A Blue Light at the Wildcat Diner, Paucah, Kentucky



The unholy trio entered the Wildcat Diner where Alex and Sarah were in the last booth studying menus. Ricky waved his gun. Kenny hitched up his pants, and the flame-haired Lulu pulled out a snub-nosed revolver.

“This is the greatest day of your lives. It’s also your last,” Lulu yelled.

She covered the five customers in the booths, while Ricky and Kenny tied up the cook and the two waitresses. Kenny stepped to the register and grabbed the bills. Ricky went from customer to customer, taking jewelry and wallets.

 In shock, shy Sarah glanced out of window and was startled to see an intense blue light among the trees. To her amazement the light flew across the road, through the window, and enveloped her. Ricky and Kenny missed Sarah's encounter, but Lulu saw Sarah glow for a few seconds in a strange blue haze. Lulu blinked and shrugged it off; probably the meth.

After securing the employees, Ricky ordered Sarah out of the booth and to the storeroom for "quality time".  Alex flinched, but Lulu put her gun to Alex's head. Sarah, now eerily calm, obeyed Ricky.

 As soon as they were in the storeroom, Ricky pocketed his automatic and gestured toward the cutting board table. Sarah smiled and sat back on the slick wood stand. Ricky bent forward to pin the young woman’s arms. Swiftly, Sarah grabbed Ricky by the throat. She squeezed until his eyes bulged, Ricky’s breath wheezed like air out of a balloon. Sarah sat up, letting the limp body slump to the floor.

 There was a light tapping and then storeroom door opened cautiously. Kenny peeked in, squinting in the dim light, “My turn?"

 Sarah took a meat cleaver from the cutting table, beckoning to Kenny, and then burying the blade in his forehead. She reached down and took Ricky’s pistol, then returned to the restaurant, where Lulu was watching the other customers.

  "Where‘re my boys?" Lulu asked Sarah.

  "The boys are dead." Sarah replied. And she fired three shots into Lulu's chest, the red-haired girl falling without a word.

          Sarah went to Alex who was standing, his mouth agape.

"Time to go." She said, putting the gun in the back of her jeans.

Alex and Sarah left the diner, got in their car, and drove away.

 Later that night the customers gave conflicting descriptions of the couple to the police. One remembered the blue light enveloping Sarah, but that stretched credulity. No one thought to get their license number.

For a time, the Wildcat Diner was a local legend and it flourished with a Wednesday Blue-Light Special.

But overtime the legend dimmed and today the diner is dark.

The Fountain-of-Youth Lotions and Potions, Little America, Wyoming

 The thin man in the powder-blue suit with the purple eyes was hawking his lotions and potions. Sondra Lee Bradford paused at the hotel’s gift shop as he smiled at her.

        “This is for you.” He said, holding up a lotion tube and a green jar of capsules. “Fountain of Youth. I guarantee it.”

        Sondra looked imperiously at the odd salesman and continued to the registration desk where Roberto anxiously awaited her. He had seen Sondra drive up in a burgundy Porsche Cayenne. He had gaped as the elegant woman in her early sixties stepped out of the SUV. She was dressed in black boots, form-fitting jeans and a mahogany leather coat with a lavender scarf at her slender neck.

         The spring snowstorm had closed I-80 and forced Sondra to stop at Little America in Western Wyoming. She had been eager to push on to Sun Valley, Idaho for her reunion, but there were no parallel side roads and the sprawling complex loomed as the yellow lights flashed, saying I-80 was closed.

         Greeting Sondra with a warm smile, Roberto quickly arranged accommodations close to the office and restaurant. He was solicitous, recognizing serious money: her Porsche, clothing, and aristocratic features, the tilt of her head with eyes wide and nose in the air.

         Roberto loved the way the truly wealthy carried themselves. He called Maria, his daughter, from the restaurant to take the desk, personally escorting Sondra to room 107, a suite across from the registration office.

         As they passed the gift shop, Sondra paused. She had a nose for business, having tripled her family’s wealth. The albino in the powder-blue suit smiled unctuously and they exchanged words. Sondra bought a tube of lotion and a bottle of capsules, handing the salesman a fifty-dollar bill. She then turned to follow Roberto out the door and called sarcastically, “Fountain of Youth, who knew?”

         “You have no idea.” The salesman replied.

         Sondra settled quickly in the room, took a hot shower, and then paused at the mirror with her lotion and capsules. The albino had said to take one capsule, but she was tired from the long drive in the snow and took two capsules. Wary of a skin reaction, Sondra cautiously applied the lotion to the right side of her face, massaging the cinnamon-smelling ointment into her budding ageing spots, as well as under the dark circle beneath her right eye, and then touched the wrinkles at her neck.

        She looked at herself in the mirror. She was still a classic beauty with sandy hair and deep, brown eyes. But time was getting its claws into her. Sondra sighed and turned to the bed, relishing a nap before dinner.

         Sondra awoke with a start as a large tractor-trailer truck went past her window. It was dark and the lights were on outside, revealing a steady snow falling as night took hold. 

          She went into the bathroom to splash her face and looked in the mirror. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. The right side of her face was the look of a twenty-something woman. The left side was an attractive woman in her sixties.

          Sondra’s mind raced. Her initial thought was to call her personal physician, Dr. Nelson. Instead, she took the curious lotion and once again smelled it, catching the attractive cinnamon scent. She squeezed out a small amount and carefully massaged the left side of her face. Sondra enjoyed her fine wine in the evening, and on the left side of her nose were spider-like veins that she artfully concealed with makeup. She rubbed them vigorously with the albino’s lotion.

          Returning to the bed, Sondra lay back, crossing her hands over her chest, assuming the dead-man’s meditation pose, slowing her breathing and clearing her mind. 

          Almost thirty minutes had passed when Sondra sat up and went to the bathroom. Anxiously, she peered in the mirror at her face, which was now clear and youthful. Even the nose veins had vanished.

          Sondra pushed back from the sink and her mind spun.  She could make millions and had to chat with the albino about an investment in his lotion. When she met her friends in Sun Valley, they would be astonished at her youthful appearance. Sondra would wave them away, saying it was diet and exercise. She would keep the albino to herself.

          Feeling ecstatic, Sondra’s agile mind spun with the opportunities. But suddenly an icy fear struck Sondra. She looked hard at the mirror and now saw the face of a teenager with the body of a slender girl yet to blossom. Confused, Sondra made her way back to bed.

         The next morning Roberto waited at the registration desk. He had been keenly disappointed when Sondra did not show for dinner. Now he looked forward to conversing with her at breakfast. But so far, Sondra was a no show.

          At nine, Roberto took his passkey and went to 107, tapping lightly and calling out. But no response, and cautiously Roberto opened the door, again calling. What if she were in the shower?

          Roberto listened carefully, but no running water. Instead, he heard a gurgling sound, a classic “goo-goo”. He stepped into the room and was astonished to see a baby on the wide bed. The toddler was on her back, arms waving in the air. The face was turned toward Roberto and big, brown eyes watched him, giving him a wide smile, as if recognizing him. 

          Cautiously entering the room, Roberto checked the bathroom and the closet. But Sondra was gone. Had the baby been with her in the Porsche? Had she gone back to the SUV after Roberto left? Roberto grabbed the phone and called the desk, ordering Maria to come to the room. 

          His obedient daughter was quickly by his side and Roberto told Maria to watch the baby, perhaps get a bottle of milk from the kitchen. He would start a search of the extensive grounds, being discreet as he knew the missing woman valued her privacy. Had Sondra gone for a walk and gotten lost in the snow, or had she hooked up with a truck driver? Roberto shuddered at the thought. 

          Racing back to the desk, he bundled up, ran outside and checked on her Porsche, but it was in place. He jumped on the all-terrain and drove to the western edge of the property, methodically working north to south. In an hour he had scoured the entire area, but no sign of Sondra Lee Bradford. 

          Now worried that someone had abducted Sondra, Roberto returned to the room to check on Maria and the baby. When he entered the room, Roberto was astonished to find only Maria who had fallen asleep. The little baby had vanished. Had the woman returned, grabbed the baby and gone? But Roberto saw from the window that the Porsche was still parked by the office. What was going on?

Three months later, Roberto and Maria sat at the picnic table beneath the large “Little America” sign. The police had come and gone. The Bradford family’s lawyer with private investigators had descended, then left puzzled. There was no trace of Sondra Lee, or the baby.
          As Roberto daydreamed in the summer twilight, Maria took his hand. “I’m pregnant.” She said.
          Her father stiffened and Maria shook her head. “No, no, it’s not the new chef, nor the groundskeeper. This is different.” She said. “Trust me.”
          Before her father could react, Maria smiled and whispered. “You are going to have a lovely, baby girl.”
         “Another daughter?”  Roberto asked his eyes wide.
         And this daughter will make you rich.” Maria responded.



An Accidental Murder at Chase Lodge, Lake Leech, Walker, Minnesota

Brandy suggested rat poison to kill her venomous stepmother. But Lou had a better idea, an accidental murder. The plan dawned on him as Lou studied the front of the rustic house set on a stone foundation.
          Brandy's stepmother,Martha Ann Manning, had her bedroom  next to the garage for her convenience. What had been a library in the “lodge” had been turned into a master suite, easy access for the cane-ridden Martha.
          Lou sat with Brandy in the upstairs back bedroom and detailed his scheme that would begin with an extra sleeping pill in Martha Ann's wine, then carbon monoxide from the adjacent garage. All quick and painless, apparently an unfortunate accident.  Brandy was disappointed; she wanted her custodian to suffer.
          But sacrifices had to be made.
          The objective was to get control of the Manning multi-million dollar trust that was designated for Martha Ann and Brandy in joint custody. When one of them passed, the survivor would gain control of the fortune. Brandy promised Lou $3 million if he could dispose on her meddlesome stepmother.
          Lou watched Brandy think about his plan. She was an eighteen year old coquette, a honey blond, with blue eyes and shapely in tight jeans and a purple sweater. When she had control of the trust, she said she would travel a year, then return and go to University, Brandy’s plan.
          “I want my stepmother to suffer.” Brandy pouted and then added. “But nothing is perfect.”
          Lou returned downstairs where Martha Ann was by the fire, listening to her classical music, a Mozart concerto, which Lou found depressing as the music echoed through the lodge. Martha motioned him over and pointed at the wine decanter. Lou nodded, fetched the wine and sat across from the elderly woman in black who was bone thin, with translucent skin, a pinched face, and watery blue eyes with tightly coiled gray hair.
          Lou poured them a glass of the fine burgundy, raising a toast to Martha. It was late afternoon and Lou hated to drink before dinner. Alcohol had been the root of his problems when he lived in Minneapolis where he orchestrated a high social life as an estate lawyer and wealth advisor. Drink had cost Lou his job and family.
           After the breakdown, Lou went to rehabilitation in Walker, a small town on Lake Leech, one of Minnesota's largest. After rehab, he joined an upkeep company, maintaining the large area estates. When the elderly owner died, Lou took over and the company began to prosper as the widows liked Lou, a rugged, a good looking man in his early 50s.
          “We should do it when as spring warms up.” Martha Ann said interrupting Lou’s daydreaming.
          “My stepdaughter loves the lake, so that will be the perfect setting. Go sailing with Brandy and take the helm. Brandy can handle the jib. Pick a windy day with whitecaps and jibe into the wind, letting the boat tip over. Grab the paddle as you go in. Brandy should be in the water under the sail, so you hit her hard and stun her. In that cold water, she will sink like a stone.”
          Lou stared at Martha Ann. It was good that he was paid well and also that he had no soul, no compunctions. His drinking days had drained him.
          “How about it?” Martha asked. “Sound good?” 
          “I like it.” Lou agreed.
          The lonely woman tried to coax Lou into another glass of wine, but he worked free of her web. Driving around the lake back to his Walker office, Lou felt good. His spirits surged. Brandy approved his plan and she had agreed on his payment of $3 million, which would set Lou free. Martha Ann, tightfisted and out of touch, had offered him $200,000 to kill Brandy.
          Peanuts.
          That night Lou returned to the house, parking on the isolated lake road where he could see Brandy’s bedroom with a light on. After a restless hour of waiting in the car, Lou saw the bedroom light blink twice, a sign that Brandy’s stepmother was in her room and asleep. Martha Ann had perfected her sleep formula: two or three glasses of wine and a sleeping pill.
          Lou left the car, walked to the estate’s drive and went to the stone foundation to the right of the garage. He had already dug a passage between the stones and shone his flashlight, seeing the aluminum heat duct inside. With a battery-run drill, he quickly opened a hole in the duct slightly more than an inch in diameter. He knew from the lodge drawings that the heating vent led to Martha’s bedroom, which was just to the right on his drilled hole. 
          Lou sat on the ground in the chill air going over the plan. He was almost ready. On the designated night, Brandy would arrange to be out, having planned a sleepover with a friend. Lou‘s alibi was the movie complex out on Route 34. He had already seen the movie, but he would buy a ticket and sit near the front, then sneak out a few minutes after the feature started.

A few nights later Lou returned to the lodge and attached a garden hose to his car’s exhaust and then ran the hose though the foundations stone into the heating duct. He got inside his car and stepped on the gas, the exhaust traveled into the duct,exiting into Martha’s bedroom. After fifteen minutes, Lou entered the garage and into the hall. He slipped into Martha’s bedroom on the left, checked the old lady, and then took the car keys from her purse. He went to the garage and started the engine on her old Cadillac. He had left Martha’s bedroom and the garage hallway doors open, but closed the hall door to the living room.
         Lou exited the garage, leaving the car’s engine running, which would fill the garage with exhausts that would drift into Martha Ann’s bedroom.
         Let the experts figure it out, Lou smirked.
         The next day Lou went to the lodge at ten for his usual morning chores. He was surprised to find the lodge silent. The plan was Brandy would return early from her overnight and sound the alarm, presumably finding her stepmother dead in her bedroom. Lou had expected flashing red lights and the EMS on the scene , police scouring the house.
          Lou entered the downstairs and was overcome with the stench of auto exhaust. Covering his nose, he went to Martha’s bedroom and found the old woman on the bed, stone still, her face blue. Lou backed into the hall and checked the open door in the garage, but the Cadillac was quiet, probably out of gas.
          Next Lou yelled up the stairs for Brandy, but no response. He hesitated, but suddenly felt woozy. Not wanting to fall prey to the fumes, he ran outside and called 911 from his mobile.
          It wasn’t long before the city police and the EMS were on the scene. Lou asked one of the paramedics to look for Brandy on the second floor. An unmarked car pulled into the drive and Lou recognized Dr. Peterson, Martha Ann’s personal physician, who the police escorted into the house.
          After the discovery had been made and the house searched and cleared, Martha Ann’s body was taken away. Lou stood in the drive with the two policemen explaining his role, how he took care of the ground floor and did the lawn work. Dr. Peterson, tall and patrician, came over. Lou asked about Brandy, Martha’s stepdaughter.
          The policemen started and looked at Lou suspiciously. Dr. Peterson appeared confused, then cleared his throat and said.”Brandy drowned two years ago in a sailing accident.”
          Lou was stunned and realized he had drawn attention to himself. He quickly explained that Martha always talked about the girl, but he had never actually seen her.
          All three men shuffled their feet and looked around. Finally, Dr. Peterson came to Lou’s rescue by explaining that Martha Ann had never accepted Brandy’s drowning, as the girl’s body was never found in the lake.
         “Martha began to slip after Brandy drowned.” The doctor said solemnly. “I recall her talking about Bandy being upstairs which spooked the former maid who had been with the family for ten years. On one of my visits, the maid told me she had to leave as the old lady unnerved her. Fortunately, Lou came along and they did okay.”
         Lou nodded, acknowledging his role in the household.
         “Ironically, Martha Ann had been improving, but now this tragic accident: looks like she left the car running in the garage.” The doctor concluded.
          “So you never saw Brandy?” The lead policeman asked, looking at Lou who shook his head.  “No, I just heard Mrs. Manning talk about her stepdaughter.”
          The two policemen stood, considering.
          “I was usually only around in the morning to do the dishes and clean downstairs. Once every two weeks I did the grounds, cut the grass and so forth.” 
          The questioning and scene examination took all morning. Lou had plugged the cement hole he had made near Martha’s bedroom. But no one thought to go behind the shrubs and look at the stone foundation.
          Lou finally got home to his two-bedroom lakeside cottage at twilight. It had been an exhausting day. The tragic accident at the Manning’s had consumed his energies. He had a light meal, a hot shower, a glass of wine, and then fell into bed, immediately falling asleep.
          After midnight, Lou awoke with a start. He was on his left side and could see the curtains fluttering at the open window. A pale moonlight reflected silver on the dark lake. Lou was rigid, frozen in place, and held his breath. Someone was in bed next to him.
          Slowly turning on his back, Lou found Brandy raised on her elbow and staring down. Her blond hairs cascaded to her shoulders and her blue eyes were curious, her left eyebrow arched. There was a slight smile on her lips.
          “Where‘s my money?” She asked.

         





The Killing and the Green-Eyed Girl, Des Moines, Iowa

                                                                     

 Eureka Springs, Arkansas, tolerated the Psychic Center run by Ella Mae Quicksilver with its dribble of visitors. But as the trickle became a flow and people talked of a “Movement”, the forbearance became a misgiving. When the Center flourished, local churches became alarmed. Some wags whispered the green-eyed daughter, Averil Jean, was an apostle, a prophet, or perhaps a messiah… maybe worse. The town wise men gathered, muttering and nodding; something had to be done.
            Early one Monday morning in the dark of night, Averil woke her mother.  She said the townspeople would come for them that evening and it was time to go. They were always packed for flight and as the quirky town slept, the mother and daughter stole away. Ella asked about a sign, a star? But Averil shook her head. They would head north.

Hunter Farnham with his smooth, confident presentation was awarded the contract to manage DigitalCoin’s money. Hunter suspected the nerd company was a hacker operation, stealing money from all over the world.  He had control of $500 million that he managed for the company. Thinking the geeks did not scrutinize his trades, Hunter slowly skimmed a little here and a little there. Small amounts that could easily be explained. A peanut here, a peanut there and after awhile… a jar of peanuts.

Taking his stash, Hunter bet it all on an improbable Sweet Sixteen basketball game. He heard via a source that the University of Florida was going to lay down for Florida Gulf Coast University, a no-body upstart from Fort Meyers, Florida. The odds were 100 to one. When FGCU won, Vegas would take the hit from the Sweet Sixteen historic upset and Hunter could retire.

But the Gators did not lie down and Hunter lost big. Fortunately, he kept a reserve and he fled his Boston office. He reinvented himself as a farmer in Iowa, buying a rambling farm house outside of Des Moines, the old Boynton farm. He grew a beard and became a recluse, but he did need a maid as he hated housework and cooking.

Thinking of placing an ad on Craig’s List, Hunter was startled one morning when two women appeared at his isolated spread. On inspection, it was a mother and daughter. The mother was dark, attractive, and perhaps Native American. The daughter shyly kept her head down as the mother explained they were looking for work, preferably live-in. She could clean, wash, and cook with help from her daughter, who was home schooled.

As there was a large, empty addition on the back of the original farmhouse, Hunter agreed and welcomed the Quicksilvers. The two looked harmless enough. The 13-year old girl was quiet and the mother clean and respectful.

A month later on his birthday, Hunter befriended Ella Mae and Averil Jean with wine and cheese, and then invited them to join him at his dinner table. When it got dark Hunter produced a cake and for the first time he scrutinized Averil, taking note of the six-fingers on each hand. He was startled by her jade, green eyes and felt a sizzle as Averil gazed at him; a shock ran up and down his spine, touching his soul. Who was the young girl?

As spring came, Hunter took on a brother and sister, Ben and Inez, to help with the plowing and planting. He put them in the small guest house set behind the farmhouse. Ella Mae was immediately taken by the brother, a large strapping man in his late twenties. But Averil sensed evil, divining that the supposed brother and sister were at Hunter’s farm for more than spring planting. She told her mother they must leave the farm. This time Ella Mae, who yearned for male companionship, protested when Averil warned of danger.

“Perhaps there is another way.” Averil replied. 

The expanded family fell into an easy routine with Ben and Inez preparing for planting and Ella and Averil taking care of the house and meals. Hunter took note that in the evenings, Averil would stand by an old Elm tree watching the sun go down. As darkness fell, Hunter discerned a faint aura around the young girl. The sight stirred Hunter, yet made the hairs on the back of his neck stand, sending shivers down his spine.
            One night Ben got his call from Boston. The geeks had drained Hunter’s Des Moines Bank account. “Time to take care of business.” The voice said cryptically.
            Ben got out of bed. He dressed in his blacks and took his snout-silencer revolver.

“Don’t mess it up.” Inez said acidly from bed. “And do the half-breed and her weird daughter.”

Leaving the cottage, Ben went to the main house, entering through the kitchen. Hunter slept in a downstairs suite to the left. Ben stopped in the hallway, startled by a presence at the other end of the hall that was bathed in the pale moonlight. It was Averil in a translucent gown, her black hair loose and her green eyes glittering in the dim light with a golden aura about her head. Averil’s arms were extended as if she were an angel, her hands splayed, welcoming the errant Ben.

            Ben aimed the silenced gun, but felt a shock and fell to his knees, then gasped as a spirit gripped his soul, the pistol falling to the floor. Averil came forward and put her arms around Ben, pulling him close. She helped him to his feet and led him outside, directing Ben to kneel by the Elm tree, facing east to wait sunrise.
            Averil then went around the house to the cottage and opened the door. Inez looked up in astonishment as Averil entered. She quickly moved to the bed and took Ben’s pillow, hovering over Inez. Startled, then amused, the muscular Inez looked with disdain at the frail, young girl, who smiled down at her.
            Without a word, Averil put the pillow over Inez’s face, who suddenly found herself pinned to the bed. She struggled to scream, to fight, but could only manage a whine. In a few minutes, Inez was still.
            Averil looked down at the prostrate woman.
            There were many worth saving, but also those not worth saving.

                                                                                                                                     

    

The Conspiracy, Northern Idaho State Asylum, Orofino, Idaho

“Hurry up and die!” Those words rang in John Chance’s mind as he picked his way through the dense forest. A radiant beam of light shone down, as if the moon a spotlight illuminating the path for John enabling him to navigate through the wilderness deep in Northern Idaho. He checked his bearings to be sure that he was heading to his summer camp near Lake Coeur D'Alene. He sought refuge from the chaos about to ensue.

          John had stumbled over a hideous conspiracy that would change the country as everyone knows it. He was running from a top-secret plot to let loose a virulent virus, which causes convulsions and death. The Government’s plan was to release an airborne pathogen that would exterminate those who have become a burden on society, the non-essentials.

          Out of breath John paused a moment, but all was silent. He must not be followed or found before he could act and save his family. As he stood quietly, John was startled by the howl of a lone wolf in the distance. And then the dark forest was once again quiet. The moon was his only guide as John continued under the evergreen canopy.

            Soon relief ran through his tired body as he saw a small frame cottage on a stone foundation tucked away in the embrace of the woods. John paused to view the cottage dimly lit by the pale moonlight. The small structure was different than he remembered.

           As John approached the entrance he suddenly heard in the distance a shout and then another. John clutched his satchel protectively, slowed his breathing and remained still. When all was quiet again he continued to the door and entered the cabin, quickly closing himself him. Once inside he took in his surroundings, which also were unfamiliar. He went to a table in the center of the main room and dumped out the contents of his bag: 3 pre-loaded syringes. He immediately administered one shot into his left shoulder. The other two were intended for his wife and daughter, who would shortly rendezvous with him at the cabin.

          Overwhelmed by the antivirus he drops to his knees, his eyes roll back in his head. The cabin spins while the room seems to revolve counterclockwise. His veins swell and he blinks as he goes in and out of a heated trance. His mind races and his heart pounds; John feels the inoculation track through his body.

          He grabs a flannel blanket from a bed and crawls to a corner, still shaky and not sure if the serum will kill him, or save him. He vividly recalls the event of the previous day at the Institute, more formally known as the Northern Idaho State Asylum. John had returned to the library to retrieve his diary, which he carelessly had forgotten. Free time was over and John was alone in the library and knew if he was caught he would receive demerits, perhaps the loss of exercise time.

           As he came upon his book he suddenly heard voices in the hall. He cringed as the library door opened and, fearful of being discovered, John quickly ducked behind a large bookcase and remained motionless. He could tell by their voices it was Carl the lead orderly, a portly fellow with messy red hair, heavy glasses and coffee stained scrubs. He was accompanied by Ray, who was tall and thin with a long, horse face and small eyes. Ray was a second year resident intern, still wet behind the ears. They were making the rounds to check for stragglers. As the library appeared clear, Carl turned to Ray and spoke under his breath.

           "We have a special shipment tomorrow at eight am and we need to put up a sign sheet for volunteers to unload the vaccine. As I explained, the release date for Operation 47 is May 1st.”

           John heard Ray murmur something John could not catch.

          “It’s the only way.”Carl said to Ray, explaining how the Government had come up with an ingenious solution to relieve society of the “non-essentials”.

           "Our allotment of the vaccine is for the essentials at the Institute. It will be on that truck tomorrow, so get a crew to help us unload."

          John listened wide-eyed as Ray questioned Carl about the extermination program. Then Ray asked in weak voice.  "We’re essential, right?"

          "Yes, Carl laughed. “The Institute and its crew are highly valued with their education and experience. The genius of this program is that this virus acts quickly and in 12 hours the free-riders will be gone. We can kiss goodbye to the takers, the deadbeats, the food-stamp clique, the terminally ill, those who hang on and on. We can say goodbye to society’s parasites that have been freeloading at the Government’s slop trough."

          John heard Ray exhale with a brittle chuckle.

          “It’s the final solution". Carl said quietly.

          “Don’t look so shocked.” Ray retorted. “I heard that Japan was on the verge of a similar program. It was sidetracked as the Prime Minister was overheard to say the elderly should hurry up and die, as they cost too much to care for.”

          Ray forced a laugh and John listened as the two chatted. Carl reassured Ray, telling him to keep quiet, or else he might be declared a non-essential. The two men then left the library.

           John huddled behind the bookcase and he felt a shiver run up and down his spine. The enormity of the plot overwhelmed him, but he knew what he had to do and he quickly made his way to the sign up board near the cafeteria. 

 Early the next morning John was first in line to unload the delivery truck. At nine there was a pause for a smoke break. The group halted unloading and assembled around the pump house. Going unnoticed, John remained behind at the back of the truck and discreetly filched 3 vaccine units tucking them in his jacket sleeve. He then joined the group lighting up a smoke, his head spinning as he clutched the three syringes.

          As John hunkered in the corner of the cabin, he once again reflected on the audacity of the great conspiracy. On May 1 the virus would be released from west to east across the country. By then the essentials, the healthy and productive people in society, would have their injections and be secure. In 12 hours the non-essentials, the dregs of society, would be gone.

          John’s confused thinking was interrupted by a dog bark and voices.  Someone was at the door.

          "John, open the door," said a woman's voice.

          "Annabelle, Becky…. is that you?" John called in response as he jumped up and scrambled for the door, flinging it open.

          Frozen in disbelief, John found the Institute’s assistant, plus security along with Carl and Ray.

          "How did you find me?” He blurted. “This is my house… GET OUT" John shouted! 

           Dawn was breaking and the sun began to rise with a glistening kaleidoscope of colors and a rainbow of light reflected off the windows of the Northern Idaho Asylum’s remote staff retreat.

          John Chance was escorted out of the cabin by Carl and Ray. His eyes were glazed and swollen as if he had not slept for two days, and he murmured quietly but his words could not be discerned. John’s escorts paused by a stately grey haired man with a narrow face and a long, pointed nose that separated his dark, and methodical, beady eyes. It was Dr. Edward Walters the director of the Asylum accompanied by government agents.

          “He’s immune, we found the 3 missing doses and one is empty “Carl informed the director.

          The agents took John and ushered him to the front of the hospital and toward a waiting helicopter, John lifted his weary head and implored Dr. Walters.

          “Make sure Annabel and Becky are safe. Please get the vaccine to my wife and daughter.”

          The director halted and shook his head in disbelief at the irony of the situation. The virulent virus soon to be released was discovered by the renowned chemist, one Dr. John Chance who had stumbled over it some 16 years ago.

          "You still don't remember do you, John?”

          John blinked at the director.

          The director sighed and explained. “The accident on the bridge. You were able to get free from the sinking car, but you abandoned your wife and daughter to drown. Annabel and Becky are no more. You never could face the truth and came apart. That’s why you’ve been with us these many years.”

          John gave the doctor a conspiratorial wink. “Yes, of course.” And then he whispered to the doctor. “Just get the vaccine to Annabel and Becky, so the three of us can be together again.

          The director leaned close. "John your wife and daughter are long dead and you are now a non-essential.”

          Edward paused and then patted John’s shoulder. “But not to worry, you’ll be reunited with Annabel and Becky real soon. “

Trinity Waterman

Banshee in the Goblin Valley, San Rafael Swell, Green River, Utah

 

 

 

Mary Jane was a city girl and she did not take to the open spaces or ranching. Her doctor had advised a rural setting in Southeastern Utah as a curative for her visions. Unfortunately, when she and Wayne relocated to the ranch in Goblin Valley south of Green River Wayne began to drink and carouse.

One night in February, Wayne fell into a black spell and took the Studebaker pickup to town for a drink or two. Mary Jane waited in dread, as the radio warned of a winter storm, high winds and snow. Wayne’s drinking and the bad weather would earn her a beating; the last one had cost a tooth.

Mary Jane set a fire and put on the coffee pot, perhaps the cozy setting would assuage Wayne when he stumbled through the door. As the snow began to fall and the wind picked up, Mary Jane cocked her head. Instead of visions, she now heard voices. Above the wind was a strange howl that brought back memories of nighttime Irish fairy tales, scary stories of the banshee keening, warning of death to come.

Mary Jane stood close to the window, watching the snow and once again she heard the shriek, a chill ran down her spine, her skin prickling. She titled her head as the whispering began, giving instructions. The whisperer had a point; it was time to end the beatings and she glanced at the shotgun hanging over the fireplace. 

Wayne struggled with the wheel of the pickup as he navigated the snow-covered dirt road to his ranch. He gritted his teeth and wiggled in the cold seat. It was because of Mary Jane they were stuck in this godforsaken spot. And tonight his hapless wife would pay. He’d teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget.

Lost in rage, Wayne was jolted as the truck slipped to the side, burrowing into a snow bank. Wayne stopped, set the brake and took a long swig from the whiskey bottle beside him. He then pulled up his collar and stepped out into the inclement night. The wind staggered him and Wayne wavered in the icy cold.

 Then suddenly the snow abated and the clouds parted, a half moon emerged throwing a dim light on the road, which showed the way to his ranch house. The moonbeam struck Wayne as a bolt of lightning, causing him to fall to his knees. Wayne bowed, touching his forehead to the snow and breathed deeply. How long he knelt on the road escaped him, but when Wayne rose he was cold sober.

Leaving the truck in the snow bank, Wayne pulled his range coat tight and headed determinedly home with his head high, confidence surging through him. He would embrace Mary Jane and beg her forgiveness. He paused where the road forked, the right track leading to the Henry Mountains.

Wayne confidently took the left fork, knowing he had experienced a rare epiphany, that his incidence in the snow with the moon was a revelation. He would rejoin his church, swear off the bottle, set things right with Mary Jane, and devote himself to his ranch. In the distance, he could see the cabin, smoke curling from the chimney. He was homeward bound and strode onto the porch, pausing at the door.

Turning the knob, the born-again Wayne stepped inside and called for Mary Jane. He was met by the brilliant flash of both barrels. 

They found Wayne’s pickup in the snow bank, a half-empty whiskey bottle in the front seat. The assumption was that Wayne tried to walk to the ranch. Drunk and disoriented, he had veered to the right and taken the fork into the Henry Mountains.
          Mary Jane’s sister came from Salt Lake and they loyally stayed on until spring when searchers once again scoured the area for Wayne. No one thought to look in the old well behind the barn. During the summer, a judge declared Wayne legally dead and Mary Jane came into insurance proceeds. She was also able to sell the ranch to a young couple from Provo. Mary Jane moved west, settling in San Francisco. 

Alice loved the remote ranch and she and Ben planned to try farming, maybe fruit trees. The only discordant note was that some nights, Alice sleepwalked. She often found herself at the back window that overlooked the barn. She was drawn there by someone singing and often saw the shadow of a man, tall and lean, dressed in a range coat.

The figure crossed the back yard, disappearing behind the barn where the old well was located. Alice never caught the tune he sang, but she did hear the lyric and it was always the same line.

          “I’ll wait for someone."

 

 



The Gift Shop at Spanish Fort, Mobile, Alabama

 

 

 After Jolene endured the somber funeral  and the distant relatives left, Cannon Raspberry came out of nowhere. The attraction was instant and within a week Cannon was in her guest room, helping with the Pink Charm, Jolene’s inherited gift shop set in Spanish Fort, Alabama.

         Jolene with her flame red hair and alabaster skin was a beauty. For the first time instead of fending off a suitor, she felt attraction. Perhaps she had found her soul mate in  ruggedly handsome Cannon with the slicked-back black hair. But he was also the quiet type, short on details. Jolene knew little about Cannon’s background or family.
         One night, there was a light tapping at the back door of her brick rambler, which was set behind the gift shop. It was Ralph, the truck driver who had murdered her adopted parents. Ralph had broadsided the old couple as her father cheated through the yield sign on County Road 11, an unfortunate accident, or so it appeared.
         Gazing at the haggard, red-eyed Ralph through the screen, Jolene wondered how she had taken to such a dissolute; perhaps it was his magnetic personality, the kind all girls love. Now Ralph needed more money and was lonely. Jolene frowned. She had paid Ralph $20,000 for the contrived incident, which had yielded her the brick rambler and gift store, plus the $2 million her adopted parents had squirreled away.
         Ralph had promised to disappear, go west, but now he was back for more money. Ralph whined that he had hit a sour streak on the Mobile Bay Riverboat. He wanted $10,000, some of Jolene’s comfort, and then he would move on. Maybe out to Vegas.
         Jolene argued she needed time. She would meet Ralph at the D’Olive Bay overlook, share a few minutes and give him the money. Jolene’s sweet talk bought delay and Ralph left with the rendezvous dancing in his head.
         That night on the patio beside the murky Shellbank River, Jolene explained the situation to Cannon, who asked a few questions about Ralph, where he worked and lived. Cannon got up, kissed Jolene’s head, and then smoked a cigarette at her fence.

The next week Jolene drove to the bay overlook and waited for Ralph. It was early spring and the trees were budding and crocus peeped through the grass. She would distract Ralph and plead for more time. But Ralph never showed and Jolene sat in the car with a nagging doubt.

A few months before she had stumbled into Ralph with his charming gift for gab at the Blues Tavern. After a few drinks and some handholding they were plotting to take care of Jolene’s problem. Now Ralph had stood her up. In retrospect, Jolene wondered how she could have trusted Ralph with such a sensitive plan. Jolene banged her head on the steering wheel.

That evening Jolene told Cannon that Ralph had been a no-show. It worried her that Ralph was so unpredictable, often violent. He could cause trouble.

“Ralph took the long haul.” Cannon said cryptically.

“But when he returns?” Jolene fretted.

“He's not coming back.” Cannon replied.

Jolene turned away and licked her lips. So that was it. She was supposed to forget about the erratic Ralph. Cannon mused it would be nice if they could travel…his first hint at commitment.

Life went on at the pink gift store and the two fell into an easy rhythm. But beneath her happy exterior, Jolene worried. Cannon played his part to perfection, keeping her happy, at her beck and call.

One evening on the patio they shared a bottle of Burgundy and chatted about Jolene’s idea to expand the Pink Charm, maybe offer delicacies. When Cannon did not join in her planning, Jolene took their glasses to the kitchen and refilled them, emptying two capsules into Cannon’s glass, stirring the white powder into the ruby-red wine.

 

A few weeks later neighbors became alarmed at not seeing any life around the gift shop, or at the brick rambler. They knew Jolene had taken a trip out west and that Cannon would mind the store. Uneasy at the stillness, they called the police who entered the shop where they found Cannon hanging from a beam in the back storeroom, an apparent suicide.

Six weeks after she left Spanish Fort, Jolene met Karl in Telluride, Colorado. The young man, a Swiss-German mountaineer, was visiting Colorado in the early spring with a goal of climbing Colorado’s 55 fourteeners. Jolene was into hiking and Karl said he would guide her to a first 14,000 foot mountain peak at nearby Redcloud, an easy Class 1-2 hike.
        They left Telluride early in the morning and drove to Lake City, parking at the trailhead. After three hours they rested and Karl confessed he had researched Jolene, who he knew was from Spanish Fort. He discovered her tragedies, the death of her parents, the suicide of Cannon Raspberry, her gift-shop partner.
        The couple reached the peak late morning, knowing they had to be on the way by noon to avoid the afternoon lightning storms. Jolene led Karl to the edge where they had a spectacular view of the snow-topped, San Juan Mountains. Karl looked at her and smiled, his killer-blue eyes twinkling. Jolene put the flat of her hand between Karl’s broad shoulders. He raised his eyebrows and she gave him a violent shove.
        Toppling over the precipice, Karl hit a ledge head first, then flipped over and plummeted at least three thousand feet, disappearing into a dark crevice. Jolene worried her new companion might research her route from Alabama and stumble over more troubling episodes. She sighed in the clear air beneath the pristine sky.

Karl could have ruined it. After all, there would be more misfortunes as Jolene continued her odyssey west.

 

Such is life.