asshole! You don't know a damn thing about me. Do you think what _I_ did was bad? Ha! Listen to what Teresa's perverted husband has done. That's right—I had a dream, and I'm pretty sure someone's gonna call the cops after this one. Listen up, everybody!"

Anne watched the blood drain from Nick's face.

"Nick had a morbid fascination with watching things die while he grew up, like goldfish and stray pets, but he graduated to people as an adult. Isn't that right, Nick?

"Before he married Teresa, he stalked through the streets of the seedy parts of Houston late at night in search of women who were alone. He'd mastered smooth talking to befriend them, and he did whatever he could to get them alone, and that's when he'd attack them. But there was one problem with that: he couldn't leave any witnesses. Therefore, he had to kill them and cover his tracks. Does anyone remember when the police were searching for a serial killer about eight years ago?

"Well, he has blessed us with his presence in my house tonight, standing right here in my living room." Anne had her finger only inches from Nick's chest. "It was him. But he knew he couldn't do it forever. The only way to truly cover his tracks was to get married. But look who he married! Teresa, of all people. How many times did you want to murder your wife? Once a year, once a month, or every day of your married life? But you couldn't, because they'd trace you to the other murders. What a dumbass. Does everybody remember how he flew off the handle when Teresa gave all that lip to the little old lady in the restaurant? Have you ever seen him like that before?"

Both Broderick and Kenneth raised from the couch, and Anne backed away from Nick.

"She's lying!" Nick shouted, his eyes fiery red and t-shirt wrinkled.

"Stop yelling at my wife, asshole!" yelled Broderick.

"Shut up, Broderick, you diseased whore," Teresa bellowed, near tears. She left her seat.

"Look who's calling someone a whore! You're like a black widow – fuck 'em, then kill them, or make them kill themselves," Kenneth shouted as he shook his finger in Teresa's face.

"Kenneth, you should shut the fuck up. You left your girlfriend in the driveway to die. You just left her there, asshole!" Renee spat as she rose from her chair and headed behind the couch.

"Look who's talking about murder. My God, you had your own mother murdered. That's some really sick shit!" Anne screamed as she approached Renee.

*****

Vile and accusatory verbal missiles were flung back and forth between the small cluster of people, and no one was listening to what anyone else was saying. Kenneth swooped around the couch and clutched Nick by the shoulders. The two struggled while Broderick tried his best to separate them. Renee and Teresa were closest to the two struggling guys and they assisted in trying to break them up, but a stray elbow from Broderick landed on Teresa's jaw. Her Spanish blood boiled, and she ran into the kitchen. Broderick released the two guys and headed off toward his bedroom down the hallway.

A shout came from the kitchen, and Anne watched as Teresa stormed in, wielding a butcher knife. "I'm going to kill him," she screamed as she headed behind the couch.

Broderick emerged from the bedroom brandishing a 9mm pistol. Teresa's blood-red eyes spotted her target. Broderick raised the pistol and fired. Everyone jumped as Teresa dropped to the floor.

Nick lunged at Broderick and knocked the pistol away.

Both Anne and Renee dived to the floor to retrieve the knife from Teresa, ignoring Teresa's groans as she writhed in pain, blood oozing from her gut. The two women struggled for control of the blade, but Renee's struggle couldn't beat Anne's. The knife's blade plunged into Renee's abdomen, and she released a terrifying wail.

When Kenneth saw the blade sticking from his wife's body, he dove on the floor and got hold of the pistol. He flipped onto his back and was ready to shoot Anne, but Broderick jumped on him. The pistol discharged, and Broderick's body convulsed upward, then went limp on top of Kenneth.

Anne let out a blood-curdling scream and plunged the knife into Kenneth's neck, then grabbed the pistol from his hand. Nick crawled on the ground after her, expelling a throaty growl. Anne pointed the pistol at his head and fired. He dropped.

Pain-filled groans were the only sounds Anne heard, which slowly faded away after a time.

She sat on the floor behind the couch, among the corpses of her friends and husband, still holding both the knife and pistol, her clothing blood-stained. The room began to rock from one side to the other and her sight became blurry. Her head throbbed, and she let her tears flow. The smell of the Incan beer hung in the air, and a high-pitched warbling came from outside. The sound grew louder and louder, and so did her crying.

Minutes later, there was banging on the front door, but she barely heard it through her own grief. An ear-shattering bang got her attention, and she lifted her head as she sat there, still holding the weapons.

Two uniformed officers burst in, pointed their guns at her, and told her to freeze. She didn't comprehend the command through all her grief. The hallucinogenic effects of the Incan beer were too great. She got to her feet.

"Ma'am. Stay right there and drop the weapons," one of the officers ordered.

Anne dropped the pistol, but couldn't think anymore. She stepped towards the officers with her hands out to the side, the knife still in her hand.

Pow...pow...pappow...pappow!

The officers unleashed six bullets into Anne's compact frame, and the solid pieces of lead flung her backward. One of the officers approached as life spilled from her body.

She grabbed his hand and uttered, with her last breath, "Yage will show you."

## THE END

\---------------------

*Yage [Yah-hey] is also known as ayahuasca.

Wait! You're not done yet. Keep reading!

## Thank You!

I would like to thank you for taking time from your busy life to read and enjoy my stories. I hope each one gave you a chance to delve into a world no one would wish to enter and come out feeling relieved you're still in one piece!

I _crave_ to know your thought about this collection of short stories. Please leave a review of my collection, even if it's just clicking on the stars near the book, at your favorite online website. No need to write a review if you don't want to. By leaving reviews, I get to understand more about the craft of fiction writing and what my readers want and expect from me.

To learn more about me, Pernell Rogers, please visit my website:

pernellrogers.com

At my site, you'll discover who I am and my motivations behind the stories I create. You'll also discover some interviews and get a chance to leave comments at you leisure. Please feel free to join my email list to get news about my upcoming stories. I promise I will not spam you because I hate spam!

### Hold on! There's more!

Feel free to download and read my other FREE supernatural short stories and novellas:

The Meek Curtis Weems

The Dark Stalker

Casualty of Coincidence

Duane's Secret

The River

Through Brian's Eyes

It Happens When You're Alone

An Unexpected Evil

They're available at the following websites:

Smashwords.com

Barnesandnoble.com

Goodreads.com

Kobo.com

Apple iBooks

### Okay, this is THE END!!!
